In the soft golden light of a late summer afternoon, Katrina sat on the back porch, her legs tucked under her as she slowly peeled a ripe mango. The sweet, tropical scent filled the warm air, mixing with the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. Her fingers were sticky with juice, but she didn’t mind. With every bite, the mango’s bright orange flesh burst with flavor—rich, tangy, and sun-soaked. The juice dripped down her hand, and she laughed quietly to herself, wiping it on a napkin she barely used. Inside, the house was quiet, except for the faint hum of a ceiling fan. Kendra lay on the couch, curled into a peaceful slumber. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic, the rise and fall of her chest mirroring the calm stillness that had settled over the afternoon. A soft blanket was draped over her shoulders, and her head rested on a well-loved pillow. In sleep, her features looked softer, almost childlike, as if dreams had temporarily lifted the weight of thought from her face. Outside, Katrina watched the world without urgency. She licked the last of the mango from her fingers and glanced through the open door at Kendra. There was something comforting about the contrast between them—one savoring the fullness of the present moment, the other wrapped in quiet rest. The sun shifted lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the porch and through the living room windows. Nothing extraordinary happened that day. But in the stillness—the sweetness of fruit, the hush of sleep—there was a gentle kind of magic. Two sisters, or perhaps just close friends, each caught in her own peaceful moment, unaware of time, content in simplicity.
