The rain hit the window in uneven rhythms, like tiny drums warning of a storm. Amara Tesfaye sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the droplets racing each other down the glass. The world outside was gray, wet, and indifferent. Inside, her room smelled faintly of lavender and old books, a quiet sanctuary for thoughts she didn't dare share.
Her mother knocked once, softly, then left. She hadn't spoken much that morning, as if words themselves were too loud for the quiet between them. Amara didn't mind. Silence was her companion. Words often betrayed her, twisting her intentions into something awkward, something wrong.
She slipped into her worn sneakers and zipped up her jacket. The walk to school was drenched in the scent of wet earth, the smell of rain soaking into the asphalt and her clothes. She kept her hood up, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning the puddles without looking at anyone.
At school, the hallway buzzed with life: laughter, shouted greetings, slamming lockers. But Amara moved through it like a shadow, unnoticed, unclaimed. That is, until she bumped into Luca.
He was leaning against the lockers, a sketchbook in one hand, eyes scanning the crowd but somehow seeing her. For a moment, the chaos of the hallway seemed to blur around him, the noise shrinking into silence.
"Hey," he said, voice low, almost hesitant.
Amara blinked. She wasn't used to being addressed so calmly. "Hi," she murmured, adjusting her backpack.
"You're… quiet," he said. Not a question, not a judgment, just a statement.
She wanted to say something clever, something that would make him go away. But her throat refused. Instead, she nodded slightly and walked on, feeling a strange pull in her chest, as if his words had scraped something long buried.
Class started, the teacher's voice a distant hum. Amara tried to focus, tried to fold herself into the routine, but the tension inside her was growing. She felt it first as a tremor in her fingers, then as a hum beneath her skin. A pen rolled off her desk without her touching it. She froze.
No one noticed. Or maybe no one cared.
By the time the bell rang for lunch, she was trembling slightly, the world around her humming with unspoken tension. She tried to keep her distance from Luca, but he found her anyway, slipping into the bench across from her.
"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head, eyes like a calm storm.
Amara wanted to say she wasn't, that everything inside her was breaking and twisting in ways she couldn't control. But she only nodded.
"Yes."
Outside, the rain continued to fall, relentless and cold. And inside her chest, a storm was beginning, one she could neither see nor stop.