Zombies at 3 AM

Maya flopped onto my bed, faceplanting into my pillow with the dramatic flair only a best friend could pull off at 2:47 AM.

"I'm actually a zombie now," she groaned, voice muffled by my duvet. "Like, clinically dead. My brain has left the chat."

"You literally said you weren't tired forty minutes ago," I laughed, scrolling through my phone even though my eyes burned. "We've been watching Netflix since nine. How are you not asleep?"

She rolled over, hair everywhere, grinning despite herself. "Because sleep is for the weak, Emma. Also, I can't miss the part where-"

A notification dinged. She grabbed her phone, smile faltering for a split second before recovering.

I noticed, obviously. I'd been noticing things for weeks now—the way she hesitated before inviting me places, how her other friends from lacrosse kept coming up in conversations, the distance that wasn't physical but felt heavier than actual distance. We'd been inseparable since seventh grade, but something had shifted between us this year, unspoken and aching.

I got up, heading to the kitchen. "You want water?"

"Always."

The house was silent except for the refrigerator's hum. I filled two glasses, watching the **water** ripple in the moonlight spilling through the window. My throat felt tight. It wasn't like I could just ASK her if things were weird between us. That wasn't something we DID.

But maybe that was the problem.

When I returned, Maya was sitting up, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked smaller suddenly, less like the girl who'd dominated our middle school social hierarchy with effortless confidence.

"Em?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Are we... are we good?"

I set the glasses down on my nightstand and sat beside her. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." Her voice cracked. "You've been different lately. And I keep trying to figure out what I did wrong, but I'm scared to ask because I don't want to make it worse if I'm right."

My heart hurt. "Maya, no. You didn't do anything wrong. I've just been... I don't know, feeling like everything's changing this year. And I thought maybe YOU were outgrowing ME."

She stared at me. "What? No. You're my **friend**, Em. You're my PERSON. I was literally just giving you space because I thought YOU needed it."

We looked at each other for a second, then burst out laughing—tired, relieved, slightly hysterical laughter that made my eyes water.

"We're so dumb," she said, wiping her face. "We're actual zombies."

"Agreed." I handed her the **water**. "But we're dumb together."

"Always." She clinked her glass against mine. "To being socially exhausted and emotionally constipated."

"To friendship." I smiled, really smiled, feeling that ache in my chest dissolve. "Even when we're awkward about it."

She yawned, hugely, finally giving in to exhaustion. "Okay, but for real? Sleep now. More feelings later."

"Deal."

As we both finally drifted off in the early morning quiet, I thought about how sometimes the most important conversations happen at 3 AM, when you're too tired to keep up walls and too delirious to overthink. Sometimes you have to feel like a zombie to remember what makes you feel alive.