I love her not

100 word story entered in competition with assigned genre Romance and action flying planes.

It was ceremonious. We sat cross-legged on the lawn, afternoon sunlight turning plucked grass into gold as she twisted bracelets carefully around our wrists. “We’re friends forever now,” she said, cloudy emotion in her eyes. I made paper airplanes with my free hand, creasing the paper recklessly. There were petals, fragile and wrinkled, slipped inside. Love, an infantile game of chance. I love her, I love her not. Running through light rain, years trailing behind us, paper airplanes on our heels. I toss one into the air and attempt to make it fly; it tumbles, futile, in the breeze.