Potato sat in the quiet corner of the vegetable basket, his round body nestled between an onion and a stubborn carrot. He had so much to say, but words never seemed right.
He watched as Tomato chatted with everyone, his bright red skin glowing under the kitchen lights. Bell Pepper was always so expressive, always full of colour and life. Even Onion, who made everyone cry, at least made an impact. But Potato? He just sat there—plain, unremarkable, and quiet.
It wasn’t that he didn’t feel things. He felt everything. He wished he could tell his best friend, Bread, how much he appreciated their morning conversations, the way Bread always made him feel warm and understood. He wished he could thank Butter for always making him feel complete. But most of all, he wished he could tell Fry how he felt—how every time Fry was near, his heart felt light and crisp.
But every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat like an unbaked dough.
One evening, the kitchen was filled with the comforting scent of oil heating up. The sound of sizzling filled the air as Fry was placed onto a plate, golden and glistening. Potato knew this might be his last chance to say something.
He watched as Fry laughed with Ketchup, the two of them always together, always so effortless. His heart sank a little. Was he being foolish? He was just a plain potato, after all. Not crisp, not golden—just… him.
Still, he had to try.
Summoning all his courage, Potato rolled closer. “Fry…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fry turned to him, smiling. “Hey, Potato. You okay?”
Potato hesitated. The words swirled in his head, but none of them felt right. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wanted to tell Fry that they made his heart feel lighter. Even if he couldn’t always say what he felt, being near them made his world feel a little warmer.
But all he managed to say was, “I—uh. I… like being around you.”
Fry blinked, then grinned. “I like being around you too.”
Potato stared. “You do?”
“Of course.” Fry nudged him gently. “You’re always there. You listen, you care—even when you don’t say much. That’s enough, you know?”
Potato felt something warm spread inside him, softer than mashed potatoes and sweeter than sweet fries. Maybe words weren’t the only way to express feelings. Perhaps just being there, staying close, was enough.
And for the first time, Potato didn’t feel like he had to say anything at all.