The Fog Between Worlds
The trees along Miller's Creek have started their slow burn into October, and Lila walks beneath them with her hands buried in the pockets of her cardigan, watching her breath fog faintly in the cooling air. Sophie strides beside her, kicking through a drift of fallen leaves with the careless joy of someone who has never once questioned whether her heart works the way it should.
"He texted me eleven times," Sophie says, holding up her phone like evidence in a trial only she finds thrilling. "Eleven, Lila. Who does that? Who sends eleven texts about a sunset?"
"Someone who really likes sunsets, apparently."
"Someone who really likes *me*." Sophie spins on her heel, walking backward so she can watch Lila's face, her dark curls bouncing with the motion. "You should have seen him. He got this look — like he forgot how to form sentences. I swear his ears went red."
"That sounds uncomfortable."
"It was *adorable*." Sophie laughs, then narrows her eyes, studying her friend with the particular scrutiny she reserves for moments she suspects Lila is hiding something. "Why do you always say things like that? Like love is a symptom instead of a feeling."
Lila shrugs, watching the path…
