When Tilly opened up to me two days ago, I thought I understood.
But it changed something.
I keep thinking about it.
I keep thinking about how she said she isn’t herself.
How she hides theuglyparts.
How she cried, right there in my arms, and how all I wanted to do was keep her safe from whatever made her feel like that.
Now, it’s all I can think about.
And even though it scares me, I want to ask her if she still feels nothing.
Because it doesn’t feel like anything anymore.
“Knock, knock,” her voice comes from my doorway, dragging me out of my mind.
“Yeah?” I mumble, not moving from where I’m sprawled across my bed.
“I need help with something. Can I come in?”
“Yep.”
The door creaks open, and there she is — messy bun, her favorite ‘book boyfriend’ hoodie, and socks that don’t match.
Her face scrunches up immediately.
“Ew. You seriously need to open the windows in here. It smells like I don’t even know what’s worth offending like this.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly, still not moving.
She marches over, yanking the window open, and looks back at me like she’s done a public service.
“Fresh air, you’re welcome.”
I sit up, rubbing my face. “Did you come here to roast me, or do you actually need something?”
She grins.
Why does that smile always make something twist in my chest?
“I want to bake something for Yana. She hit five hundred thousand on Instagram, and she deserves it. But you know my baking skills are… limited.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Limited is generous.”
“Shut up,” she laughs. “So will you help me? I want to make a strawberry shortcake, but, like, a cherry version. Red velvet vibe. She loves cherries.”
I eye her suspiciously. “Do you even have the ingredients?”
“Yep!” she says proudly. Then she pauses. “I think.”
I groan but can’t hide the smile tugging at my mouth.
“Fine. I’ll help.”
Her entire face lights up as I’ve just offered her a free puppy. “Thank you!”
