Chapter 4: Nina
Nina had always loved Sundays.
They smelled like pancakes and old books. They sounded like garden birds and the gentle clink of tea cups. But most of all, they meant Elena. Her best friend since kindy. Her partner in chalk art, cloud watching, and late-afternoon adventures through the neighborhood.
This Sunday, though, felt wrong. Like the smell of rain when you forget your umbrella.
Because this Sunday was their last one together.
Elena was moving away.
Not to the next street. Not even to the next suburb. All the way to Wagga Wagga, wherever that even was. Far enough that Nina couldn't just bike over after dinner or sneak notes through their backyard fence.
She sat on the porch steps, fidgeting with the friendship bracelet on her wrist. Blue and orange. One knot for every sleepover, every giggle-fit, every day they'd spent in their shared little world.
Now, the world felt smaller.
Elena arrived a little late, wearing her sunflower backpack and that shy smile that Nina had always loved. She plopped down beside her and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath all morning.
"I brought the journal," Elena said, holding up a thick, sticker-covered notebook. "I thought we could add one last entry."
Nina nodded. Her throat felt tight.
They'd been passing the journal back and forth for months, writing stories, sharing secrets, drawing comics, writing made-up holidays like "No-Socks Day" and "Upside-Down Hour."
Today's page was already titled in Elena's bubbly handwriting:
"The Great Goodbye (Sorta)"
They took turns writing:
Elena: I'm scared to leave but also kind of excited. I don't know anyone in Wagga. But I guess… I'll get to meet new people. I hope they like weird stuff. I hope they laugh too much like we do.
Nina: I don't want you to go. But I want you to be happy. I feel like there's a hole in my chest and it's cold and echoey. But also I think part of me will follow you there. Like… invisible string or something.
They stared at the page for a while.
Elena looked over. "Want to go to the hill?"
Nina nodded again, and they grabbed their bikes, pedaling up the winding path to Big Hill—the place where they'd built fairy homes from twigs, raced leaves in the wind, and made up their own constellations when the sun dipped low.
They sat on the grass in silence. The sky above was soft and pink, like it didn't want to say goodbye either.
"I don't think I've ever not known you," Nina whispered. "Even when we didn't talk yet, I think I still… knew you."
Elena reached over and took her hand. "Me too."
A breeze passed. Leaves danced around them. Nina closed her eyes, trying to hold this moment like a photograph in her mind.
Eventually, they biked back. As they rolled into the driveway, Elena's mum waved from the car, already packed and humming with goodbye.
Elena turned to her. "I have something for you."
She pulled a small envelope from her backpack and handed it to Nina.
Open when you really, really miss me.
Nina clutched it to her chest.
And then they hugged. Not a quick one. A long, squeeze-tight, stay-as-long-as-you-can hug that said everything they hadn't figured out how to say.
Elena climbed into the car, rolled down the window, and shouted, "Invisible string, okay?! I'll feel it too!"
Nina nodded, tears brimming. "Invisible string!"
And then the car pulled away.
The world didn't end. It just got quieter.
Nina stood there until the taillights disappeared. Then she sat on her porch steps again, holding the envelope. Her heart felt heavy, but not broken. Just different.
She looked up at the sky. The same one above Wagga Wagga.
She smiled, pulled out her journal, and started a new page.
"Invisible Strings."
Years had passed.
The friendship bracelet was long gone—lost somewhere between old laundry and time—but Nina still remembered how it felt. Rough, soft, warm. Like a secret you wore on your wrist.
She was older now. Grown up. A bit taller, a bit braver, and a lot quieter than she used to be. She worked part-time at the town library, a cozy little place filled with the smell of dust and ink. It suited her. It gave her space to think. Space to remember.
Sometimes, on soft-weather days, Nina still biked up to Big Hill. She'd sit there, letting the breeze wrap around her like an old friend. She'd watch the clouds drift and wonder if somewhere, under the same sky, Elena was watching too.
They had written a few times in high school. Postcards. A few emails. But life got busy, and Wagga felt farther and farther away. Nina never opened the letter Elena gave her—not yet. It still lived in the back of her journal. A quiet promise, unopened.
Until one day, everything shifted.
She was sorting returned books when the bell above the library door jingled. Nina barely looked up.
"Excuse me," said a voice. "Do you still carry those giant origami books? The ones with the ridiculously complicated dragons?"
Nina's head snapped up.
Elena.
She looked older—her ears were pierced, her fur a little curlier—but her eyes were still the same. Wide, bright, full of unspoken jokes and unbreakable memories.
Nina stared, stunned, as her past walked back into the room.
"Sunflower backpack?" Nina asked, breath catching.
Elena laughed. "Long retired."
They stood for a moment, unsure if they should run toward each other or if the invisible string would do the work for them.
Then they hugged.
Not a kid-hug. An everything-I-missed hug. A you-still-feel-like-home hug.
They spent the afternoon together. Walking through old streets, retracing childhood shadows. They had tea at the café where Nina sometimes wrote. They visited the fence that used to connect their backyards—it was freshly painted, but the gap where they passed notes was still there.
"So…" Elena said, stirring her drink. "Tell me everything."
Nina did. About the library. About her art. About how she still wrote in their journal sometimes, even if the pages were nearly full. She told her about the unopened envelope, and how some part of her had been waiting for this day to read it.
"I kept it too," Elena said, pulling a worn envelope from her bag. "Mine said, Open when you feel far from home. I almost opened it a hundred times."
"Maybe we open them together now?" Nina asked.
So they did.
Nina unfolded the note.
Dear Future Nina,
If you're reading this, it means we made it. We survived the growing up part. I hope you're still weird and kind and overthinking everything like it's a secret puzzle. I hope your skies are still soft and that you never stop watching the clouds. I'll always be tied to you, even if I don't always say it.
•Elena
Elena's hands trembled as she read hers.
Dear Future Elena,
I bet you're doing something brave. You always were, even when you didn't believe it. I hope you still laugh so hard you snort and wear mismatched socks on purpose. You made my world bright. Thank you for being my forever friend.
•Nina
They sat there, in the lull between memory and present, eyes glassy and hearts full.
"I missed you every day," Elena whispered.
Nina smiled. "I never stopped feeling the string."
That night, as the sun dipped behind Big Hill, the two of them sat side by side once again. Not as children. Not quite as adults. Just as Nina and Elena.
And this time, they didn't say goodbye.
They just said, "See you soon."
Kodiwolf321: looks like friends are forever even when you're far apart hope you enjoy this one!