Ann and Melissa, inseparable since kindergarten, sat side by side on the grassy hill overlooking the city. The sun dipped low, casting a warm glow on their faces. They were more than friends—they were soulmates, the kind who finished each other's sentences and shared secrets only whispered to the wind.
"Look," Melissa said, pointing at the sky. "That cloud—it's shaped like a dragon."
Ann squinted, her laughter bubbling up. "More like a clumsy seahorse."
They lay back, hands tucked behind their heads. The clouds drifted, morphing into creatures, memories, and dreams.
"Do you remember our treehouse?" Melissa asked, her voice wistful. "The one we built with Dad's old planks?"
Ann nodded. "Our secret hideaway. We'd sit there, sipping lemonade, and talk about life."
Melissa's eyes softened. "You were my refuge, Ann. When Mom left, you held my hand through the storms."
"And you," Ann whispered, "you taught me to dance in the rain."
They fell silent, watching the sky shift. The world blurred—the hospital walls, the IV tubes. Melissa was sick, her laughter now a fragile echo.
"Ann," Melissa said, "promise me something."
"Anything," Ann replied.
"When I'm gone," Melissa said, "keep watching the clouds. Find shapes, tell stories. Remember us."
Tears welled in Ann's eyes. "I can't lose you."
Melissa squeezed her hand. "You won't. We'll be like those clouds—ever-changing, but always connected."
They lay there, the sun slipping away. Ann traced imaginary lines in the sky—a heart, a butterfly, Melissa's smile.
"Remember our pact?" Melissa whispered. "To chase adventures, even when life gets tough."
Ann nodded. "We'll find new constellations, Melissa. You and me."
And so, as the stars emerged, Ann promised to keep watching. She'd see dragons, seahorses, and Melissa's spirit soaring.
Because love wasn't just about holding hands—it was about lifting each other toward the sky.
