Between Us

☆ part eleven ☆

Sophie's pov

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when I woke up, the soft golden light filtering through the curtains of my bedroom. I stretched, the grogginess of sleep slowly fading as I remembered what today held. Lark had asked me to hang out. My heart fluttered, excitement bubbling up and replacing the usual morning haze. It wasn't just any kind of excitement—it was the kind that left me feeling both giddy and a little on edge. After months of being iced out and unsure of where we stood, this felt... huge.

I tossed the covers off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor making me shiver slightly. For a moment, I just sat there, letting the reality of it sink in. Lark had reached out first. She wanted to spend time with me. Did this mean things were finally going back to normal? Or... was it something else entirely? I shook my head, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts threatening to overwhelm me. Instead of overthinking it—though I knew I'd do that anyway—I focused on getting ready.

The first step: finding the perfect outfit. I crossed the room to my closet and yanked the door open, staring at the rows of clothes hanging inside. It wasn't like I didn't have options. I had plenty of options. The problem was that none of them felt quite right. Did I go casual? A cute sundress, maybe? Or would that seem like I was trying too hard? Jeans and a T-shirt? Too plain. Maybe a flowy top with shorts? Or was that too beachy? My mind spun with possibilities, each one dismissed as quickly as it came. I started pulling pieces from the hangers, laying them out on my bed and then immediately deciding they wouldn't work. My room quickly became a war zone of discarded clothing, and I stood in the middle of it, hands on my hips, feeling increasingly frantic.

Why was I overthinking this so much? It was just Lark. My lark. My best friend. The person who had seen me at my absolute worst and still stuck by me—at least until recently. But this wasn't like every other time we'd hung out before. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the distance, the silence, the weird tension that had crept in between us like an uninvited guest. I sighed, sitting on the edge of my bed and running a hand through my hair. What if this was just an attempt to smooth things over? What if Lark felt obligated to hang out with me because she could tell I was upset? My chest tightened at the thought, but I quickly pushed it away. I didn't want to think like that. I wanted to believe this meant something. That Lark missed me as much as I missed her.

I stood up again, determined not to let my insecurities ruin this. I scanned the chaos around me until my eyes landed on a light pink skirt I hadn't worn in ages. It was soft and flowy, hitting just above my knees, and I paired it with an oversized cream-colored sweater that was both cozy and cute. It felt effortless—like me, but still put together.  After slipping into the outfit, I turned to the mirror, smoothing out the fabric and tilting my head as I studied my reflection. It wasn't perfect, but it felt right. Comfortable. I gave myself one last once-over, brushing a few stray hairs back into place and dabbing on a bit of lip balm. My heart was racing, the nerves and excitement swirling together in a way that made it hard to focus.

"Okay," I whispered to myself. "This is fine. You're fine. It's just the beach. It's just Lark."

But it didn't feel like just anything.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, glancing at the time. It was still early, but I couldn't stay cooped up in my room any longer. I needed to keep moving, to distract myself from the endless spiral of overthinking. As I walked out the door, the crisp morning air hit my face, and I couldn't help but smile. Today felt different. It felt like a new beginning.  And as much as I tried to temper my expectations, a part of me couldn't help but hope that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of getting my Lark back.