Some friendships can't be explained. They stretch through time like something obvious, natural. Angie and Jessica's had begun in a school hallway, on a rainy day, when two lonely teenagers shared an umbrella far too small for two. Since then, they had never been apart.
Nineteen years of friendship. Nineteen years of secrets, tears, laughter, late-night talks until sunrise. They knew every corner of each other's lives. Angie knew Jessica had an irrational fear of pigeons. Jessica knew Angie ate her cereal without milk — "because the crunch is sacred." They had been through it all: first loves, heartbreaks, graduation, apartment struggles, wild dreams, and hangovers.
That Saturday, like nearly every Saturday since stepping into adulthood, they were seated at their usual café, a cozy spot at the corner of Voltaire Street. Always the same table by the window, always the same waiter with a knowing smile, always the same orders: black coffee for Jessica, ginger tea for Angie.
"Do you remember Mrs. Bellanger?" Jessica asked, stirring her sugar.
Angie burst into laughter — the kind of full, unrestrained laugh that made two women at the next table smile.
"How could I forget? The only history teacher who could make you feel guilty for not reading a six-hundred-page book on Napoleon!"
"And you'd fake cough just so she wouldn't call on you. You were ridiculous!"
They laughed until their stomachs hurt — the kind of laugh that washes away a week's worth of stress, fatigue, and obligations.
Jessica wore a soft beige sweater, her hair tied in a loose bun. Angie, more boho in spirit, wore a floral dress and sun-shaped earrings. Two styles, two souls, one unshakable bond.
"Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without you," Jessica said, looking into Angie's eyes.
Angie sipped her tea, moved.
"We're a duo, girl. We'll grow old and wrinkled together, complaining about our exes and our saggy skin while eating pancakes."
"Lies. You'll still be gorgeous, and I'll be begging you to lend me your miracle creams."
They high-fived like teenagers. Time had never dulled their friendship. It had strengthened it — forged through shared experiences, unconditional support, and unspoken understanding.
After brunch, they strolled through the nearby market. Jessica bought flowers, Angie found a rare vinyl on a dusty old stand. They joked about people rushing by, took terrible selfies, talked about nothing and everything. The world around them faded; it didn't matter.
"We should take a weekend trip. Just the two of us," Jessica suggested as she tucked tulips into her bag.
"Oh yes! Spa, massages, cocktails, nothing to do but eat and sleep?"
"Exactly. And talk like we used to. Like when we dreamed of backpacking through Argentina without a dime."
"We'll do it one day. You'll see."
Jessica nodded, her eyes sparkling.
"With you, I feel like I can do anything."
Sunlight filtered through the trees. The afternoon promised to be gentle. Nothing, absolutely nothing, seemed strong enough to ever shake their bond.