The sound of a car horn pulled me from my sketchbook—where I’d been adding details to Lila’s yellow dress in the sunset drawing—and I looked up to see Nikos’s old blue car pull into our driveway. Marisol was leaning out the window, waving wildly, and Lila was already running toward them, Shell at her heels, her yellow dress fluttering in the breeze. “Travelling with friends makes fun,” Lila had said a hundred times in the weeks leading up to their visit—and as I watched her hug Marisol tight, I knew she was right.
Nikos climbed out of the car, grinning, and held up a paper bag. “Banana bread,” he said. “Marisol insisted we bring your favorite.” I laughed, taking the bag—still warm—and leading them toward the porch, where lavender plants smelled sweet in the morning air. Shell was already sniffing Marisol’s shoes, her tail wagging, and Marisol knelt down to scratch her ears. “Look at you!” she said. “All grown up since the last time we saw you.” Lila sat on the porch swing, her yellow dress pooling around her, and pulled Marisol down beside her. “We have so much planned,” she said. “Beach picnics, village markets, a day trip to the old lighthouse—oh, and we’re making banana muffins tonight, just like old times.”
The next morning, we packed the car with towels, the six-pack towel (of course), a cooler of banana smoothies, and Shell’s purple leash, and headed to the lighthouse—an hour’s drive from our beach house, perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Nikos drove, singing off-key to Greek folk music, while Marisol flipped through our memory box (we’d brought it along to show them the new seashells and the pressed rose). “You two have been busy,” she said, smiling at the swatch of yellow fabric I’d added. Lila nodded, squeezing my hand. “Travelling with friends makes fun, but coming home to make memories? Even better.”
When we reached the lighthouse, we climbed the stone steps to the top, Shell trotting beside us, and gasped at the view: the ocean stretching out to the horizon, blue and bright, with seagulls circling below. Marisol pulled out her camera, taking photos of Lila in her yellow dress—“You look like a sunflower against the sea,” she said—and Nikos and I leaned against the railing, watching them. “Remember when we first met?” Nikos said, grinning. “You were staring at Lila’s curls so hard you dropped your sketchbook.” I laughed, shaking my head. “And you were trying to impress Marisol with your fishing stories—even though you’d never caught a fish in your life.” He laughed, clapping me on the back. “Travelling with friends makes fun because we get to laugh at the old stuff,” he said. “And make new stuff, too.”
We spread the six-pack towel on the grass below the lighthouse and unpacked our picnic: Nikos’s banana bread, my banana smoothies, and a container of Lila’s famous banana muffins. Shell curled up beside us, munching on a puppy treat, as we talked about the past—Marisol and Nikos’s wedding plans (they were thinking of a small beach ceremony next year), our time at the gym with the ivy bench, the harvest festival where I’d given Lila the red mask. “Remember when you two saved that wilted rose?” Marisol said, pointing to the memory box. Lila nodded, smiling. “We pressed it, just like grandma taught me. It’s in there, with all the other good stuff.”
That evening, we drove back to the beach house, stopping at a village taverna for dinner. We sat outside, under strings of fairy lights, and ordered grilled fish and lemonade, while Shell lay at our feet. Lila was still wearing her yellow dress, and the lights made it glow, like she was lit from within. Marisol raised her glass, grinning. “To friends,” she said. “To travels. To the people who make life sweet.” We clinked our glasses, and I looked at Lila—her curly hair, her bright smile, the way she laughed at Nikos’s jokes—and felt my heart full. Travelling with friends makes fun, but doing it with the person I loved? That was everything.
When we got home, we added a new item to the memory box: a photo of the four of us at the lighthouse, Lila in her yellow dress, Shell sitting at our feet. Marisol wrote on the back: “Travelling with friends makes fun—but travelling with family? Even better.” We hugged them goodnight, and as Lila and I sat on the porch swing, watching the stars, Shell curled up in our laps. “Today was perfect,” Lila said, her head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of lavender and her hair. “It was,” I said. “Because we got to share it with them. Because travelling with friends makes fun—but only if you’re with the right people.”
Love isn’t just about two people. It’s about the friends who become family, the trips that turn into memories, the little moments—like laughing at Nikos’s off-key singing, or sharing banana muffins at a lighthouse—that make life worth living. It’s about Lila, in her yellow dress, smiling at me across a picnic towel. It’s about Marisol and Nikos, who’ve been with us through every step—from the gym to the beach, from ivy benches to lighthouse views.
And as I held Lila close that night, listening to Shell’s soft snores, I knew—there would be more trips, more laughs, more friends to share them with. Because travelling with friends makes fun, but travelling with the ones you love? That’s forever. Exactly how we wanted it.
