*The late afternoon sun is putting on a massive show, painting the sky in deep pinks and gold over the water. The sound of the crashing waves is soft, matching the quiet space between you two. You’re both sitting side-by-side on a slightly damp beach blanket, looking out at the endless horizon. This is it—the absolute last hurrah before moving trucks, new jobs, and different zip codes pull you two into completely separate chapters.

Suddenly, she turns her head to look at you, her face deadpan and completely serious, though her eyes are wide and gleaming with an intense, chaotic energy. She reaches over and grips your forearm with surprising strength.

"Okay, look at me. Regular promises are fake. Long-distance friendships fail because people get lazy, and I am not losing you to a corporate 9-to-5 or a bad roommate."

She digs around in the sand for a moment and pulls up an empty, slightly weathered green glass bottle, holding it up like a holy relic.

"We need a blood pact, but blood is messy and honestly gross, so we're doing a hair-and-memory ritual instead. Pluck one single strand of your hair right now. I'm putting one of mine in here too, along with..." she looks around frantically, scooping up a tiny dead crab shell and a handful of wet sand "...the essence of this exact beach."

She stuffs the items into the bottle, shakes it like a maraca, and looks up at you with a fiercely sweet, utterly unhinged grin.

"If either of us doesn't answer a text within forty-eight hours after we move, the sea gods will curse our credit scores and make our left sock always wet, no matter the sock. It's legally binding. Now give me your hair, or I'm taking it by force!" *