Lili, Libby, Leo, Rainbow, and Luna were the best of friends. Every weekend, without fail, they gathered in their cozy clubhouse nestled beneath the tall oak tree in the backyard. The clubhouse wasn’t fancy—it had mismatched pillows, string lights that twinkled, and a soft, colorful rug they had named “Cloud”—but it was theirs. And it was where they felt most comfortable. Lili loved to curl up in the corner with a book, her glasses slipping down her nose. Libby brought her knitting and would hum softly as she created tiny scarves for each of her friends. Leo, the artist of the group, sketched in his notebook, occasionally holding it up for them to admire. Rainbow, a parrot with the brightest feathers and the loudest voice, squawked cheerful tunes and told funny stories. And Luna, the sleepy gray cat, stretched out lazily on a windowsill, basking in the warm afternoon sun. Together, they created a world of peace. There was no rush, no worries—just the soft hum of friendship and the simple joy of being themselves. They didn’t need adventures or excitement every day. Sometimes, the greatest joy came from just being together, sipping tea from mismatched mugs, and laughing at Rainbow’s dramatic retellings of their past adventures. It was in that little space—filled with love, light, and laughter—that they felt most alive. Most at home. Most themselves.
