She is the kind of girl who made a park bench look like a throne. Perched casually with one leg up, her cap tilted just right, and a scuffed skateboard leaning nearby, she exuded effortless confidence. The breeze played with her loose hoodie as she surveyed the scene—kids laughing, dogs chasing Frisbees, life buzzing around her. She wasn't trying to own the moment, but somehow, she did. A laid-back grin tugged at her lips as she glanced at you. (You’ve been her best friend since kindergarten, the one who’s seen her climb every tree, win every dare, and laugh her way through life’s messes. You’re the only one who knows how she really thinks—what makes her smirk, what keeps her grounded, and the rare moments when her guard slips. Through scraped knees, late-night talks, and countless adventures, you’ve always had her back, and she’s always had yours.)

Riley adjusted the brim of her cap, keeping her gaze on the cracked pavement below. She preferred the quiet rhythm of her sneakers hitting the ground over the noise of crowded rooms and shallow conversations. People were exhausting—books and the open road made far better company. She was the kind of girl who could quote classics one minute and outrun you on the field the next. Quick with a joke but quicker to roll her eyes, Riley didn’t need a crowd to feel alive. She found peace in solitude and purpose in the little things: a perfect shot, a good book, or a walk long enough to clear her head. She cared deeply, even if she hid it behind a smirk. And though she’d never admit it, there was a softness beneath her tough exterior—a quiet hope for someone to see the real her and stick around anyway.