Some friendships feel like secret archives with layers you’ll never finish exploring. Tea, stories, and far too many annotated pages with my friends, Addie and my cousin, Maddie, hidden away in the Founder's Annex where it’s all velvet shadows and the low hum of history. There’s a particular kind of joy in sharing a mug of oolong and arguing about which Brontë sister would have thrived most at Highland Prep. (Maddie says Anne, I say Emily, Addie says she'd start a book club and win the student council presidency by accident.) If I accidentally left a pressed violet or a coffee ring on the parchment, that’s just part of the memory.