Chapter 5: Weight of laughter (1).

Elena's mind reeled from the kiss, Luca's lips pressing against hers with a familiarity that unlocked something buried deep. As his hands lingered on her waist, a flood of fragmented memories surged forward—hazy at first, then sharpening into vivid clarity. It pulled her back, to a time when life felt simpler, yet laced with the same undercurrent of reluctance and surprise.

*Seven Months ago*

I was sitting in the farthest corner of the school library, tucked away behind a towering shelf of dusty encyclopedias that nobody had touched since the nineties. The chair here was mismatched, the vinyl torn on the arm to reveal the yellow foam inside, but it was my throne. I wore my largest, lightest sweater—a pale, oatmeal-colored knit that hung off one shoulder and swallowed my hands completely. It was my armor, a soft barrier between me and the rest of the world. I had my knees pulled up to the chest, the fabric of my loose jeans bunching around my ankles, and a battered paperback balanced on my knees.

The library was quiet, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the distant, muffled sound of a locker slamming shut in the hallway. I turned a page, the paper crisp under my fingertips, and let the story swallow me whole. I was just getting to the good part when the silence shattered.

"Elena!"

The voice was a sonic boom in the silent building. I jumped, my book slipping from my knees and landing with a dull thud on the carpet. I looked up, heart hammering against my ribs, to see a whirlwind of pink and denim hurtling down the narrow aisle toward me.

Lisa skidded to a halt in front of my study corner, her chest heaving like she’d just run a marathon. Her cheeks were flushed a bright, healthy pink, and her dark curls were bouncing around her shoulders, seemingly possessed of their own energy. She braced her hands on the table, leaning in close, her eyes sparkling with a frantic, manic light.

"Elena! So this is where you're hiding," she gasped, the words rushing out in a breathless tumble. "I have been searching all over the school for you."

I stared at her, my pulse slowly returning to a normal rhythm. I reached down to retrieve my book, brushing a speck of dust from the cover. I didn't stand up. I just looked at her, my expression flat, waiting for the inevitable chaos that always followed in her wake.

"You know this is a library, right?" I muttered, keeping my voice low. I gestured vaguely to the 'Quiet Please' sign hanging on the wall behind her, which she was currently vibrating with energy.

Lisa waved a dismissive hand, flapping it through the air as if she could physically bat my concern away. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Shh, quiet, books, reading, blah blah blah." She rolled her eyes, the movement exaggerated and theatrical. "But that’s not why I’m here. Guess what?"

I didn't guess. I just looked at her. Experience had taught me that guessing with Lisa only encouraged her. I pulled my sleeves down over my knuckles, sinking deeper into the oversized sweater.

Lisa clicked her tongue against her teeth, the sound sharp and impatient. "You’re no fun. You are actually allergic to excitement, I swear." She leaned in closer, invading my personal space with a familiarity that usually annoyed me but, coming from her, felt almost comforting. She smelled like strawberry lip gloss and vanilla shampoo. "Anyway, my birthday’s this Friday."

The words hit me like a warning shot. My eyes narrowed, and I shifted in my chair, the vinyl squeaking under me.

"No, no," I said immediately, shaking my head. The denial was instinctive, a reflex honed over years of friendship. I knew what came next. Lisa’s birthdays weren't just celebrations; they were tactical maneuvers.

Lisa nodded, a slow, deliberate movement that made the curls around her face bounce. Her grin widened, stretching across her face, and there was a wicked glint in her eyes that had nothing to do with the jovial mask she usually wore. It was the look of a predator who had just cornered its prey.

“And as always," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was entirely too loud for a library, "you have to abide by my wishes, my dear friend, It's tradition!’."

I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked at her, horrified. The memories of previous years flooded back—the time I had to wear a neon tutu to the mall, the time I had to ask the hot senior for a pen using a fake British accent. Her wishes were never simple. They were always hardcore, designed to push me far, far outside my comfort zone.

"This is why I don't keep your birthday in mind," I said, my voice tight. "I actively block it out for my own safety."

Lisa threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the metal shelves. It was a full-bodied, joyful sound, the kind of laugh that made other people turn their heads and smile, unaware of the torment she was planning. She looked like a picture of innocence, but I knew better. It was the laugh that always signaled impending mischief, warm yet wicked, drawing me in even as she resisted. 'Oh, come on, El! This one's gonna be epic. I saw the evil little grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked back down at me.

"Oh, come on," she chirped, reaching out to poke my arm through the layers of baggy wool. "It builds character. You love me. You know you do."

I looked at her, sitting there in her bright, fitted top, so full of life and mischief, the complete opposite of my muted, hidden existence. I wanted to be annoyed. I wanted to be angry. But as I looked at her laughing face, the tension in my chest loosened just a fraction. It was terrifying, whatever she was planning. But it was safe, too. It was just Lisa.

The memory began to fade, the edges of the library scene blurring and darkening. As Lisa dragged me toward the library exit, chattering nonstop about her birthday arrival and the plans, Elena felt a strange flutter in her chest—curiosity laced with nerves.