Enough
1131 Words
Friday afternoon arrived in a blur of final bells and scraping chairs.
Amelia made her way to the primary school gates, her bag heavier than it should have been. The twins were already there, sitting on the low brick wall, legs swinging in sync like they’d rehearsed it.
They spotted her at the same time.
“Amelia!” Leo called out, hopping down.
She smiled automatically. “Hey, trouble.”
They fell into step beside her as they started the walk home.
“Guess what,” Samuel said, barely containing his excitement.
“What?”
“We’re going camping next weekend.”
Amelia blinked. “Camping?”
“Yeah! Dad said it’s a proper one this time. Tents and fishing and everything.”
Her chest tightened slightly.
“Oh,” she said carefully. “That sounds fun.”
“It gets better,” Leo added. “We’re leaving Thursday after school.”
“Thursday?” Amelia repeated.
“Yeah. And Dad’s letting us have Friday off school so we can go early.”
They both looked up at her expectantly, like she should be just as thrilled.
“That’s… cool,” she managed.
There was a small pause.
“Are you coming?” Leo asked.
The question landed softer this time. Less curious. More hopeful.
Amelia adjusted the strap on her bag. “Did Dad say I was?”
They exchanged a look.
“He said it’s kind of a boys’ thing,” Samuel said, quieter now. “But you could probably come if you asked.”
Probably.
The word lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable.
They kept walking, shoes scuffing against the pavement.
“You never come,” Leo added. Not accusing. Just factual.
Amelia forced a small smile. “Someone has to stay and make sure the house doesn’t fall apart.”
They laughed at that, but it didn’t quite erase the question hanging in the air.
She stared ahead at the path in front of them, trying to ignore the slow, familiar ache settling in her chest.
A boys’ thing.
She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped being included in things automatically.
Or if she ever had been.
They walked a little further in silence before Amelia cleared her throat.
“I actually have a school trip next Friday,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Biology. We’re going to a coastal reserve for the day.”
The twins looked up at her.
“Like the beach?” Leo asked.
“Sort of. Tide pools and science stuff.”
“That sounds cool,” Samuel said, genuine admiration flickering across his face. “Are you going to catch crabs?”
“Not that kind,” she laughed softly. “And it’s for school.”
“So you can’t come camping?”
“I guess not,” she said. “We’d be leaving at the same time.”
The boys seemed to process that, their excitement dimming only slightly.
“That’s okay,” Leo decided. “You’d probably hate sleeping in a tent anyway.”
“I would not.”
“You complain when your room is cold.”
“That is slander.”
They grinned, satisfied at having caught her out.
By the time they reached their street, the conversation had shifted back to camping essentials — torches, marshmallows, who would get the bigger sleeping bag. Amelia listened, nodding, filing away the details automatically.
In a strange way, it helped. Having a reason. A scheduling conflict. Something concrete she could point to instead of the vague, unspoken truth.
She wasn’t being left behind.
She was just busy.
When they reached the front door, Samuel hesitated before going inside.
“You’ll tell us about your trip?” he asked
.
“Of course,” Amelia said.
“And we’ll tell you about camping.”
“Deal.”
They seemed satisfied with that.
But as Amelia unlocked the door and let them in, she couldn’t shake the quiet irony of it all.
Next Friday, they’d all be somewhere else.
Different places. Different stories.
All slightly apart.
For the first time all week, Amelia slept.
Not the heavy, anxious drop into unconsciousness she’d grown used to. Not the half-awake, half-dreaming state where every small noise pulled her back to the surface. This was different.
Deep. Quiet. Undisturbed.
When she opened her eyes Saturday morning, sunlight was already filtering softly through her curtains. Her body didn’t feel like it was made of stone. Her chest wasn’t tight.
She lay there for a moment, surprised.
The house was silent — Dad must’ve taken the twins out early or was still asleep — but the quiet didn’t feel oppressive today. It felt spacious.
She rolled out of bed before she could overthink it.
Instead of reaching for her phone, she pulled her art supplies from under her desk and set them up by the window. Canvas propped carefully. Jars of water. Brushes lined up by size. Acrylics laid out in a neat row like a colour spectrum waiting to be disturbed.
Her portfolio deadline was creeping closer.
Today’s subject, written at the top of her sketchbook page in careful handwriting, read:
Something That Makes You Happy.
She stared at the blank canvas.
The prompt felt almost foreign.
Happy.
Not content. Not stable. Not surviving.
Happy.
Her first instinct was the ocean — the upcoming field trip, wind and salt and open space. But that felt borrowed, not fully hers yet.
She dipped her brush in water slowly, watching the bristles darken.
What actually made her happy?
The twins laughing at something ridiculous. The way they still believed in simple things.
Art, obviously. The quiet rhythm of brushstrokes.
Lola — or at least the version of their friendship that felt easy and unbreakable.
Her hand hovered over the paint tubes.
Yellow felt too loud. Pink too artificial. Blue too predictable.
She squeezed out a soft, warm gold instead. Then a muted green. Something alive but not overwhelming.
The first stroke across the canvas felt steady.
She didn’t sketch first. She let the colours move instinctively — loose shapes forming before she consciously decided what they were. A field, maybe. Or light breaking through trees. Something open. Something not confined to four walls and responsibility.
As the paint layered, she realised what she was creating wasn’t a literal scene.
It was a feeling.
Warmth across her shoulders. Laughter in the distance. Space to breathe.
For the first time in days, her mind wasn’t racing ahead to worst-case scenarios. It wasn’t replaying conversations or dissecting glances.
It was just… here.
Brush in hand.
Colour spreading.
And in the quiet morning light, with paint drying slowly under the sun, Amelia felt something she hadn’t felt all week.
Not overwhelming joy.
But a small, steady flicker of it.
Enough.
- Writer
