A Real Friend
934 Words
The Monday after the poetry night and that quiet moment by the fountain, Emilia woke up feeling different. Not invincible—but not invisible either.
For the first time in a long time, her first thought wasn’t how to disappear.
She got dressed in her favorite jeans, the ones that finally fit her the way she’d dreamed of last semester, and a soft navy top. No makeup. Just herself. Comfortable. Light.
When she walked into the student union that morning, heads turned.
Not dramatically. Not like in movies. But just enough to make her feel it—eyes lingering longer, lips pausing mid-sip.
She didn’t shrink.
She didn’t rush.
She walked straight to the café corner and ordered her tea like the world didn’t owe her a single glance.
And then, of course, Chelsea appeared.
Like a shadow that refused to stay in the past.
“Well, well,” she said, sliding into the line behind Emilia with a sugar-sweet smile. “Our little wallflower’s blooming.”
Emilia turned. Calm. Composed.
“Hi, Chelsea.”
“No tears today?” Chelsea’s voice was soft, almost kind—but her eyes glinted with mischief. “I just wanted to say… I’m so happy for you and Liam. He always did love a project.”
There it was. The blade behind the smile.
Emilia didn’t flinch. “What’s it like being so predictable?”
Chelsea’s smirk flickered.
“I’m serious,” Emilia continued. “You’ve been doing this same routine for years. The backhanded compliments. The smug threats. Aren’t you exhausted?”
Chelsea laughed quietly. “Sweetheart, I don’t threaten people beneath me. I pity them.”
Emilia took her tea from the counter. “Then I suggest you find someone else to pity.”
She turned and walked away, her heart hammering but her head held high.
Zoey was waiting at their usual table, watching wide-eyed.
“Holy crap. Did you just burn Chelsea Adams?”
Emilia sat down, stirring her tea calmly. “I think I did.”
Zoey leaned in. “I’m honestly turned on right now. Like, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Emilia laughed.
But behind the laughter was something else. A tiny splinter of doubt.
Was Liam really seeing her for her?
Or was Chelsea right?
---
Later that day, Liam met her outside the art building. He looked a little tired—his eyes shadowed, his usual energy dimmed.
“Hey,” he said, offering her a quiet smile. “Been a long day.”
She nodded. “Mine too.”
They walked in silence, falling into an easy rhythm. But Emilia could feel the tension building behind his quiet.
“Something wrong?” she finally asked.
Liam hesitated. “It’s my dad.”
She looked at him.
“He found out I dropped my finance minor,” he said. “Wants to pull me out of school if I don’t go back. Thinks art is ‘hobby thinking.’”
“God,” Emilia breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
“He never liked me making my own decisions,” Liam said. “He thinks college is for building his legacy, not mine.”
Emilia touched his arm. “You’re not him.”
“I know.” He looked at her. “But sometimes it feels like I’m walking uphill in cement.”
She understood that more than she could say.
“Want to scream into the lake?” she offered gently.
He chuckled. “More than anything.”
They walked a little more. Then she asked the question she’d been holding in all day.
“Did you ever… mean it to be real?”
Liam stopped. “What?”
“Me. Us. I know how it started. But did it ever… mean something before I changed?”
He looked stunned.
“Yes,” he said. No hesitation. “God, yes.”
“Because Chelsea made it sound like…”
“I don’t care what Chelsea made it sound like,” he interrupted. “You think I’m here now—choosing this—because of how you look?”
Emilia looked away, shame creeping up.
He gently took her chin, turning her face to his.
“I’m here because of you. The way you see the world. The way you speak truth even when your voice shakes. The way you’ve grown into someone who doesn’t need me—but lets me be close anyway.”
Her eyes stung.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he said.
They stood there, two uncertain hearts in the middle of a noisy campus, holding onto something that felt too fragile to name.
Then Zoey appeared from the side path, waving at Emilia.
“I’ll let you go,” Liam said softly. “But we’re not done talking. Promise me that?”
Emilia nodded. “Promise.”
As she walked away with Zoey, her chest felt full.
Not with fear.
But with real fire.
---
That evening in their dorm room, Zoey sprawled across Emilia’s bed, peeling an orange.
“You love him,” she said casually.
“I’m not sure,” Emilia said.
“You kissed him and quoted poetry. You so love him.”
Emilia smirked. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Zoey grinned. “Told you. You’re turning into a romantic and a badass. I’m proud.”
Emilia leaned back against the wall, watching the twinkling fairy lights above her bed.
For the first time in years, she was becoming someone she actually liked.
And maybe, just maybe… someone who could be loved back.
- Writer
