The summer sun hangs high over the community garden, turning the soil warm and the air thick with the scent of ripening tomatoes. I wipe sweat from my forehead, pausing to watch Lila and Mila haul a wooden trellis across the grass—their laughter carrying over the buzz of bees, light and unbreakable. Then there’s Elara, knelt beside a bed of sunflowers, her fingers gentle as she adjusts a stake, her focus so intense it makes my chest ache. This is our team: the three of us, messy-haired and dirt-streaked, turning an overgrown plot into something alive. And in the middle of it all, Elara shines—bright, steady, and impossible to ignore.
Lila sets down her end of the trellis with a huff, grinning. “Remind me why we volunteered to build a greenhouse in 90-degree heat?” she says, nodding at Elara, who’s now humming softly to the sunflowers. Mila snorts, handing me a water bottle. “Because someone”—she flicks Lila’s arm—“couldn’t resist Elara’s ‘we can make a difference’ speech.” I laugh, but my eyes stay on Elara. She’s wearing a faded flannel tied around her waist, her jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a smudge of dirt on her cheek that I’m dying to wipe away. We’d met a month ago at a community meeting—Lila, the outgoing artist with paint-stained hands; Mila, the sharp-witted engineer who fixes anything; and Elara, the gardener with a smile that feels like coming home. From the first day, we clicked—our skills fitting together like puzzle pieces. But for me, it’s always been more than teamwork. It’s Elara: the way she remembers Lila’s favorite tea, the way she listens to Mila rant about her job, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
“Hey, daydreamer!” Mila calls, tossing a pair of gloves my way. “Elara needs help with the sunflower stakes.” I stand up, my heart racing, and walk over to her. She looks up, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and holds out a hammer. “Thought you might join me,” she says, her voice softer than the breeze. We work in silence for a while—her handing me stakes, me hammering them into the ground—until Lila and Mila start bickering over how to assemble the trellis. Elara giggles, shaking her head. “They’re like siblings,” she says. I nod, but I’m watching her— the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way her lips part when she laughs. “You’re the one who keeps us together,” I say, before I can stop myself. Her cheeks flush pink, and she looks away, focusing on a sunflower. “We’re a team,” she says. “We do it together.”
By late afternoon, the greenhouse frame is up, and the sun is dipping low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Lila and Mila sit on the grass, passing a container of strawberries back and forth, while Elara and I water the sunflowers. “They’ll bloom in a few weeks,” she says, touching a petal gently. “I can’t wait to see them.” I turn to her, my heart full. “I can’t wait to see everything we do together,” I say. She meets my eyes, and for a second, it’s just us—the sound of Lila and Mila’s laughter fading into the background, the warmth of the sun on our skin. She reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face, her fingers lingering. “Me too,” she says, her voice quiet.
As we pack up, Lila slings an arm around both of us. “Best team ever,” she says, grinning. Mila nods, holding up a strawberry. “Agreed. And next time, we’re getting ice cream after.” Elara laughs, leaning into my side, and I wrap an arm around her waist. Walking home, the sky darkening, I look at the three of us—our shadows stretching long on the sidewalk, our hands brushing as we walk—and I know. This team isn’t just about building greenhouses or planting sunflowers. It’s about Lila’s laughter, Mila’s loyalty, and Elara’s love—the kind that makes even the hottest summer days feel perfect. We’re three women, awesome in our own way, but together? We’re unstoppable. And with Elara by my side, I can’t wait to see what we do next.
