Random thoughts (ONE SHOTS/ENCOUNTERS)

It could've been me.

We were always three—Marcus, Leah, and me, Samantha. They both call me Sam.

From our first scraped knees in third grade to late-night drives during senior year with the windows down and music blasting, we'd always stuck together. Everyone called us "the trio" like we were one organism, inseparable and balanced.

And for the longest time, I thought maybe that's all it was.

Marcus was always the loudest. Charismatic. The kind of guy who made people feel like the center of the universe when he looked at them. He was my best friend—our best friend. Marcus is the type of guy who can be dumb at times. The one who you'd describe that knows how to keep secrets. The truth is, he just has a memory of a goldfish. 

And while Marcus could light up any room with his infectious energy, he had his moments of quiet too. He liked his time alone. One thing people fail to notice. He often loves curling up with a good book or binging on Netflix shows, his sarcastic commentary filling the silence of the room. When he trusts you and lets you into his space, it means something. And that was rare.

Leah was quieter, sharper. She didn't speak unless it mattered, but when she did, we all listened. Her laugh was rare, but it felt like gold when you earned it. She had this way of tilting her head when she was listening that made you feel like your words had weight. And she was beautiful—not in a loud way, but in how her eyes caught the light when she was excited, or the way the freckle just under her right eye darkened when she smiled wide enough.

She hated the taste of cherry candy but loved cherry blossoms. She could never sleep with socks on, no matter how cold it was. She liked her coffee with too much cream and exactly two sugars—Marcus always forgot, so I'd whisper it to him before he ordered. Her favorite color changed every year, but her favorite flower never did—ranunculus.

And me? I was the bridge. The listener. The one who remembered birthdays and brought snacks and made sure no one stayed mad too long.

There's this kind of chaos that only happens when the three of us are in the same room.

Marcus sprawled on the floor, limbs flung like he had no concept of personal space. Leah perched cross-legged on the couch like a queen observing her kingdom, a half-finished mug of tea beside her. I sat on the carpet between them, hugging a pillow to my chest. We were surrounded by pizza boxes, mismatched socks, and the kind of laughter that makes your stomach ache in the best way.

That night smelled like melted cheese, cheap wine, and summer heat.

"I'm telling you," Marcus said, gesturing wildly with a breadstick, "if I had a talk show, it'd be called Unfiltered with Marcus Reyes."

"Oh God," Leah muttered, sipping her tea. "You'd be canceled in five episodes."

"Five? You think you'd last that long, huh?" I grinned.

"Y'all are just jealous of my charisma." He waggled his brows at us.

Marcus was loud. Loud in the way that filled up a room, in the way that made strangers laugh, in the way that you sometimes forgot to breathe around him because he stole all the air. But he had a heart that showed up when it mattered. He forgot birthdays but remembered your favorite snack when you were sad.

Leah was quiet, but never small. Her words came out soft and slow, like she was still choosing them even after speaking. But when she did speak her mind? She didn't flinch. I once saw her call out a professor for being condescending to another student—with nothing but poise and terrifying calm.

And me?

I was the one in between. Not as loud as Marcus, not as still as Leah. I lived in the pauses. Observing, editing my sentences before they came out, laughing too quickly just to keep the rhythm going. Being around them was like being caught in a current—sometimes I swam, sometimes I let it carry me.