Most of the time, I prefer listening over speaking.
Not because I don't have things to say—there's just something comforting about sitting in the background, letting the world happen around you. When I'm quiet, I notice everything. The way Summer chews on her straw when she's thinking. How Andrea's voice always lifts a little when she talks about food. Stephanie's full name gets longer depending on who's teasing her. And Astrid—she sees things through her camera that most people miss with their own eyes.
I think that's why I love plants and animals so much. They don't ask much of you, just care and patience. You don't have to talk to be understood.
I started my morning like I always do, watering the small jungle that is my windowsill garden. Each pot has a name and a story. There's Ivy, the trailing one I saved from the school dumpster in ninth grade, and Basil, who somehow survived despite the frost last winter. They're my quiet companions.
Outside our apartment window, I spotted a stray cat lounging in the sun. She's been around for a few weeks now. I call her Pudding. I don't know why, but it feels right. I always leave out a little bowl of food and sit near her while she eats. She hasn't let me pet her yet—but I think we're getting closer.
Later, I headed to the clubhouse. Our clubhouse. The place we found years ago in middle school, abandoned and forgotten, just like some of the plants I've taken in. But where others saw an empty shell, we saw something special. We cleaned it, filled it with mismatched pillows, artwork, photos, and life. It became ours.
When I arrived, Andrea was already there, singing something by Rihanna and fussing over a tray of pastries. Summer sat on the couch, her ponytail swinging as she texted, and Astrid was quietly sketching something in her book. Stephanie and Stella were arguing—again—but it was the kind of arguing that ends in laughter, not hurt.
I didn't say much when I walked in, just a little wave. That was enough. They smiled, and that's all I needed.
While the others chatted and teased and made the place feel alive in their loud, bright ways, I stepped outside for a moment to check on the small flower bed I had started just behind the clubhouse. Nothing fancy—just a few marigolds, some lavender, and sunflowers that were already starting to stretch toward the sky. I knelt down, pulling a few weeds and patting the soil gently. A butterfly landed near me, and I smiled to myself. Moments like this felt like magic.
A little later, one of the neighborhood dogs wandered over. He's a shaggy golden retriever who doesn't seem to belong to anyone, but always shows up when we're at the clubhouse. I named him Rusty. He flopped down beside me while I scratched behind his ears, his tail thumping the ground in lazy contentment.
Inside, laughter echoed through the open window. I glanced back and saw Andrea handing Stephanie a pastry, Astrid taking a photo of Stella mid-eye-roll, and Summer tossing a pillow at someone out of frame. I stayed outside a bit longer, my hand resting gently on Rusty's back.
Eventually, I came back in, Rusty padding quietly behind me. No one batted an eye—they knew he was part of the crew too. I settled next to the window, sharing popcorn with Stephanie and watching the light fade into a soft gold.
As the sun dipped low, Astrid stood up to take a photo of us all—another snapshot for the wall, another frozen moment of joy.
I didn't say anything. I just smiled and let it all soak in.
Because this—this was everything. The plants, the animals, the friends who never pushed me to be louder than I wanted to be. They let me be exactly who I am.