Goldfish in the Storm

Elena had been running for forty-five minutes when the first lightning cracked open the sky. She didn't stop. The rain started cold and sudden, plastering her hair against her skull, but her feet kept hitting the pavement—thud, thud, thud—a rhythm matching the hollow ache in her chest.

Three weeks ago, Sarah had left. Just like that. No forwarding address, no explanation, only a text message that read *I can't do this anymore* and a plastic bowl containing a single orange goldfish that Elena was now somehow responsible for. The fish, which Elena had sarcastically named Bart, swam in endless circles around his tiny castle, his three-second memory perhaps a blessing.

Her iphone buzzed in her armband. Again. Elena ignored it, as she'd ignored the last thirty-seven messages from Sarah's mother, from their mutual friends, from the colleague who'd found Sarah's resignation letter on the office manager's desk. Everyone wanted to know what Elena had done. As if friendship was a transaction with a clear receipt.

The truth was messier. They'd been building their startup together for two years, running on coffee and ambition and the electric certainty that they were going to change the world. Then Sarah had met someone—investor, mentor, Elena wasn't sure—and suddenly everything they'd built wasn't enough. Or maybe it was never enough.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the familiar turn toward her apartment complex. Elena slowed to a walk, her breath ragged in the wet air. The goldfish food in her pocket was sodden. She'd forgotten to feed him before her run. Again.

Some friend she was, neglecting the one living thing Sarah had left behind.

Her iphone lit up with another notification. Not Sarah. Never Sarah. Just her bank confirming the automatic transfer for their shared workspace lease—Sarah's half now her burden alone.

Elena wiped rain from her face and started walking home. Bart would be waiting. Tomorrow she'd buy him a bigger tank. Tomorrow she'd stop checking her phone every three minutes. Tonight, she'd just feed the fish and watch him swim in his endless loop, envying him his tiny, forgettable world.