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The late morning sun warmed their backs as Lucy and Tim ambled down the crowded city sidewalk, fingers loosely tangled in a tentative, comfortable grip. The street buzzed with life—the distant roar of traffic, snippets of conversation from passerby couples and hurried office workers, the occasional clatter of chairs being stacked outside a café nearby. It was one of those moments that felt like a slice of normal, sweet and simple.
Lucy took a long sip from her boba, the straw bobbing in the cup as she savored the cool, sweet liquid and the chewy tapioca pearls beneath. Tim glanced over, curiosity written all over his face.
“So… I gotta ask,” Tim said, eyebrows raised, “what’s the deal with boba? Like, why do you love it so much? It’s just tea with those weird little balls, right?”
Lucy laughed, nearly choking on her drink. She held the cup out toward him, offering a sip. “Here, try it.”
Tim waved his hand, shaking his head with a smirk. “No thanks. I’m good. I’m not ready to commit to chewable drinks yet.”
Lucy rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re missing out. Boba’s not just a drink—it’s an experience.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “An experience, huh? Enlighten me.”
She grinned, warming to the topic. “Okay, first, those tapioca pearls? They’re like tiny bursts of happiness. You sip the sweet, creamy tea, and then BAM—chewy, soft bubbles. It’s this perfect little surprise in every mouthful.”
Tim squinted at her suspiciously. “You’re basically describing candy disguised as a drink.”
Lucy bumped his arm. “It’s an art form, okay? Plus, there are tons of flavors—taro, matcha, brown sugar, classic milk tea. It’s the best thing ever.”
Tim shook his head, amused but still skeptical. “Sounds like a chew toy masquerading as a beverage.”
Lucy laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “One day, you’ll see. And I’ll be here, ready to convert you.”
Her phone buzzed suddenly in her hand, breaking the moment. She glanced down at the screen—Jackson. He was texting, probably asking when they were coming to grab Kojo.
Before Lucy could say anything, a runner, earbuds blasting something far too loud, zipped past them and accidentally collided with her shoulder, jostling her arm violently. The phone slipped from her fingers in slow motion, tumbling end over end toward the pavement.
“Shit!” Lucy gasped, heart leaping into her throat as she watched it hit the ground with a sickening crack.
Tim dropped to his knees beside her, picking up the phone with exaggerated care. The screen was shattered—cracks spiderwebbed across the glass like some kind of fractured ice.
Lucy’s breath hitched, panic bubbling up like bile in her chest. She stared at the phone as if it might suddenly heal itself, but the damage was obvious. “Oh no, no, no. Fuuuuckkkk. My phone’s dead. It’s dead! Like a… a very expensive brick.”
Tim tried to keep his tone light, but he could hear the panic threading through her voice. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll deal with the Great Phone Tragedy tomorrow. For now, Kojo’s waiting. Puppy therapy is way more important.”
Lucy took a shaky breath, squeezing Tim’s hand tightly as if holding on would steady her swirling nerves. “Yeah. Puppy therapy. Sounds like exactly what I need. To distract me from the fact that my life just got about 87% more inconvenient.”
She glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of every passerby watching the drama of the shattered phone. “I mean, how does this even happen? One second I’m texting, next second some oblivious fucking jogger is speeding by like it’s the damn Boston Marathon and I’m just collateral damage.”
Tim grinned. “Well, at least you didn’t drop it in a puddle or—God forbid—a toilet. Could be worse.”
Lucy shot him a look that was half amused, half exasperated. “Thanks for that comforting image. Really needed it.”
They started walking again, the little tension easing between them as Kojo’s excited barking rang out ahead, a bright burst of joy that cut through the chaos.
Tim squeezed her hand again, voice soft but teasing. “See? Nothing to panic about. Broken phone, unscathed puppy, and me—your very patient and understanding dog-sitter slash boba skeptic.”
Lucy laughed, her chest finally unclenching. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait till I have to explain this to my phone plan. They’ll probably want a full forensic report.”
She glanced sideways at Tim with a smirk. “Think you could come with me for moral support? You know, in case I break down crying in the store.”
Tim laughed again, the sound warm and steady. “I’ll bring tissues and a boba education pamphlet. And maybe a hammer. For the phone. You know, to put it out of its misery.”
Lucy shook her head, her smile wide and genuine now. “You’re ridiculous. But I kind of like it.”
They moved forward, fingers still intertwined, the cracked phone tucked safely away, and for a little while, nothing else mattered but the sun on their backs and the easy rhythm of walking together
------------------------------------------------------
By the time they reached Jackson’s apartment building, Lucy had cycled through all five stages of grief over her shattered phone *twice*. She was currently parked somewhere between **bargaining** (“Maybe it’s just the screen, right? Like, just the outer layer?”) and **delusional optimism** (“It’s probably still working on the inside… probably… maybe…”).
Tim rang the buzzer with the quiet patience of a man who’s seen war zones, car chases, and Lucy Chen trying to fix electronics with a glitter pen and good intentions.
Beside him, Lucy clutched her purse like it held the Holy Grail instead of a phone that now looked like modern art made entirely of sadness and glass shards.
“Jackson’s gonna laugh at me,” she muttered, eyes wide and mournful. “He’s gonna take one look and start laughing.”
“He won’t,” Tim said, voice calm. Then, after a beat: “Okay. He *definitely* will. But, like… gently. With love.”
The buzzer buzzed, and they made their way up to the second floor. As soon as they stepped into the hallway, the unmistakable sound of claws scrabbling on hardwood echoed through the door, followed by the kind of excited barking that could only belong to one overly dramatic, deeply spoiled Belgian Malinois.
Lucy’s shoulders relaxed instantly. “Kojo knows we’re here.”
“Or he knows someone’s here,” Tim said, ever the realist.
“Kojo and I have a bond,” Lucy insisted with the confidence of someone who had once fed him half a rotisserie chicken under the table. “He knows.”
Tim knocked twice, and Jackson opened the door wearing a hoodie two sizes too big, sweatpants, and socks that looked like they were fighting about what color they wanted to be. His hair was an enthusiastic mess, and his face screamed *dog dad who’s given up on owning clean furniture*.
“Finally,” he said, stepping aside. “Your furry son has been patrolling the door like it’s his job. Every time someone walks by, it’s like, full alert mode.”
As if summoned, Kojo *launched* himself forward with the unrelenting energy of a dog powered exclusively by chaos and affection. He nearly knocked Lucy off balance as he leapt up, tail wagging hard enough to generate wind.
“Aww, baby, I missed you too,” Lucy cooed, dropping to her knees and letting him slobber all over her cheek like it was the greatest honor of her life.
Tim stepped around them, expertly avoiding a rogue paw to the shin, and gave Jackson a knowing look.
“So,” Jackson said, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “How was your little date night-slash-dog pick-up? Looks like someone’s walking home with more than just fur on her pants.”
Tim tilted his head toward Lucy. “It was going great. And then her phone tried to fly.”
Lucy stood dramatically, holding up the ruined device like Simba in *The Lion King*, only sadder. “It broke. I’m devastated. Be gentle.”
Jackson took it, turning it over with the exaggerated care of someone handling a crime scene.
“Oof. Yeah. That’s… that’s not a crack, that’s a goddamn *shatter*. Did you step on it? Did *Kojo* step on it?”
Lucy gasped, clutching her pearls — metaphorically. “No! Some dumbfuck jogger body-checked me like we were in the final stretch of a triathlon. I was *innocent*. It was *fragile*.”
Jackson snorted. “Okay, drama. Good news is, I can probably get the data off it.”
Tim blinked. “Wait—you can do that?”
Jackson looked personally offended, like Tim had just asked if he knew how to use a toaster.
“Excuse me. I was *born* with a jailbroken iPod in my hand. I fixed Lucy’s MacBook *with a bobby pin* last year.”
Lucy’s eyes lit up like someone had just promised her a lifetime supply of skincare samples.
“So you can save *everything*?” she asked, hope rising like a rom-com soundtrack.
“Let’s not start planning a parade,” Jackson said, already heading to his desk. “But yeah. I’ve got a few tricks.”
Kojo flopped onto the couch like he’d just run a marathon (he hadn’t), tail still thumping happily. Lucy and Tim followed Jackson inside, the broken phone clutched between them like a cursed relic, completely unaware that they were about to unlock a digital vault of **screenshots, text chains, and possibly one truly chaotic video from Vegas**.
And really, wasn’t that the real danger?
--------------------------
Jackson hunched over his laptop like a hacker in a spy movie, Lucy’s shattered phone hooked up to a mess of cables like it was being revived in an emotional tech drama.
“Honestly,” he muttered, fingers flying across the keys, “this is basically life support.”
Lucy sat curled up on the couch beside Tim, her legs tucked underneath her, arms crossed in silent dread. Kojo had claimed Tim’s lap as his throne, sigh-snoring like this was all beneath him.
“If anything humiliating pops up,” Lucy warned, “I’m blaming the jogger, the sidewalk, and the ghost of 2011 me.”
“Aint no escaping now bitch i already found a folder named ‘令人尴尬 DO NOT OPEN,’” Jackson grinned.
Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait—are you serious? Open that shit immediantly"
Lucy groaned into her hands.
“You bet,” Jackson said, tapping a final key. “And *boom*, we’re in.”
The screen flashed, and suddenly the past slapped them in the face.
“Okay, why is the first photo just a cup of boba?” Tim asked, leaning forward.
“It’s not just one,” Jackson said, scrolling. “It’s, like, fifty.”
Lucy peeked through her fingers. “That was *documentary work*. Steph and I were on a quest to find the best boba in Los Angeles.”
Jackson snorted. “Didn’t realize that required a whole *PowerPoint’s* worth of pictures.”
“Every cup had a *vibe,* okay?” Lucy said defensively. “And sometimes… you need three filters to capture the *essence* of taro.”
Tim pointed at one photo. “This one’s literally just your reflection in the lid.”
“That’s called composition, actually.”
Then came the dogs.
“Why are there so many blurry dog pics?” Jackson asked, scrolling through a folder labeled *Pupperazzi.*
“Steph made me stop every time we saw one,” Lucy muttered. “She’d scream *‘DOG!’* like she was spotting a rare bird. It was very jarring.”
“She also screamed ‘SQUIRREL!’ once,” a new voice said from a video, and Jackson clicked before Lucy could stop him.
The screen lit up: teenage Lucy, sprinting down a sidewalk, ponytail bouncing like she was in a very chaotic coming-of-age film.
“STEPH, HURRY UP!” she screamed behind her, breathless.
Off-screen, a voice gasped, “MY ARMS ARE FULL OF BOBA!”
Then the camera tilted wildly and cut off mid-giggle.
Tim’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god. This is a *treasure trove.*”
“Oh no,” Lucy said quietly, sinking further into the couch. “It’s a grave.”
Jackson clicked the next thumbnail before she could interfere.
The scene opened on the two girls in a kitchen, surrounded by flour, chaos, and the look of two people who had *never* read a recipe all the way through.
“YOU PUT SALT INSTEAD OF SUGAR,” Steph shrieked.
Lucy, covered in what looked like a bag of flour exploded near her face, casually licked her finger and said, “Still tastes fine.”
“OH MY GOD YOU’RE BROKEN,” Steph screamed off-screen, right before tripping over something and vanishing from view.
The video cut with a loud *crash* and Jackson *lost it*, sliding halfway out of his chair.
Jackson *cackled.* “Oh. My. God. This is performance art.”
Lucy launched forward. “NOPE. That one was not approved for public viewing!”
Tim wiped tears from his eyes. “Okay, but like… who’s Steph? She’s hilarious.”
Lucy blinked. “Oh fuck i forgot you dont know who Stephanie is.”
Jackson shook his head. “No idea. Should we?”
“She’s my best friend from high school,” Lucy said, “Like, my *ride-or-die* chaos goblin. We did everything together. She lives in New York now, works in theater.”
“Why have you never mentioned her?”Tim asked.
“I dunno,” Lucy shrugged. “We text all the time, but we’re not, like, in each other’s lives the way we used to be. I guess I didn’t think it mattered.”
Jackson turned to her with mock betrayal. “You mean to tell me I’ve gone this long without knowing the *icon* behind the boba archive?”
Tim nodded solemnly. “This is a friendship betrayal.”
Lucy buried her face in Kojo’s fur. “I take it all back. Break the phone. Smash it again.”
Tim leaned closer, brushing her hair gently behind her ear. “Too late. I’ve seen the vault. There’s no going back.”
Jackson grinned at them from the chair. “Just wait till I find the one labeled ‘Stephanie’s Birthday 2010 — DO NOT OPEN.’”
Lucy let out a muffled scream into Kojo’s neck.
Jackson leaned in, squinting at the next thumbnail. “Okay, what is this? A sleepover? A séance?”
Tim smirked. “Or a caffeine intervention?”
He clicked play, and the screen came to life in the soft graininess of an old phone camera — dim lighting, fairy lights strung along a wall, and *Nirvana’s “Come As You Are”* playing faintly in the background like a lo-fi ghost haunting the room.
The camera was propped up somewhere — probably against a stack of books or an empty mug — because it held a perfectly framed, chaotic snapshot of teen girlhood.
Lucy sat cross-legged on the bed, sipping on a cup of matcha and wearing *the baggiest black T-shirt known to mankind* — so oversized it looked like it belonged to a linebacker and had been washed enough times to be classified as a blanket. The hem nearly hit her knees, barely hiding the fact that she was also wearing *tight* black shorts, the kind you only wear when you’re with your best friend and zero boys will see you.
Steph sat behind her, legs folded like a yogi, wearing the *exact* same shorts but paired with a snug white tee that clearly used to belong to a boy and now belonged to her soul. She was twisting Lucy’s hair around a curling wand with the intensity of someone performing minor surgery, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.
Scattered across the floor were **four mismatched mugs of coffee**, in varying stages of consumption, one of which had a spoon still sticking out of it like an antenna.
“Okay, tilt your head,” Steph instructed in the video, tugging gently on Lucy’s ponytail.
Video-Lucy sighed dramatically. “You said you *knew* how to do beach waves.”
“I *do*, you’re just a bad canvas,” Steph fired back, nudging her shoulder with her knee.
“You’re a bad *artist*,” Lucy said, eyes fixed on the camera, smirking. “Also that’s the third cup of coffee you’ve abandoned. Finish one before you open another.”
Steph rolled her eyes. “I need options! This one is black. That one is vanilla. The one in the mug that says ‘Drama Queen’ is mostly milk. And the owl cup has cinnamon and secrets.”
Lucy sighed dramaticaly, "Hurry up you whore."
Real-world Lucy buried her face in her hands. “I cannot believe you people are witnessing this.”
Tim was grinning like a man who just won the jackpot at the emotional intimacy casino. “No, no, this is my favorite one so far.”
“Look at her,” Jackson said, pausing the video mid-frame. Lucy, caught mid-laugh, her hair half-curled, sleeves of her monstrous T-shirt falling off one shoulder. Steph behind her, proudly wielding the curling wand like a weapon. “This is peak millennial-girl nostalgia. You could frame this and sell it at Urban Outfitters.”
Lucy peeked through her fingers. "GOD we were so fucking dumb!”
Jackson, scrubbed forward a few seconds.
Steph had now switched spots, and Lucy was curling *her* hair, tongue sticking out the exact same way.
“I’m gonna burn you,” Video-Lucy warned.
“You always say that.”
“Because you *wiggle,*” Lucy hissed, eyes wide with mock fear. “Stay still. I don’t want to be responsible for third-degree forehead drama.”
Steph snorted. “Babe, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
There was a sudden *sizzle* sound. Both girls screamed. The camera tilted. One of the coffee cups went down like a ship.
The video cut to black.
Tim *lost it.* He doubled over laughing, while Kojo huffed dramatically at all the noise.
“I—*I need more of this,*” Tim wheezed. “You two are *menaces.*”
“I’m deleting all of it,” Lucy declared, even as her cheeks flushed pink. “Deleting. Wiping. Firebombing the cloud.”
Jackson nodded thoughtfully. “So if I, say, emailed it to myself right now…?”
“I *will* tell your dog you’re cheating on him with another Malinois,” Lucy snapped.
Jackson gasped as if he was starring on broadway, "YOU WOULDNT DARE!"
Lucy grinned menecingly "WATCH ME!" she yelled as she jumped of the couch and ran to another room with jackson hot on her tail, screaming incoherant curse words.
Tim chuckled as he watched the girl on the screen, his hand absentmindedly stroking Kojo’s ear. So much had changed since then, and yet… Lucy was still Lucy. Brighter. Stronger. Still full of fire and chaos and heart. He hoped—quietly, selfishly—that she’d never lose that spark. That she’d always stay just the way she was.