Saturdays were for noise.
At least, they used to be.
Before her diagnosis, before hospital visits became routine, before her bones started to feel older than the calendar said they should. Saturdays had once meant movie marathons, burning rice in the kitchen, loud music and louder laughter.
Today was different.
Today, the noise was back.
And it came in the form of four women with loud voices, bright eyes, and absolutely no sense of boundaries.
---
They spilled into the house like sunlight through open windows — Maya, diane, zinny, and Zara — each one of them hugging Sophie as if she might float away if they didn't hold tight.
"You're so small now!" Maya gasped, touching her waist like she was inspecting a mannequin.
"Excuse you, I'm gracefully delicate," Sophie replied, grinning. "Learn the difference."
Diane dropped her weekend bag on the sofa and kicked off her sandals. "Is this place still standing, or did your aunt finally run off with that deacon from church?"
"She's gone for a conference," Sophie said. "We have the house till Sunday night."
"Perfect," zinny chirped. "That's enough time to destroy her kitchen and make five bad decisions."
"Speak for yourself," Zara yawned, already curling up with a throw pillow. "I came for gossip and burgers."
"You're getting biscuits and water," Sophie teased.
"I hate you."
"Liar."
---
By noon, the living room was full of sounds Sophie hadn't heard in weeks: laughter layered over each other like harmony, slippers sliding across the tiled floor, music spilling out from her tiny Bluetooth speaker.
They cooked lazily, eating more than they served, stealing each other's pancake and calling it love. zinny tried to dance and nearly broke a plate. Maya filmed it. Diane swore vengeance.
It was the kind of chaos Sophie used to call ordinary.
Now, it felt sacred.
---
After lunch, they sprawled across the parlor floor like teenagers again — backs pressed to throw pillows, arms flung over each other, their stomachs full and hearts light.
"So," Maya said, smirking as she sipped from her juice box. "Are we gonna talk about him, or are we gonna pretend Sophie hasn't been seeing a mystery man in a cemetery every week?"
zinny gasped dramatically. "I knew it!"
Zara's eyes snapped open. "Wait. Who?"
Sophie groaned. "He's just a friend."
"Uh-huh," Diane said. "And I'm the Queen of England."
"He's quiet. Thoughtful. That's all."
"That's all?" Maya repeated, raising a brow. "Or do you secretly write his name in your notebook with glitter pens like you did in Grade 10?"
"I will stab you."
"You can barely lift a spoon."
Sophie threw a pillow at her.
---
Eventually, though, they quieted.
The jokes softened. The teasing slowed.
And someone — maybe Zara — asked the real question.
"Do you like him?"
Sophie hesitated.
Then: "Yes. I think I do."
No one said anything.
And then Diane asked the question that knocked the air from the room.
"But would he be worth it?"
---
Sophie looked down at her hands.
"He makes me forget," she said quietly. "Not everything. But just... for a moment, I don't feel like I'm dying. I feel like I'm living. Like I still have something to give."
Zara leaned forward. "Then that's worth something. But Sophie... he's a mystery. And mysteries are exciting until they start hurting."
"What do you know about him?" zinny asked.
"Not enough," Sophie admitted. "But I want to."
Diane shifted. "Then find out. Ask the hard questions. But promise us something."
"Anything."
"Don't give him the rest of your heart unless he's ready to carry it when you can't."
---
That night, after the house had quieted and the girls had fallen asleep in a pile of limbs and pillows in the living room, Sophie climbed the stairs to her attic room.
She lit the small desk lamp and opened her notebook, her fingers already trembling before she began.
---
Dear Future Me,
I don't know what love looks like anymore. But I know what it feels like when he looks at me.
It's not fireworks. It's not violin music or butterflies. It's stillness.
A pause in the noise. A breath I didn't know I'd been holding. A place I might still belong.
The girls asked if he's worth loving. And I don't know the answer. Not yet. But I want to find out.
Not because I'm afraid of the end.
But because I finally want something that makes the ending worth it.
Sincerely,
Sophie, who is maybe, just maybe, beginning to hope again.
---