The air was heavy that afternoon, as if the sky itself were holding its breath. Classes had ended, the corridors slowly emptied, and the echo of laughter faded into the distance. The quiet after the storm of teenage noise always felt strange — too calm, too exposing.
Nina was still in the library, gathering her notes from the project they had worked on the day before. William had said he'd drop by to review the final outline before submission. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to come. And yet, she waited.
The clock ticked lazily above her, each second stretching longer than it should. Her hands were trembling slightly, though she kept them steady by forcing her focus on the page.
Then, his voice — soft, familiar.
"Hey. You're still here."
She looked up. William stood in the doorway, hair slightly messy, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The light from the setting sun framed him in a soft amber hue.
"You're late," she said, though her tone lacked any real reproach.
"I know," he replied, walking toward her. "Had to help Franklin with his debate draft. Sorry."
Nina nodded, closing her notebook. "It's fine."
He placed his things on the table and sat opposite her, his eyes scanning the papers she'd organized so meticulously.
"You already did most of it."
"I just wanted it to be clear," she said. "Garret will grade the format harshly."
He smiled faintly. "You always think about the small details."
"That's because you never do."
He laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed — just two friends teasing each other like before.
But the silence that followed was too long. Too aware.
---
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall. They sounded like whispers on the windowpane, faint but persistent.
William leaned back in his chair, watching them slide down the glass. "Looks like we're stuck here for a while."
Nina glanced toward the door. The rain was turning into a curtain, blurring the world beyond the library. "It'll stop soon."
"Maybe," he said, though his tone carried no conviction.
He turned to her, his expression softer now. "You still walk home, right?"
"Usually."
He frowned slightly. "You should've told me. I could've driven you."
She smiled faintly. "Since when do you drive?"
"Since Franklin lent me his dad's car. It's more like a dying machine than a car, but it moves."
That made her laugh — a small, genuine sound that broke the tension like sunlight through clouds.
"See? You still laugh at my terrible jokes," he said, eyes lighting up.
"Maybe I just pity you."
"Ouch."
They both laughed this time. And yet, underneath the laughter, something fragile stirred. The kind of tenderness that shouldn't exist between two people pretending to be only friends.
---
Minutes stretched into an hour. The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows, filling the space between them with rhythm.
William stood and walked closer to the glass, his reflection merging with the fading light. "Do you ever think about how it used to be?" he asked quietly.
Nina's heart skipped. "Used to be?"
"You know. Back when things were simple."
She looked down at her notebook, pretending to read. "Simple doesn't exist anymore."
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You really believe that?"
"I know that," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
For a moment, neither spoke. The rain grew louder, filling the silence with its steady hum.
---
He walked back to her, leaning against the table, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his presence.
"You've changed," he said softly.
Nina forced a smile. "Everyone does."
"No," he insisted. "Not like this."
She met his eyes — those same familiar eyes that had once looked at her with the ease of friendship. Now, they searched for something lost.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He hesitated. "You used to talk to me about everything. Now I feel like I only get the version of you that's polite."
She laughed bitterly. "Maybe that's all that's left."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Her tone wavered, the facade cracking. "You stopped being around, William. You found new people, new things, new stories that didn't include me. What was I supposed to do? Wait around hoping you'd notice?"
He blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness of her words. "Nina—"
"No," she cut him off gently. "I don't blame you. But don't act surprised if I learned how to be fine without you."
The rain filled the silence again, loud and relentless, as if trying to drown out what couldn't be unsaid.
---
William exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You think I didn't notice? I did. I just… didn't know how to fix it."
"Some things can't be fixed," she said quietly.
He sat back down, his elbows on his knees. "Then what are we supposed to do?"
She hesitated, looking out the window. The world outside was blurred — indistinct shapes and colors swallowed by rain. "Maybe nothing. Maybe we just let time do what it does."
"Time doesn't fix everything, Nina."
"I know," she said, her voice trembling. "But neither do we."
---
The lights flickered. The rainstorm was growing heavier now, rumbling with distant thunder.
William looked at her — really looked — and something in his expression softened. He reached out, hesitating before placing his hand near hers on the table.
She didn't move. The space between their fingers felt electric, alive.
"Nina," he said quietly, "I never wanted to lose you."
"You didn't lose me," she whispered. "You just stopped looking."
Her words lingered in the air, fragile and unsteady.
---
A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by the deep roll of thunder. Instinctively, Nina flinched.
William noticed. "You still hate thunder?"
She nodded slightly. "Always."
He smiled faintly. "Some things never change."
Without thinking, he moved his hand closer — this time, touching hers.
Her pulse quickened. The warmth of his skin against hers was both familiar and foreign, like remembering a dream.
For a moment, she didn't pull away. Neither did he.
Then she whispered, "You shouldn't."
He froze. "Why not?"
"Because it means something."
His eyes searched hers. "And if it does?"
She looked down, tears burning behind her lashes. "Then it's too late."
The words hit him like rain on glass — quiet, inevitable, impossible to stop.
---
The storm raged on outside. Inside, the air was thick with everything they didn't say.
Finally, William stood. "I'll walk you home. The rain's not stopping."
Nina nodded silently. They packed in quiet synchrony, each movement deliberate, cautious — as if too much sound would break whatever fragile balance remained.
---
Outside, the rain was relentless. They ran across the courtyard, laughter and gasps mixing with the downpour. By the time they reached the covered walkway, both were drenched.
Nina brushed water from her face, still laughing softly. "You call this walking me home?"
He grinned. "Technically, yes. You're still alive."
She smiled despite herself. "Barely."
The laughter faded slowly, replaced by the soft patter of rain on the metal roof.
William turned to her, his hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his shoulders. "You know," he said, voice low, "you're still the only person who makes everything feel real."
Nina swallowed hard. "Don't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll believe you."
He stared at her, rainwater dripping from his lashes. "Then believe me."
She shook her head, tears mixing with the rain. "I can't."
He took a step closer. "You can't, or you won't?"
She hesitated. "Both."
---
The silence that followed was almost unbearable. The rain fell harder, but inside that small shelter, time stood still.
Finally, she whispered, "We can't go back, William. Whatever we had — it doesn't fit anymore."
He exhaled, his voice raw. "Then what are we now?"
Nina met his gaze — steady, unflinching. "Two people trying to remember how to forget."
And with that, she stepped into the rain, letting it swallow her silhouette.
William didn't follow. He stood there, watching as she disappeared into the silver blur, the sound of the storm echoing the ache in his chest.