The morning after the storm carried a peculiar stillness. The school corridors felt quieter than usual, the usual chatter muted, as though the rain had washed not only the streets but also the sounds of yesterday. Nina walked to her locker slowly, her bag slung over one shoulder, the dampness from the rain still clinging to her jacket.
Her phone buzzed once. A message from William: Did you make it home okay?
She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply button. She wanted to type something—anything—that could bridge the gap that had suddenly yawned between them. But the words she formed in her mind seemed inadequate, too fragile, too revealing.
Instead, she typed nothing. She locked her phone, slipping it back into her pocket.
---
Class began, but her attention wandered. Every glance at the door, every shuffle of students, seemed to pull her back to the rain-soaked courtyard, to the way William had stood there watching her disappear, not following.
Sophia noticed immediately. "You're distracted," she said quietly during the lecture.
"I'm fine," Nina replied, voice tight.
"Sure," Sophia said, arching an eyebrow. "You're thinking about him again, aren't you?"
Nina looked away, pretending to take notes. Yes, she thought, but the word remained unspoken. She didn't want to admit it aloud — not even to Sophia, not even to herself.
---
During lunch, she sat alone on the bench under the old oak tree. The rain had left the world glistening, droplets clinging to every leaf, every branch. The smell of wet earth and fresh grass filled her senses, but it did little to comfort her.
She opened her notebook, writing furiously, her pen moving as if it could capture thoughts too fragile for her lips:
William, I should have said something. I should have reached for your hand, said the words I've been holding for so long. But I didn't. And now… I don't know if I ever can. I'm scared, but I can't stop thinking about you. Why is it that the simplest things feel impossible with you?
She paused, staring at the page. The words seemed to vibrate with unsent energy, a weight pressing down on her chest.
I wish I could just tell you everything. But if I do, I'll ruin it. Everything we had, everything we almost had… it might disappear. I don't know if I'm ready to lose you completely.
The bell rang, pulling her out of her reverie. She closed the notebook slowly, the words inside still alive, unsent, unread.
---
Later that afternoon, William found himself wandering the same courtyard. The rain had stopped, but puddles reflected the pale light of the overcast sky. He had tried to focus on his homework, on Franklin's debate preparation, on the countless small tasks that kept him busy. But his thoughts kept drifting, circling Nina, retracing the steps of yesterday's storm.
Did she make it home safely? he wondered again. The message he had sent early that morning had been left unread, unopened.
He hadn't expected a reply immediately, but as the hours passed, the silence began to gnaw at him. Not the absence of a reply itself — that was minor — but the implication: she hadn't needed him, or didn't want to respond.
He clenched his fists. Am I losing her?
---
Nina's phone buzzed again mid-afternoon. Another message from William: Thinking about yesterday. Are you okay?
She looked at it, thumb shaking. The truth was that she wasn't okay, and yet replying felt impossible. How could she explain the storm inside her, the way every drop of rain had mirrored the ache in her chest? How could she describe the way her hand had wanted to reach for him, even as her mind told her to step back?
Instead, she typed nothing again. She set the phone aside, letting the screen darken, unread, untouched.
---
The library became her refuge. She spread her books and notes across the table, pretending to concentrate on study, while her mind wandered relentlessly. She replayed the storm: the sound of rain on the roof, William's eyes, the way his hand had hovered too close, almost touching hers. The memory of it made her chest tighten.
Sophia arrived quietly, sitting across from her. "You're writing again," she said, noticing the notebook.
Nina didn't look up. "Yes."
"What are you writing this time?"
She hesitated, then shrugged. "Nothing important."
Sophia tilted her head. "Is it about William?"
Nina exhaled softly. "Of course it's about William. Who else?"
Sophia nodded knowingly. "You need to send it. Or tell him. Otherwise, it's just… words trapped on paper, like ghosts."
Nina chewed her lip. "And what if sending them ruins everything?"
Sophia smiled faintly. "Then maybe it's better than pretending nothing exists."
---
By evening, the sky had turned shades of gray and violet, the kind of light that feels both ending and beginning. Nina sat by the window, looking out at the damp streets, her phone untouched on the table beside her notebook.
William's messages remained unread. Each buzz a reminder of what could not be said, what she dared not reveal.
She picked up her pen again, writing furiously:
I saw you today, walking past the oak tree. I wanted to call your name, to run into your arms, but I stayed hidden. I didn't want anyone to see me unravel. I'm tired, William. Tired of pretending I'm okay when everything inside me is tangled with thoughts of you. I hate that I need you, even if I can't tell you. I hate that every smile, every glance, every moment we share feels weighted with things we cannot speak.
The pen paused. She stared at the words, trembling. I should send this.
Her finger hovered over the "send" button, but she stopped. No. Not yet.
She closed the notebook, tears spilling down her cheeks unnoticed.
---
Meanwhile, William sat in his room, staring at the same messages. He had read them over and over, trying to understand, trying to reach her through the silence. Every unanswered message felt like a small fracture in his chest, a reminder that he had let her slip through his fingers.
He typed something, then erased it. Typed again, then deleted.
How do I tell her that I'm scared of losing her? How do I explain that I've realized too late how much I care?
His thumb hovered over the send button for a long, torturous moment before he finally set the phone down.
He sighed, staring out the window at the night sky. Maybe she needs time. Maybe I need time. But I can't stop thinking about her. Not for a second.
---
The following day at school, the distance between them was palpable. Nina walked past him in the hallways, their eyes meeting briefly, then darting away. The unsent words between them hovered like ghosts, heavy and unrelenting.
In class, William kept glancing at her, but each time she looked back, she quickly turned away, burying herself in her work. The tension was quiet, invisible to others, but suffocating to both of them.
Sophia, seated nearby, whispered, "You can't keep this up. You'll explode inside."
Nina only nodded, forcing a smile. Maybe I'll explode quietly, she thought. No one will notice, and that's fine.
---
By afternoon, both were forced into proximity again. A group discussion for another project required them to sit together. The library was silent except for the scratch of pens and the faint rustle of pages.
William opened his notebook, pretending to focus. He wanted to reach out, to break the unbearable silence, but every time he started, the words faltered.
Nina noticed his hesitation, feeling a tug at her chest. He wants to say something. I can feel it. But he won't.
She exhaled slowly, finally daring to speak. "William…"
He looked up, eyes soft and cautious.
"I… didn't respond to your messages," she said quietly.
His lips pressed together. "I noticed."
"I… didn't know what to say. I still don't."
He nodded, as if this explained everything, yet explained nothing. "I understand," he whispered.
The silence settled again, but this time it was different — heavier, yet shared. A quiet acknowledgment of the words that remained unspoken, the feelings trapped between them like an invisible tide.
---
When the bell rang, they packed up slowly. Neither of them spoke, yet each movement carried meaning. Every glance, every gesture was a conversation in itself, unspoken but felt deeply.
Outside, the sun broke through the clouds, casting puddles into sparkling mirrors. They walked in silence, side by side, a breath apart, feeling the weight of all the messages left unread.
And though neither reached for the other, both knew that the storm between them was far from over. It lingered, a quiet tension that promised both anguish and something dangerously close to hope.