The Way Things Change

The Christmas Lights

The air had that crisp, winter chill to it as December settled over the town. Christmas lights blinked from every other house, wreaths and decorations lining the streets. It was the kind of winter where the sky was a pale gray for days, with the promise of snow hanging in the clouds. Winter break had officially started, and everything felt a little slower, like the world was pausing for the holidays.

Betty and I had fallen into a comfortable routine by then, hanging out after school, texting late into the night. It felt like we were past the fragile stage, though things were still different—less spontaneous, more deliberate. We were learning how to balance our history with the present.

One evening, after dinner, I was lounging in my room when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Betty.

Hey, are you free tonight?

I didn't hesitate before replying. Yeah, what's up?

A few moments later, another text came through. Wanna come see the Christmas lights with me?

It wasn't the kind of thing we used to do, but that was the point—we were finding new ways to be around each other, and this felt like another small step forward.

I quickly texted back. Sure! When?

Now? Meet me by the park?

I smiled to myself as I grabbed my coat and headed downstairs. My parents were sitting in the living room, sipping hot cocoa and watching some Christmas movie.

"I'm heading out," I said, slipping on my boots by the door.

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Going to see Betty?"

I nodded, trying to hide the grin spreading across my face. "Yeah, just gonna check out the Christmas lights."

Dad chuckled from his seat. "That sounds festive. Have fun, kiddo."

I waved goodbye and stepped out into the cold night, my breath visible in the air as I walked down the familiar streets toward the park. The town had done a good job with the decorations this year—trees lined with twinkling lights, windows lit up with glowing wreaths and garlands. It felt magical, like something out of a Christmas card.

When I reached the park, I saw Betty standing under the large oak tree where we'd had so many conversations. She was bundled up in a thick coat, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. She smiled when she saw me, and I felt that familiar warmth spread through my chest.

"Hey," I said, walking up to her. "This was a good idea."

She grinned. "I thought it might be fun. I love seeing all the lights."

We started walking down the main street, which had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Lights hung in perfect arcs above the road, and each tree was decorated with glittering ornaments. Families strolled by, kids tugging on their parents' hands to point out different displays.

Betty and I walked side by side, talking about everything and nothing. It was easy, the way we had settled into this new version of ourselves. There was still a quiet undercurrent between us—something unspoken but present, a sense that maybe, just maybe, we were on the brink of becoming something more again.

As we walked, Betty glanced up at the twinkling lights and smiled. "Do you remember that Christmas when we were kids, and our families went to that tree farm together?"

I nodded, laughing at the memory. "Yeah, and we got into that snowball fight? I think I still have a scar from when I tripped and fell into that frozen puddle."

Betty giggled, shaking her head. "You were so dramatic about it."

"Hey, it was a serious fall! I was practically limping for a week."

"You were limping for an hour, max," she teased, bumping her shoulder against mine.

We continued walking, the conversation flowing easily, like we'd known each other forever—which, I supposed, we had. It felt good, being around her like this. Normal, even. Like the worst of what we'd been through was behind us.

After a while, we found ourselves at the town square, where the big Christmas tree stood, towering over the fountain. It was covered in twinkling lights and ornaments, the star on top glowing brightly against the dark sky.

Betty stopped in front of the tree, gazing up at it with a soft smile. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah," I agreed, though my eyes were more on her than the tree. There was something about the way the lights reflected in her eyes, the peaceful expression on her face, that made my chest tighten.

For a long moment, we stood in comfortable silence, the soft sounds of Christmas carols playing in the background, families bustling around the square. The air felt charged, like something was waiting to happen.

And then, without really thinking, I spoke. "Betty, can I ask you something?"

She turned to look at me, her expression curious. "Sure."

I hesitated for a second, the question catching in my throat. But I had to ask—I had to know where we stood, even if the answer wasn't what I hoped for.

"Do you think... do you think we'll ever get back to what we were? Before everything happened?"

Her eyes searched mine for a moment, and I could see the flicker of uncertainty there, the way she was still carefully considering her answer. But after a long pause, she sighed softly, her breath visible in the cold air.

"I don't know if we'll ever be what we were," she said quietly. "But maybe that's a good thing."

I frowned, not sure where she was going with this. "What do you mean?"

She turned back to the tree, her voice soft but steady. "We've changed, James. We've been through things that... that have made us different. I don't think we can go back to the way things were before, but I do think we can move forward."

I felt a knot loosen in my chest at her words. It wasn't the answer I'd expected, but in some ways, it was better. We couldn't undo the past, but we could build something new—something stronger.

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "I think you're right. I don't want to go back, anyway. I want to figure out what we can be now."

She smiled at me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like we were on the same page. There was no pressure, no rush to define what we were. We were just two people, figuring it out, and that was enough.

As we stood there, surrounded by the glow of the Christmas lights, I felt a quiet sense of hope. Maybe we wouldn't be the same as we were before, but maybe that didn't matter. Maybe we were becoming something better.