Just a Matter of Time

Elisha

I grabbed the keys before Amara could and headed toward the garage, tossing them in my hand as I smirked at her. "I'm driving," I said, opening the driver's side door.

Amara huffed but slid into the passenger seat without much of a fight, already reaching for the radio as soon as she buckled up. "I'm picking the music," she declared, flipping through the stations.

"Of course you are," I mumbled, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye as I started the car. She was already absorbed in finding the perfect song, completely ignoring the fact that I might have an opinion.

We pulled out of the driveway, and I asked, "So what are we grabbing? Your stomach's picky, so I'll leave it up to you."

She tapped her chin, pretending to think hard about it. "Hmm... maybe curry. It's been a while since I've made it, and you always love when I do."

I couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, your curry is good."

Amara flashed a grin, obviously pleased. "Great. So let's get to the store, chop chop!"

As we drove and arrived at the store Amara dashed inside. By the time we pulled up to the store, I knew exactly what was coming. As soon as we walked in, Amara was in full command mode. "Grab a basket," she said, pointing as if I didn't already know the drill.

I gave her a look but did as I was told. "You sure you're not secretly a drill sergeant?" I asked, grabbing the cart and following her through the aisles.

I noticed the way she bossed me around, making a list of ingredients in her head and rattling them off like I was supposed to remember everything. "And don't forget the ginger," she added as an afterthought.

"Yes, ma'am," I teased, shaking my head. I could already see where this was heading—me pushing the cart while she made sure I didn't screw up her grocery plan.

As I followed Amara through the store, I couldn't help but let my eyes linger on her as she moved effortlessly from one aisle to the next. There was something about the way she walked—confident, graceful, like she owned the space around her without even trying. I'd seen it a thousand times. Everything about her seemed to demand my attention.

She tossed a box of spices into the cart with ease, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. I knew that smile. It was the same one she gave when she knew she was in her element. Cooking was her thing, and I admired how something as simple as gathering ingredients brought her joy. I couldn't help but admire how she turned the mundane into something magical.

"Don't forget the garlic," she said over her shoulder, her voice pulling me out of my daze.

"Right. Garlic," I muttered, quickly grabbing it off the shelf. She had this way of grounding me, making the world around us fade away, even when I was trying to focus on anything else but her.

I tried to brush it off as nothing—just the remnants of a crush I'd buried years ago. But the more time I spent around her, the harder it became to convince myself that I wasn't still caught in her orbit. The truth was, I admired everything about her, even the things she didn't seem to notice herself. Like how she bit her lip when she was concentrating, or how her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about.

As we moved through the produce section, I watched her carefully pick out the freshest vegetables, her fingers lightly grazing the leafy greens. It was such a simple act, yet I found myself captivated by it. How could someone be so meticulous and carefree all at once?

"You're awfully quiet today," she remarked, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

I forced a smile, trying to mask the thoughts swirling in my head. "Yeah, just... thinking."

"About what?" she pressed, her curiosity piqued.

You. The word was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. "Just work stuff," I lied, shrugging it off. I couldn't exactly tell her the truth—that every time she smiled, or even just stood next to me, I was reminded of how much I admired her.

She gave me a sympathetic nod, not pushing further, but I could see the warmth in her eyes, the concern that had always been there, even when I didn't deserve it. That was Amara—always caring, always looking out for others. And for a second, I let myself wonder why I never told her.

We reached the spice aisle, and she started grabbing the things she needed, explaining each one with the same enthusiasm I'd grown used to. She talked about cumin and turmeric like they were the keys to unlocking the universe, and I found myself smiling just watching her. She was in her element, and I admired how she could take something so simple and turn it into an art form.

"You think Kim would want some?" she teased, glancing at me with a playful grin.

"Most likely," I replied, though my mind wasn't on the curry. It was on her, and how much I appreciated these little moments with her—moments that I'd never really acknowledged for what they were until recently.

As we approached the checkout, I couldn't shake the thoughts running through my head. The more time I spent with her, the harder it became to deny. We had years of friendship between us, and I couldn't risk throwing that away.

But as she stood there, laughing at some silly joke she'd made, I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was more to us than what we had now. And that thought terrified me more than anything.

For now, though, I'd keep it to myself. After all, she was still my best friend, and maybe that was enough... even if my heart didn't always agree.