Until the Sun Seeps
Friendship is love that you can see.
To all my friends: Book 5 is for you! <3
Gia is inspired by many of my friends—the ones who have watched me lose myself and gently witnessed my return when the tide receded. Her presence is a reflection of that kind of love, the kind that doesn’t just stick when things are convenient, but rather the kind that reminds you: you are not alone (even if your emotions, actions, or wishes make me uncomfortable).
I wanted Gia’s loyalty and presence to emphasize that all someone needs when they’re grieving is a friend. They need someone who has orange slices, the occasional cup of chai, and the ability to provide something gold when life turns silver overnight.
When shaping these characters and their voices, I intended for them to exist more as spirits than as fully developed figures driving the plot. Everything is fleeting—nothing is truly permanent. Not first love, and certainly not loss.
The one thing that has never been fleeting, though, is the soul. I imagine mine as a white pearl nestled at the center of my chest. Whenever I go through a difficult time—a season of tangled gnats—I notice that my pearl is gathering rot, dust, and everything in between.
It’s black, dull, and suddenly there is no light coming from the middle of it.
But friends—especially my female friendships—somehow become fairies, misting pearl cleaner over the mess. With a listening ear and a glistening eye, they tell me they understand, and suddenly, everything shifts.
The soul begins to glow, the world feels different, and just like that, it begins to spin again.
“You’re not unlovable.” They tell me. “You’re just sad and a little angry. Here’s some sushi and a sunflower.”
I’ve always been a firm believer in love and romance, but even more than that, I’m a firefly catcher when it comes to holding my girlfriends close.
When female friendships rip me open, my skin turns light pink, and suddenly, all the liquid in my stomach turns to bubbles. I also stop in my tracks, studying the faces of my friends. I think to myself on the drive home, There is no one like you. I am so glad you exist. And I often wonder, "Who is going to end up loving you as much as I do?"
In a world that celebrates independence and solo quests, I’ll always choose a life with my girlfriends. They’ve helped, healed, and humbled. They fill my heart the way water fills my bathtub.
I love laughter that fills your lungs like smoke. I love hugging and giving my friends everything I have. I hope they know this is a love letter to them.
Read this book not as a critic but as a person listening to another person’s mess. It’s a story of friendship—of fragments and echoes of conversations that once meant everything to me.
Some of it might feel like the kind of existential crisis that comes with being in your early twenties, but loss is still loss. No matter the age, no matter the reason.
Meli is a character crafted with purpose—one meant to be messy, deeply human, and undeniably heartbroken. She is grieving after all, and in grief, there is a certain amount of indulgence for bad behavior, bad choices, and bad mornings. Being sad allows us a freedom that happiness does not.
I think about happiness all the time, even when I’m not feeling it myself. Growing up, surrounded by countless happy endings on my bookshelf, I often wondered—do stories exist where happiness isn’t the ending? Do endings always have to be happy? At the end of the day, an ending is an ending, no matter how gentle, no matter how right.
