It was one of those days that started out ordinary but ended up rewriting everything.
We were at the park, a spot we'd all been to hundreds of times — Jamie, Ethan, and me. The sun was warm, the air thick with the scent of fresh grass and blooming flowers. We were goofing around, racing toward the swings, when a group of older kids showed up, their sneers sharp enough to cut through the afternoon calm.
One of them bumped into me hard enough to make me stumble. I caught myself but felt the sting — the kind that's not just physical. I looked around, and Jamie was too far away to notice. But then Ethan was there, his face serious for the first time in a long while.
Without a word, he stepped between me and the bullies. "Back off," he said, his voice low but firm. The bullies hesitated, sizing him up. Ethan's eyes didn't waver. "I'm not asking."
They backed off slowly, muttering under their breath, and Ethan turned back to me with a small, almost shy smile.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded, too surprised to say anything.
That moment — simple, fierce, protective — changed something in me. Suddenly, Ethan wasn't just the loud kid who teased me or the boy who made me laugh. He was someone I could rely on, someone who saw me beyond the little sister tag.
For the first time, I felt my feelings shift, quietly but unmistakably.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the image of Ethan standing up for me replaying in my mind. It wasn't just about protection — it was about the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, the way his voice carried an unspoken promise.
I wasn't ready to say it out loud yet, not even to myself. But deep down, I knew that something had changed forever.