Vyre and Seth were only seven years old when they made a promise that would shape the rest of their lives.
The afternoon sun poured golden light over Vyre's backyard, casting long shadows of the two boys sprawled out on the grassy garden. The scent of cut grass hung gently in the warm air, and the distant hum of summer insects buzzed lazily around them. The world was simple here—filled with sky, sunlight, and the sound of their laughter echoing across the lawn.
Seth turned on his side, propping his head up with one hand. "Do you think clouds ever get tired of floating?"
Vyre blinked at him, then burst out laughing. "What kind of question is that?"
"I don't know," Seth shrugged, grinning. "Just thought about it. Like... they float all day. Maybe they want to sit down too."
"They don't have legs, dummy."
"Exactly! Must be exhausting."
Both boys laughed again, their voices lifting into the sky as if the clouds themselves were listening in amusement. After a few more minutes of silly questions—like whether ants had best friends too or if the sun ever got jealous of the moon—they finally fell quiet. It wasn't awkward. It was a soft, peaceful silence, like the world paused just for them.
Seth broke the stillness with a quiet voice. "Let's promise something."
Vyre turned his head. "What?"
"That we'll always be best friends. No matter what. Even when we're old and boring and have beards."
Vyre scrunched his nose. "Ew. I'm not gonna have a beard."
"You might."
"Gross. But... okay. Promise."
They reached out, pinky fingers locking together in the sunlight like some sacred ceremony. "Pinky swear," Vyre said seriously.
"Pinky swear," Seth repeated with a nod.
Not long after, Vyre's mother called from the house. "Vyre! Lunchtime!"
Vyre groaned, lifting himself lazily from the grass. "Moooom, can Seth eat with us?"
There was a short pause before his mom replied, "Of course, sweetheart. He's always welcome here."
Vyre turned back to Seth with a grin. "She said yes! Come on!"
Inside, the kitchen smelled of warm rice and fried chicken, the kind that made your mouth water even before you sat down. Seth took the usual spot beside Vyre. He'd been over so many times that Vyre's parents didn't even treat him like a guest anymore.
As they ate, Vyre's father cleared his throat and looked at his son. "Vyre. We've been thinking... How would you feel about moving abroad?"
Vyre's chopsticks froze mid-air. "Huh?"
Seth looked up too, eyes wide.
"We've been offered a great opportunity overseas," his father explained. "It's a better future, and—"
"I don't wanna go." Vyre's voice came out quickly, almost panicked.
His father's brow furrowed. "We haven't even explained—"
"I don't care! I don't wanna leave Seth!"
Seth looked between them, unsure what to say, mouth slightly open.
"Can't I just stay here?" Vyre asked desperately. "With Grandma or Auntie May? Or... or Seth's family?"
His father sighed, setting his utensils down. "Vyre. This isn't a sleepover. We're talking about a future here."
"But Seth's my future too!" Vyre shouted, standing up.
His mother gently touched her husband's arm. "Let him breathe, darling. He's too young to understand everything now. Maybe... maybe give him some time to think?"
Vyre didn't wait. He grabbed Seth's hand. "Come on!"
Seth stumbled out of his chair, barely grabbing his shoes as Vyre pulled him out the front door. The world outside felt bigger now—heavier. The sunlight wasn't as warm anymore.
They ran without speaking until they reached the park, slowing to a walk once they reached the familiar path between the old swings and the sandbox. Their hands stayed linked, fingers curled together as if afraid the world might tear them apart if they let go.
Seth finally spoke. "Why don't you wanna go?"
Vyre stopped walking and turned to face him. "Are you dumb?"
Seth flinched, confused. "What?"
"I said—are you dumb?" Vyre's voice cracked. "You really want me to leave you?"
"No! But it's not like I can stop you..."
"I can stop me." Vyre looked like he might cry. "I don't wanna wake up and not see you. I don't wanna eat lunch and not have you beside me. I don't wanna laugh without you or sleep without you telling me your dumb cloud theories."
Seth stayed quiet, the corners of his eyes stinging.
"I don't care about abroad," Vyre said. "I just want here. You're my best friend. You're my only friend."
Seth stepped closer. "Then let's promise again."
"What kind of promise?"
"That we'll never leave each other. Even if the world tries to pull us apart."
They held out their pinkies again, fingers trembling slightly this time.
"Promise," Vyre whispered.
"Promise," Seth echoed.
The wind picked up gently, blowing through their hair as they sealed it. They sat down on the nearest bench, the sky above them soft with dusk, painting the clouds in shades of pink and orange.
In that moment, they didn't need to understand what "abroad" meant or how the future might try to change everything. All they knew was this—this summer evening, this bench, this bond between them.
They were only seven. But sometimes, even at that age, a heart knows when it's found something too precious to lose.
And so the first of many promises was made—not just by pinky, not just by words, but deep inside the kind
of love that starts in childhood and quietly, without anyone realizing, begins to bloom into something more.