A Gentle Collision

Chapter 17

The sun streamed through the curtains, painting Freen's modest room with a warm glow. She woke up feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time—lightness. The memory of the previous evening’s adventure with Becky lingered in her mind, filling her with a quiet joy. She stretched, her lips curling into a small, stupid smile she couldn’t seem to shake.

It was a rare feeling, and she wasn’t ready to let it go.

The clinking of dishes in the kitchen signaled that her father was already up. Freen’s smile faltered, but she quickly pushed the apprehension aside and got ready for the day. As she stepped into the living room, her father sat at the table, scrolling through his phone. His sharp eyes immediately landed on her.

“What’s with the face?” he asked, his tone edged with suspicion.

“Nothing,” Freen replied quickly, her voice light as she moved to pour herself a glass of water. She kept her back to him, but she knew he was scrutinizing her.

“You’re acting strange,” he muttered, setting his phone down.

Freen tensed, gripping the glass tightly. “Just in a good mood,” she said softly, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Her father grunted, clearly not satisfied with her answer, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he rose from his chair, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. “I’ll be back late,” he called over his shoulder before slamming the door shut behind him.

Freen exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. She glanced at the clock. It was Tuesday, and she had the rest of the day to herself.

Or so she thought.

---

The doorbell rang just past noon, pulling Freen from her quiet reverie. She looked up from the book she was reading, surprised. They didn’t get visitors, not without her father orchestrating it. Confused but oddly hopeful, she set the book down and walked to the door.

As she opened it, her heart leapt.

Becky stood there, her hands casually tucked into her jacket pockets, her expression neutral. But there was something in her eyes—a flicker of determination and familiarity.

“You,” Freen blurted out before she could stop herself, her lips curving into an involuntary smile.

Becky smirked faintly. “Yeah, me. Gonna invite me in or…?”

Freen shook her head, laughing softly. “No, definitely not. Let me guess—you’re here to drag me out again?”

Becky raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Freen hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the empty house. A wave of newfound confidence surged through her. “Let me grab my shoes.”

Minutes later, they were rushing down the street, the cool afternoon breeze tugging at Freen’s hair. She didn’t ask where they were going this time, content to simply follow Becky’s lead.

---

When they reached Becky’s house, Freen paused, taking in the sight of the cozy, well-kept home. It was nothing like hers—bright, welcoming, alive.

“Your house?” Freen asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“Yeah,” Becky said, leading her up the steps. “Come on. My mom’s probably in the kitchen.”

The moment they stepped inside, Freen was hit by the scent of freshly baked bread. Becky’s mother appeared from around the corner, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, you brought a friend!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. “Freen was it?”

“Freen,” she said softly, feeling shy under the woman’s kind gaze.

“Well, Freen, you’re just in time. Becky and I were about to bake a cake. Do you like chocolate?”

Freen nodded, unable to hide her smile. “I do.”

“Perfect! Come on, you can help us.”

Becky groaned. “Mom, you’re gonna scare her off.”

“Nonsense,” her mother said, swatting at Becky playfully. “You could use some help anyway.”

---

The kitchen was a whirlwind of laughter and activity. Freen found herself rolling out dough, mixing batter, and carefully frosting the finished cake. Becky’s mother chattered away, telling stories about Becky’s childhood that made Freen giggle and Becky roll her eyes.

After the cake was set to cool, they moved to the backyard, where Becky’s mother tended to a small garden. She handed Freen a watering can, explaining which plants needed attention while Becky lounged in a chair, pretending to be disinterested but occasionally chiming in with sarcastic comments.

“You have a nice garden,” Freen said, her fingers brushing over the leaves of a tomato plant.

“Thank you, dear,” Becky’s mother replied. “It’s my little haven. Plants are easier to take care of than people sometimes, don’t you think?”

Freen nodded, understanding the sentiment more than she cared to admit.

---

As the afternoon wore on, Becky pulled out a dusty chessboard from the living room.

“Do you even know how to play?” Becky teased, setting up the pieces.

Freen smirked. “You’re about to find out.”

The game was slow and filled with banter. Becky’s competitive streak shone through, but Freen surprised her with a few clever moves. Becky’s mother watched from the kitchen, laughing whenever they got too heated.

For the first time in a long time, Freen felt like she belonged somewhere. The warmth of Becky’s home, the easy camaraderie, the lack of fear—it was intoxicating.

Sitting across from Becky, laughing over a particularly ridiculous move on the chessboard, Freen felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. Longing, maybe. Or gratitude.

Whatever it was, she didn’t want the moment to end.