Autumn rolled gently into Elm Street, washing the trees in shades of gold and amber. The once-green lawns shimmered with fallen leaves, and the scent of rain clung to the air. Life moved on quietly—but for Jay and Racheal, everything felt subtly different.
Their friendship had deepened over the months. What started as small talk beneath a streetlight had turned into shared moments—movie nights, bike rides, long conversations about everything and nothing. They had grown comfortable in each other's presence, bound by a rhythm neither of them could name.
Everyone noticed.
At the local coffee shop, people saw them laughing together over cups of steaming lattes. In the evenings, they'd walk down to the park, teasing each other over who could spot constellations first. It was clear to anyone watching that something was there, something fragile and unspoken.
But neither dared to call it love.
Jay told himself it was better this way. He was the kind of guy who drifted—music, gigs, late nights, the rush of applause. He wasn't built for love. Or at least, that's what he thought. Yet when Racheal smiled, it felt like the world paused long enough for him to forget every excuse he'd ever made.
For Racheal, Jay had become something more than just a neighbor. He was her calm and her chaos at once—steady when she needed support, unpredictable when she needed laughter. He made her see life as something that could be exciting again. But he never said how he felt, and she was too afraid to ask.
So, they stayed as they were—best friends, not lovers.
---
One late afternoon, they sat at the edge of the park, watching the sky melt into a soft pink. Jay tossed a pebble into the pond, breaking the water's reflection into ripples.
"Do you ever think about where we'll be in five years?" Racheal asked, her voice gentle, almost hesitant.
Jay smirked. "Hopefully still alive. Maybe rich, if our band ever makes it."
She laughed softly. "You're impossible."
"I mean it," he said, grinning. "Music's all I've got. If I'm lucky, I'll be touring. Living out of a suitcase, sleeping in buses, maybe even signing autographs."
"And what about love?" she asked quietly.
He hesitated. "Love?"
"Yeah. You know, relationships. Someone to share all that with."
Jay's jaw tightened slightly. "I don't really think about that stuff. Never ends well."
Racheal looked down, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "You've never been in love?"
"Not really," he said, throwing another pebble. "I've dated, sure, but it was never… real. Music's easier. You can control it. Feelings—you can't."
Racheal forced a small smile. "You might be surprised someday."
Jay looked at her, curious. "You think so?"
"I know so," she said softly.
For a moment, they held each other's gaze, the air thick with something neither could define. Then Racheal looked away, afraid that if she didn't, she might say too much.
---
As the weeks passed, their friendship grew stronger. Jay started visiting Racheal's house more often. Her parents liked him—they thought he was polite, a little quiet, but good-hearted. Racheal's mother even joked that he was "part of the family now."
They spent lazy afternoons together—Racheal sketching while Jay strummed his guitar. Sometimes, he'd ask her for opinions on lyrics; other times, he'd just watch her draw in silence, admiring the way her brow furrowed in concentration.
One afternoon, Racheal showed him a new sketch she'd done—two silhouettes standing under a streetlight, their hands almost touching but not quite.
Jay studied it, smiling. "That's beautiful. What's it about?"
She hesitated. "About… people who want to be together but can't find the courage to say it."
He looked up. "Sounds sad."
"Maybe," she said softly. "But it's honest."
Jay didn't know what to say. Instead, he picked up his drumsticks from the coffee table, twirling them absentmindedly. "You're really talented, Racheal. You should show these to people."
"I'm not sure they'd care," she replied.
"I do," he said quietly.
The room fell silent for a moment, the air between them pulsing with unspoken words.
---
One rainy evening, Racheal stopped by Jay's house with a tray of cookies. "My mom insisted I share these," she said, smiling as water dripped from her hair.
Jay laughed, stepping aside. "Come in before you melt."
They sat together in the living room, the soft patter of rain against the window filling the silence. Jay's guitar leaned against the couch, and Racheal's curiosity got the better of her.
"Play something," she said.
He hesitated. "Now?"
"Please. Just one song."
Jay sighed, pretending to protest, but he picked up the guitar anyway. His fingers moved over the strings, and soon the room filled with a gentle melody—something raw, simple, beautiful.
"What's it called?" Racheal asked when he stopped.
He looked at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Doesn't have a name yet."
"It's lovely," she whispered.
"Maybe you should name it," he said.
Racheal thought for a moment, her eyes distant. "How about Almost?"
Jay blinked. "Almost?"
She nodded. "Because it sounds like something unfinished… something waiting for the right ending."
Jay's heart gave a strange twist at her words. He wanted to say that maybe they were almost something too—but he didn't. Instead, he laughed lightly, breaking the tension.
"Almost it is."
---
That night, after she left, Jay sat alone with his thoughts. He stared at the empty couch where Racheal had been sitting, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't name.
He thought about the way she laughed, the way she always believed in him even when he didn't. He thought about how her eyes softened when she looked at him, and how her presence felt like home.
And yet, every time he tried to imagine crossing that line, something stopped him—fear, maybe, or the belief that he wasn't ready to love anyone the way she deserved.
From her window across the street, Racheal sat too, sketching again. This time, she drew a boy and a girl sitting in the rain, a guitar between them, smiles half-hidden.
In her heart, she already knew the truth she couldn't say out loud.
They were more than friends.
But less than lovers.
For now.