Three Notifications Left

Maya's iphone lit up with another Instagram notification—her fourth this minute. Her thumb hovered over the screen, ready to doomscroll through perfectly curated lives while her own existence felt like a blooper reel.

"Stop stress-posting," she muttered to herself, though she'd only liked three photos today. The vitamin gummies on her desk—ones her mom swore would fix her "teenage brain fog"—mocked her with their neon orange color. Like happiness came in chewable form.

Her cat, Luna, decided this was the moment to knock over her water bottle. "Seriously?" Maya groaned, grabbing tissues. Luna, being the dramatic queen she was, flicked her tail and pranced away like she'd just performed art.

That's when Barnaby—her family's elderly golden retriever—shuffled in. Unlike Luna's chaos energy, Barnaby was pure peace. He nudged Maya's hand with that wet nose of his, demanding attention. His fur had seen better days, and he moved like his joints were made of rusty hinges, but his eyes still held that goofy golden retriever magic.

"You don't care about filters, do you?" Maya whispered, burying her face in his neck. He smelled like old dog and comfort.

Her phone buzzed again. Someone from school had posted a group photo from Friday's party—the one Maya had skipped because her social battery had died at 7 PM. Of course they all looked flawless. Of course she wasn't tagged.

Barnaby licked her chin. Gross, but also... sweet?

"Whatever." Maya tossed her phone onto her bed. It landed screen-down, which felt like a tiny rebellion. She grabbed Barnaby's leash instead. "Wanna go outside?"

His tail thumped against the floorboard—a metronome of pure joy. No filters needed.

They walked to the park, Luna watching judgmentally from the window. The autumn air bit at Maya's cheeks, but Barnaby didn't care. He sniffed everything like each blade of grass held breaking news. A squirrel? SCANDAL. Another dog's pee mail? EXTRA.

Maya's pocket buzzed. Probably more notifications. More FOMO. More reasons to feel like everyone was living their best life while she was just... existing.

But Barnaby found a stick. A magical, magnificent stick. He pranced around with it like he'd won the lottery.

And Maya laughed. Actually laughed—not the polite social laugh, but the real kind that made her chest hurt.

Her phone could wait. The vitamins could wait. Perfect Instagram feeds could definitely wait. Right now, she had a dog with a stick and fresh air and zero pressure to be anything but herself.

"You're literally the best," she told Barnaby. He wagged his whole body in agreement.

Sometimes, the simplest things were the only thing that mattered.