Monday morning hit harder than usual.
Lila knew something was off the second she stepped through the school doors. The looks. The whispers. The sudden silence when she passed.
She found River near his locker, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn't smile when he saw her — didn't touch her like he usually did. Something was wrong.
"Hey," she said, reaching for his hand. "What happened?"
He didn't look at her. Just nodded down the hall. "Your name's on the bathroom wall."
Her heart dropped.
"What?"
"Stall door. 'Lila J. gets around. Ask River.'" His voice was flat, but his eyes burned.
She blinked, throat dry. "Who would—?"
"Someone with too much time and no life," he snapped, then softened when he saw her flinch. "Sorry. I just… I knew people would talk. I didn't think it would get this cruel."
Lila looked around. The stares weren't curious anymore. They were judgmental. Mean. Girls whispering behind their hands. Boys smirking when they thought she wasn't looking.
Everything felt like it was closing in.
River pulled her into the empty stairwell, away from the noise.
"I'll fix it," he said, gripping her waist. "I'll shut it down."
"No." She looked up at him, chin trembling but eyes steady. "Don't make this about you protecting me. I'm not some fragile thing."
He paused. Then nodded.
"I just hate that they think they know anything about you. About us."
Lila touched his cheek. "They don't. What we have… it's ours."
River leaned in and kissed her like it was the only truth that mattered. Soft and slow and sure.
But the damage was done.
---
That night, she came home late. Her mother was waiting at the kitchen table, eyes sharp behind her glasses.
"Where were you?"
Lila hesitated. "At River's."
Her mom's lips thinned. "I got a call from the school today. About something written on a bathroom wall."
Lila's stomach twisted.
"Mom—"
"I want to trust you," she said quietly. "But you're seventeen. And he's… complicated. You're not just playing with fire, Lila. You're burning yourself."
Lila swallowed hard. "He's not what people think."
"Maybe not. But you're changing. I see it. You're pulling away from everything — your grades, your art, us."
Lila's voice rose before she could stop it. "Because I finally feel alive for once!"
Her mother's face broke — not with anger, but with fear.
"You think love makes you alive?" she said, voice trembling. "It also breaks you."
Lila stormed to her room, heart in pieces. She slammed the door and curled into herself, hot tears soaking into her pillow.
River texted her:
"You okay?"
She stared at the screen. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.
"No. But I will be."
---
The next day, she didn't speak to anyone.
River found her in the art room after school, curled up on a stool, painting in silence. He stood behind her, watching her hand move across the canvas — brushstrokes fierce, messy, full of pain.
"It's beautiful," he whispered.
"It's messy," she replied.
"So am I."
She turned to face him, eyes raw but strong. "I don't care what they say. I care about you. But I need to know that you won't pull away when things get hard."
He stepped closer, took her hand.
"I've been through worse than gossip. And I'd go through hell if it meant standing next to you."
She looked at him — really looked — and saw the boy beneath the bruises, the anger, the rumors. The boy who gave her his poetry and let her see his cracks.
She kissed him, long and slow.
And somewhere between the strokes of pain and passion, she realized…
This wasn't a fling.
It was a storm.
But it was theirs.