F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

vorariya74
Dec 20, 2025
5 min read

I've never tried writing stories, and I've always wanted to write romance.... SO here goes....

She had ordered it of the internet as an impulse buy, because it looked aesthetic, like the one influencers use. Never intending to use it, it lay in a corner of her cupboard buried under the folders and files that she never opened anymore. Perhaps it was serendipity, perhaps she was meant to use it today, or perhaps she had found it because she was cleaning her cupboard (but I like reasons that sound whimsical).

He borrowed his friends bike today, even though he preferred to walk... perhaps because the second book in the series was too tempting a thought to wait. He didn't believe in destiny or serendipity, and he certainly did not believe in love at first sight. Proving his beliefs right once again, it started drizzling lightly. Spurring onwards, all he could think about was how the book would get ruined in the rain, it's bookish scent lost in the petrichor of the first shower of the season.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. gleamed of the cover in bold, rainbow colored lettering across a black background as she turned the cover of the journal. Art had been her solace and colors had been her peace since a while now. What didn't make sense in black and white, in colors, well.... it still didn't make sense... but it looked much prettier. She'd never figured out what to do with the journal, she didn't write, and it wasn't the sketching type of journal... it had lines after all. Inspiration struck. And she started hunting for the jeans she had been wearing.

The librarian groaned as he dripped water all over the doormat. That was around half an hour more of work for her. But she welcomed him with a smile. Book owners can't be rude, you know? He quickly rushed to the right section, honing in on the book he wanted like a moth to the flame. "To All the Boys : P.S. I still love you"..... he tucked it into the inside of his jacket as carefully as possible. Just because he didn't have faith in it, doesn't mean he couldn't appreciate love. Love was beautiful, like the rain drizzling outside. But there was no reason for the librarian to know his views. Girls always seemed to love that he read romance, till they started assuming he was gay, that is.

She hunted the back pocket of her jeans, standing by the washing machine with the lid open. Never would her mother's rush to get clothes into the next batch of laundry make sense to her. There! The handkerchief was wrinkled, slightly stained, but it had dried long back. As she ran back into the bedroom, her thoughts had already started picking out colors, paper textures, folding patters and formats. She brought out her pens, her stationary and the scrap paper folders that she hoarded. THIS. This was where she was supposed to use them. She was right, she could feel it.

The girl behind the counter punched his card thrice before it worked. She quickly wrote the date of entry and return on the card in the book. After insisting over and over that she needed to do this, she had looked him over from head to toe, while he stood there, half wet and embarrassed at his book choice (even though he shouldn't be). She judged openly, while all his chances of dating the cute librarian flew out the window. He never could get the hang of interacting with girls. Maybe he was gay?

She couldn't decide! Ughhhh! Everything looked flat. The brown looked dull but the red was clashing with the blue of the handkerchief. A kind of pastel, ice, baby blue. Pink looked too girly. Purple looked like royalty. Green looked like a garden had sprung out on the page. Maybe she could use a lighter brown paper, sort of beige, crumple it up and give it a vintage letter look?

Goodness no! She was NOT a maiden in the 1940s writing a letter to her husband in the revolution.

After the embarrassing incident at the library he did not know how he would return there again. Right now, however, he just wanted to bury himself in the book. Peter Kavinsky was waiting, ready with instructions on how to be a green flag. Was it less, or more embarrassing that his favorite character was Kitty Song Covey? He couldn't help it. She was a badass, yet. Yeah.... he definitely wasn't gay.....

She put off the decision on colors for later and started folding the handkerchief so the stains of dirty water showed. She needed to document the experience accurately. Capture all the emotions in the moment. She decided to staple it onto the page from the center, so that it sort of hung off the page. It gave it a gallant, gentle manly look. It was definitely given in that sense.

As he rushed on the slick road, he urged his bike (what's my friend's is mine) to go faster. As if to escape from embarrassment, socialization, from people altogether. He never noticed the puddles forming along the deserted road. After all... who had heard of puddles in a drizzling rain?

She decided to keep the background white. It looked innocent that way... just as she had been. And the handkerchief popped against the white background, just like she wanted it to. It would show how the experience had mattered.

Splashhh! Oh no. He'd definitely splashed someone in his hurry. He swore he saw an umbrella...guilt swept in. He slowed down the bike and backed up slowly, preparing himself for some choice swear words....

The staple clicked in a satisfying way, a certainty in the sound. How ironic that the first page of her newly decided junk journal was a dirty handkerchief. It needed meaning, and thus, a caption

When he saw her, she looked shocked.... and dirty (well, that part was his fault). As he got of the bike, surprise started turning into anger and then surprise again. Perhaps she couldn't believe he'd been dumb enough to stop

She searched for a pen color, while thinking of what caption she could write.... nothing seemed adequate, yet witty.....

Blue jeans, white hoodie (oh no).... splattered with mucky brown water. Unable to think of anything he pulled out his savior from his back pocket... a handkerchief.

And then it hit her.... it had been so dumb, so worthless... yet so sweet that it melted her anger immediately. Just those two words that did nothing....

Offering it to her with a meek, puppy eyed expression.... he opened his mouth----

And she wrote....

And he said....

I'm sorry.

Love, Ri.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

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