![]() ![]() Juliet flattens her fringe and I adjust my hijab and we start walking out of St Pancras station. I’m seventy feet tall so I should have been prepared for that one, really.) But I still wasn’t prepared for her voice (posher and deeper than it sounds on Skype) and her hair (she genuinely is ginger, as she’s always said, even though it looks brown on camera) and her size (she’s a full head smaller than me. I know she’s probably going to grow up to be the sort of wine-sipping middle-aged woman who calls everyone ‘darling’ and always looks slightly like she’s giving you evils. and her favourite fanfic trope is enemies-to-lovers and she’s secretly a fan of Ariana Grande. ![]() I know that she never falls asleep before 2 a.m. ![]() On the internet only, yeah, but internet friendships aren’t that different to real ones nowadays, and Juliet knows more about me than my closest school friends. I have been talking to Juliet Schwartz for two years. Theoretically, this shouldn’t be awkward. ![]() ‘So are you!’ she says, and gestures to my body. Juliet, having just escaped my hug, is smiling so hard it looks like she might tear her face in half. ‘I’m literally dying,’ I say, putting my hand on my heart. ![]()
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