The change was subtle.
So small that most people wouldn't notice it.
But Muhammed Ali did.
She began arriving at school earlier.
Not early enough to draw attention—
just early enough to share the quiet classroom with him.
They didn't talk much.
Sometimes, they didn't talk at all.
Yet the silence between them felt… different now.
Comfortable.
One morning, rain started falling suddenly.
Light at first.
Then heavier.
Students rushed inside,
complaining, laughing, getting wet.
Muhammed Ali stood near the classroom door,
watching the rain hit the windows.
She walked in, shaking water from her sleeves.
She looked at him.
— "I forgot my umbrella," she said.
He nodded.
— "Me too."
A pause.
— "Looks like we're the same kind of careless," she added.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
During class,
the sound of rain filled the room.
It made everything slower.
Muhammed Ali noticed how she wrote carefully,
how she paused before turning each page.
Once, she leaned forward to pick up her pen.
Their elbows touched.
Neither of them pulled away immediately.
Just a second longer.
Then they both moved.
He felt his heartbeat
for the rest of the lesson.
After school, the rain hadn't stopped.
Students waited under the roof,
checking their phones,
calling their parents.
She stood a few steps away from him.
The rain fell harder.
— "How are you getting home?" she asked.
He hesitated.
— "Walking."
She looked outside.
Then back at him.
— "Me too."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
— "Do you want to… walk together?"
The question was quiet.
Careful.
Muhammed Ali didn't answer right away.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because this—
This was a step.
And steps,
once taken,
couldn't be undone.
"..."
Muhammed Ali nodded.
— "Okay."
They stepped outside together.
Rain fell steadily,
soft but persistent,
turning the streets into reflections of gray and silver.
They walked side by side.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Their footsteps matched without effort.
— "I usually like the rain," she said.
— "It makes things quieter."
He glanced at her.
— "Yeah," he replied.
— "It feels like the world slows down."
She smiled at that.
A real one.
Water splashed as cars passed by.
They moved closer to the wall instinctively.
Their shoulders brushed.
This time,
neither of them moved away.
The silence returned.
But it wasn't empty.
It was full of things neither of them said.
— "You don't talk much," she said gently.
He thought for a moment.
— "I don't think everything needs words."
She looked at him,
as if trying to understand something deeper.
— "I like that," she said.
His chest tightened slightly.
In a good way.
They reached a crossing.
This was where their paths split.
She slowed down.
So did he.
Rain continued to fall between them.
— "I'm glad we walked together," she said.
Muhammed Ali nodded.
— "Me too."
She hesitated.
Just like before.
— "See you tomorrow?"
He met her eyes.
— "Yeah. Tomorrow."
She turned and walked away.
Muhammed Ali stood there,
watching her disappear into the rain.
That night,
the sound of rain echoed softly outside his window.
He lay on his bed,
thinking about small things.
The way she matched his pace.
The way silence didn't feel heavy anymore.
The way one step had changed everything.
He realized something then.
It wasn't a confession.
It wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it was—