Sunday morning arrived soft and slow in Jade's home.
The winter sun filtered through the blinds in long, golden bars across her bedroom floor, warming the hardwood and the rumpled quilt she had pulled up to her chin.
She had slept in, the weekend's quiet stretching luxuriously, no school bell to chase her out of bed.
When her phone began to buzz on the nightstand—Linda's name glowing on the screen with a video call—she reached for it without hesitation, propping herself against the pillows.
The screen lit up with Linda's face: dark curls pulled into a loose ponytail, sunlight pouring through a wide window behind her, the faint sound of distant waves and seagulls drifting in from somewhere off-camera.
"Morning, lazybones," Lin said, grinning.
"Or should I say afternoon? It's almost noon in California, right?"
Jade laughed quietly, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Blame the weekend. No school means no reason to set an alarm."
Linda leaned closer to the camera, chin resting on her hand.
"Spill. How's everything back home this week? Any drama? Any cute disasters I need to know about?"
Jade drew her knees up under the blanket and leaned against the headboard.
She had meant to give the usual rundown—classes, the rain that had soaked them under the awning, her parents' endless pancake mornings—but the words that came out were different, softer.
"It's been… good," she started.
"Really good, actually. There's this new girl in my class. Her name's Rose.
She transferred in a few weeks ago.
She's Quiet , loves books.
We've been sitting together in the library at lunch."
Linda's eyebrows rose slowly, a knowing smile already forming.
"Library at lunch? You? The girl who used to eat outside with headphones on so nobody would bother you?"
Jade felt heat rise in her cheeks.
"It's not like that. We just… read. And talk sometimes. She's easy to be around. Doesn't fill every silence with words."
Linda tilted her head, studying Jade through the screen.
"Go on."
Jade hesitated, then kept going without quite meaning to.
"She's gentle. Really gentle.
The way she turns pages, or listens when I play something on guitar.
We went to the music room after school on Wednesday.
I played her this melody I've been messing with and she just… closed her eyes and listened. She said it felt safe.
I don't know.
It was nice."
Linda's grin widened, slow and delighted.
"Jade Anderson, are you blushing right now?"
Jade touched her face instinctively.
"No.
It's just warm in here."
"Sure it is."
Linda laughed, soft and warm.
"You're talking about her the way you talk about songs you can't finish.
All dreamy.
All careful."
Jade looked away for a second, toward the window where frost still clung faintly to the edges of the glass despite the California sun.
"I'm not dreamy.
She's just… a friend. A good one.
It's been a while since I had someone who didn't make me feel like I had to perform."
Linda's expression softened, though the teasing light stayed in her eyes.
"Uh-huh.
And does this 'good friend' make your heart do that stupid flip thing when she smiles?
Or when she says your name?
Or when she looks at you like you're the only person in the room?"
Jade opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Her cheeks were definitely burning now.
"She does smile sometimes. Small ones. But real. And yeah… maybe my heart does something. But it's not like that. It's just… nice.
Being around her feels nice."
Linda leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.
"Nice," she repeated, drawing the word out.
"You're so deep in this 'nice' thing you don't even see it.
You're writing songs about her, aren't you?"
Jade's silence answered for her.
She glanced down at the notebook on her nightstand—the one with lines about rain, quiet corners, small gifts kept like treasures.
"Maybe a few lines," she admitted quietly.
"But they're not finished.
They're just… feelings I don't know how to name yet."
Linda's teasing eased into something gentler.
"Hey. That's how it starts sometimes.
You don't have to name it today. Just… let it be. But don't pretend it's nothing, okay?
You're glowing when you talk about her.
I can see it from Los Angeles."
Jade let out a small, embarrassed laugh.
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're in denial.
But it's cute denial."
They talked for a while longer—about Linda's new high school in LA, the palm trees she still wasn't used to, the way the ocean looked at sunset from her new neighborhood.
But even as they laughed and caught up on small things, Jade's thoughts kept drifting back to Rose.
To the way she had said I'm glad that friend is you.
To the pressed flower bookmark now living between the pages of her book.
When the call ended, Jade sat with her phone in her lap for a long minute.
The room was quiet again.
Sunlight had strengthened, warming the frost into tiny droplets that slid slowly down the glass.
She opened her notebook.
Read the lines she had written the day before.
Then, almost without deciding, she added one more:
Your name in someone else's mouth sounds different now.
Softer.
Like it belongs to me too.
She stared at the words and closed the cover.
Still did not give the feeling a name.
But she let it stay—warm, quiet, growing—like the slow melt of frost under a California winter sun.