This story is about my best friend and I. 

It’s pretty simple.

Really.

I was sitting in an emergency room with her late one night. I sat by her side holding her hand as she lied on one of those dinky white hospital beds, all the while waiting for her kidney stone to pass.

It’s an excruciating process. It’s like having a nail driver continuously driving through you and scraping down your side and back. Or so she tells me anyways. From the way her face was contorting in horrifying angles, I believed her.

Like any good best friend would do, I tried my best to comfort her with stupid jokes. And like any two best friends would do when put together, we decided to name the stone. We called it Emma.

Emma Stone.

God. It was the funniest sh*t ever. I bet the nurses and docs passing by thought we were nuts. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they decided to throw us both into the psych unit. Granted, she was all doped up from the pain medications pumping through her veins, so she was a little more crazy than usual.

… Damn. I didn’t have an excuse to be laughing that hysterically though.

Well, anyways. I thought she was enjoying herself too much, so I told her that her face looked constipated and that she looked like she was about to give birth to a 15-pound baby. I received a good punch in the face in response. I guess I deserved that.

She was able to pass the stone with no other issues. She decided to spend a couple of days with me at my dorm room since she was still in a lot of pain. She was an overachiever when it came to classwork. She lived off campus, but living with me would make it easier for her to attend classes.

This shouldn’t be so difficult, right? But you see… I did something I shouldn’t have done.

I had accidentally fallen in love with my best friend. 

We’ve only known each for 8 months, but we hit it off instantaneously. Our personalities weren’t really the same. In fact, it was anything but.

I love waking up in the early mornings to be able to sip on my coffee and relax while reading up on what’s happening in the world (according to her… exactly like an ahjumma would). She likes waking up late into the afternoons if she could (“Life’s too short to not sleep in,” she would say).

She can’t cook to save her life. I, on the other hand, can say I can cook pretty well, not to brag or anything. And according to her, my 5-starred dishes deserves to be served in a Michelin rated restaurant. I try not to let it get to my head too much, but from my dimpled smile every time she fires off that compliment, I obviously fail.

The clothes she wears pretty much scream