Beverly stared at her phone, the faint glow illuminating her face as the last rays of sunlight filtered through her window. Joanna’s message danced on the screen, simple but brimming with invitation:

“Hey Bev, Angele and I are going stargazing tonight at the park. We’d love for you to join us if you’re free. Bring a blanket and some snacks to share!”

Her chest tightened with an odd mix of joy and trepidation. The thought of spending the evening with Angele and Joanna beneath the vast night sky thrilled her in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Yet the pull she felt toward them—a magnetic, unspoken connection—was tinged with uncertainty. Was this an innocent gathering among neighbors, or did the undercurrents she felt coursing between them hint at something more?

Pushing aside her doubts, she tapped out a reply, her fingers moving faster than her second-guessing thoughts. “Sounds great! I’ll bring some cookies. See you at 8!”

By the time she arrived at the park, the sky had transformed into a watercolor masterpiece, streaked with fiery oranges melting into soft indigos. She spotted Angele and Joanna on a grassy knoll, silhouetted by the waning light. They were a tableau of effortless connection—Angele reclining on an oversized blanket, her auburn hair catching the last blush of sunset, while Joanna rummaged through a picnic basket, her laughter carrying on the cool evening breeze.

“Perfect timing!” Angele’s voice rang out, warm and inviting. She gestured for Beverly to join them.

Joanna looked up and smiled, offering a wine glass filled with ruby-red liquid. “Glad you could make it. I hope you’re ready for the best stargazing spot in the city.”

“Absolutely,” Beverly replied, her voice soft but eager. She spread her blanket beside theirs and settled in, the cool grass beneath her a grounding contrast to the electricity thrumming in her veins.

As twilight gave way to darkness, the first stars emerged, faint at first but soon multiplying in breathtaking clusters. Beverly tilted her head back, her eyes tracing the constellations. The world seemed to shrink, leaving only the three of them and the infinite sky.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Joanna’s voice broke the silence, her tone reverent. She lay stretched out beside Beverly, her head resting on her palm. “Every time I look up at the stars, I’m reminded how small we are. It’s humbling, in the best way.”

Beverly nodded, her gaze fixed on the heavens. “It’s strange. Looking up, I feel both insignificant and… connected. Like I’m part of something vast and unknowable.”

Angele, who had been lying back with her hands behind her head, turned to them with a grin. “That’s the magic of it, isn’t it? The stars hold so many stories—some we know, and some we’ll never understand. That mystery… it’s what inspires my art.”

“What do you mean?” Beverly asked, curious.

Angele propped herself up on one elbow, her green eyes catching the faint starlight. “When I paint, I think about the universe—how chaotic and unpredictable it is. I try to capture a fraction of that energy on canvas. It’s messy, but it feels real.”

Joanna chuckled. “Her studio looks like a supernova exploded in it. Paint everywhere.”

“Art’s not meant to be tidy,” Angele quipped, nudging Joanna playfully.

The banter between them was easy and unforced, but Beverly couldn’t ignore the way their touches lingered, the unspoken language that passed between them. She felt both like an intruder and an honored guest, caught in the gravitational pull of their world.

As the night deepened, their conversation turned to dreams and fears. Joanna spoke of her travels, weaving vivid tales of mountain peaks kissed by clouds and bustling markets steeped in spice-scented air. Angele shared her hopes for her next gallery show, her voice tinged with both excitement and vulnerability.

When the conversation circled to Beverly, she hesitated, her words faltering like a flickering flame. “I… I’ve always dreamed of writing something that matters. Something people connect with. But sometimes, it feels like I’m just shouting into the void.”

Angele placed a hand on Beverly’s knee, her touch grounding. “Your voice matters, Beverly. Never doubt that.”

Joanna’s smile was soft but certain. “And shouting into the void? That’s how stars are born.”

The warmth of their presence enveloped Beverly, a balm to the raw edges of her self-doubt. She lay back, her head resting against Angele’s shoulder, while Joanna’s fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her arm. Together, they watched as a meteor streaked across the sky, its brief brilliance a testament to fleeting beauty.

Beverly exhaled slowly and allowed herself to simply be—to exist in the moment, unburdened by the weight of her questions.

As the night stretched on, the stars seemed to whisper promises of wonder and possibility. And Beverly dared to believe them.

Not. The. End.