I had some help

Fifty-two

Alex sat cross-legged on the floor of Michael and Caleigh's living room, her notebook resting in her lap. The house was silent, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. In the kitchen, Caleigh busied herself with making tea. Michael sat beside her on the couch, his guitar perched across his knees, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, weaving a quiet melody.

Alex tapped her pen against the notebook's edge, her mind full yet scattered. The words she sought hovered just beyond reach, floating at the edges of her thoughts but refusing to settle onto the page. She let out a slow breath, trying to focus. Michael caught her eye, his gaze steady and patient.

She glanced down at the rough lines she'd already written, the beginnings of something raw, something tangled. It was about friendship-or at least, the kind of friendship people often claimed to have. But this was more complicated. Much more.

"They don't cancel other plans." She murmured, almost to herself, as her pen skimmed across the page. Her hand moved faster now, the words pouring out. "Have conversations with nothing but their eyes."

Michael gave her a soft nod of encouragement, his fingers shifting into a slow, thoughtful melody. He didn't ask her what it was about, and Alex appreciated that. He had always been good at knowing when to let her process things without interruption.

Her pen scratched across the paper again. "They don't hear each other's names and forget to concentrate."

The lyrics were spilling out now, faster and more urgent, each line tugging at something buried deep within her. She didn't pause to consider why these words felt so personal. She knew, but she wasn't ready to face it yet.

"Hits a nerve and lights you up like dynamite." She wrote, feeling the weight of those words more than thinking them.

Michael kept playing, his melody wrapping around her, cocooning her in its soft sound. It made it easier to let the words flow.

"Friends don't call you in the middle of the night," She sang quietly, her voice barely rising above the music, yet clear and steady. "Couldn't even tell you why, they just felt like saying hi."

Michael's lips curved into a smile as he caught her rhythm, his fingers dancing lightly over the strings. "That's good." He said softly, his voice low. He didn't say anything more, letting her continue.

"Friends don't stand around, playing with their keys," Alex's voice grew stronger as the song began to take shape, her confidence building with each line. "Finding reasons not to leave, trying to hide their chemistry."

The words felt real-too real, like they'd been trapped inside her for too long. She scribbled them down quickly, afraid that if she paused, they might slip away.

"Drive a little too slow, take the long way home." She hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of her own words settle over her like a heavy blanket. But she kept writing.

Michael stopped playing, watching her closely. He could tell something deeper was stirring within her, something beyond just the song. But he didn't ask-he didn't need to.

Alex didn't look up, just kept writing. "Get a little too close. We do, but friends don't."

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with the unspoken truths her lyrics carried. She leaned back against the couch, staring at the page, reading over the lines she'd written. With every word, the knot in her chest tightened.