They sat close, shoulder to shoulder but never tangled. She tucked her knees to her chest and leaned into him, and he'd rest his chin on her hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes they whispered and giggled in corners, and I caught glimpses of doodles on her notebook—hearts and initials and tiny lyrics, drawn with the kind of shy care that only comes at that age, when love is terrifying and thrilling and sacred.
One evening, I passed by the living room and saw them sharing headphones, watching something on his phone. He wasn't even watching the screen; he was watching her watch it, smiling like he'd just discovered something warm in winter. They were indeed in love.

Love wasn't the only thing changing around us. New bonds were forming, ones none of us had planned for but now felt essential.  Beth and August had formed the kind of unexpected friendship that made perfect sense once you saw them together. Where Beth was bold, August was thoughtful; where August hesitated, Beth leapt. They balanced each other, challenged each other. Gave one another space to be exactly who they were without apology.
I think it surprised them both how close they became. How natural it felt.  One day, they told me. Over wine and soft music in our kitchen, Beth announced it with a grin and August followed with a gentle, almost embarrassed smile.
"We're leaving," Beth said.
"For a while," August added quickly.  They were going abroad. No real map, no rigid itinerary—just two women chasing something wild and unfinished. Adventure, stories, silence, healing. Whatever they found along the way.
August needed it. I knew that in my bones. She'd carried too much for too long, grief, longing, the quiet ache of having to stay strong after a heart-wrenching betrayal, and Beth, in her fierce, unfiltered way, was the perfect person to take her hand and say, Let's go.
The morning they left, they sent me a text in our group chat:
Don't wait for life to make sense. Make it meaningful instead O.
 — B & A"
I stood there for a long time, staring at it. Smiling. Crying a little. Missing them already.
My life felt a little emptier without Beth's teasing remarks or August's gentle presence, but it also felt full of the joy of what they were doing. I was proud of them and I knew they'd come back with stories stitched into their laughter. Sun in their hair. New lines on their faces and new light in their eyes.
I missed them. God, I missed them but I was happy for them, too. Fiercely happy.
Then came another pair who decided it was time to go—my parents.
They had been our rock during the hardest months. A quiet, unwavering presence through every storm. When everything was falling apart, they were there—anchoring me with cups of tea, folded laundry, warm meals left on the stove, babysitting, and words I didn't even know I needed to hear until they were said.
My mother was a fortress. She didn't talk much about emotions, but she knew when to hold my hand, when to silently do the dishes beside me, when to show up with a bag of groceries and a knowing look that said, You don't have to be strong right now. I've got you. She was the help I didn't always ask for but always needed. Solid. Fierce. Protective in the quietest ways.
And my dad—my dad was a different kind of comfort. Funny, steady, always lightening the mood when things got too heavy. He had this way of sneaking joy into even the darkest corners. Jokes in the kitchen. Whistling down the hallway. Teaching Jimmy, and Thomas,  how to change a tire while sneaking him bits of life advice in between sarcastic comments. He never made a show of it, but he was always watching. Always ready to step in.