The storm passed before sunset, but neither of them noticed.
Penelope stayed longer than she meant to. She learned Julian liked mint gum but hated mint ice cream. That he used to play piano but quit after his dad left. That his favorite sound in the world was silence—not the awkward kind, but the kind that felt earned.
They sat on the floor in his half-furnished living room, their backs against a dusty couch that hadn't been moved into place yet.
"I don't usually do this," Penelope said, more to the ceiling than to him.
"Do what?"
"Let people in."Julian didn't tease her. He didn't smile. He just nodded, like he understood in a way that mattered.
"My mom says I'm too guarded," she added, voice quieter now. "She says if I don't open up, I'll miss everything good."
"Do you think she's right?"
"I don't know yet."
A pause. A breath.
Julian picked up a stray coin from the floor and rolled it between his fingers. "My brother says I ruin everything I touch."
Penelope looked at him. Really looked.
"Maybe you've just been touching the wrong things," she said.
Their eyes held. No jokes. No sarcasm.
Just that warm, scary kind of honesty that felt too close, too soon.Outside, the pavement was still wet. The sky was the soft kind of blue that only came after a storm.
And inside, something delicate had begun to take shape—quiet and trembling and real.
The kind of thing that doesn't break easily.