The clouds were heavy again by the time Friday rolled around. Crescent High looked like it had been dipped in grey, and the air was filled with that cold, pre-rain stillness that made everything feel suspended—like the whole world was holding its breath.
Lia walked slowly toward the art room, her sketchpad tucked beneath her arm and her thoughts spinning.
Ever since Kai's quiet words two days ago—"Your art says more than you do"—she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. Not just because he'd said something so unexpectedly… personal, but because it felt like he'd seen something in her no one else bothered to notice.
Like her silence wasn't emptiness.
Like it meant something.
She hated that her heart reacted to that.
"Stop it," she whispered to herself as she pushed the art room door open.
He was already there. As usual.
This time, he was alone—no team, no teachers, no noise. Just Kai Yoon, sleeves pushed up again, carefully organizing cans of paint on the table.
He looked up when she entered. Their eyes met. There was no greeting, no smile, just a quiet understanding.
"You're early," he said.
"So are you."
He shrugged. "I don't like being late."
Lia walked in and took her usual seat, setting her sketchpad down. She didn't expect him to say anything else, but today felt different. The silence wasn't heavy—it was almost… warm.
Outside, the rain started. Gentle at first, then heavier, creating a steady rhythm on the windows.
Kai glanced up at it, then back at her.
"You like the rain?"
She looked at him, surprised he asked. "Sometimes. When I'm inside."
"Same." He looked at the downpour again, expression unreadable. "It drowns out everything else."
Lia nodded slowly. "Like a curtain over the noise."
He tilted his head at her, as if studying her answer. "Exactly."
That single word made something bloom in her chest. It was strange—how little things from him carried so much weight.
"Do you always stay this quiet?" he asked after a beat.
Her cheeks warmed. "Do you always talk this little?"
A brief flicker—just a flicker—of a smile tugged at his lips.
"Touché."
They both fell quiet again, and Lia turned her attention to the new poster sketch she'd started. She was working on a design for the school's performance stage—a dreamy forest scene with trailing lights and distant lanterns.
Kai watched her draw for a moment, then moved closer to the table without a word. He stood beside her, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the sketch.
"You draw like you're telling a secret."
Lia paused, pencil stilling.
"No one's ever said that to me before."
"Then no one's really looked."
Her heart did a somersault.
She didn't reply. Couldn't. Her throat felt tight with things she didn't know how to say.
Instead, she went back to shading the edge of a tree.
Kai turned to the open cabinet and pulled out a few brushes, examining them.
"Do you paint too?"
She shook her head. "Only pencil. I don't like mistakes I can't erase."
He glanced at her, his gaze soft but sharp. "Not all mistakes need erasing."
She looked down at her page. "That's easy to say when you don't make them."
"I've made more than I can count."
She turned to him. His voice had changed—lower, tinged with something like regret. It surprised her.
Before she could ask more, the door swung open and Rina popped her head in.
"There you are! I've been looking all over. Lia, your umbrella—didn't you leave it in the cafeteria?"
Lia blinked. "Oh. I—I guess I did."
Rina waved a hand. "It's pouring, so either come with me or you'll have to make a run for it."
Kai turned slightly. "I'll walk her."
Both Lia and Rina stared at him.
"You will?" Rina asked, half-shocked, half-thrilled.
Kai ignored her and looked at Lia. "I have an umbrella."
Lia's voice was tiny. "O-Okay."
Rina grinned, practically buzzing. "Alright then! See you both later."
She disappeared with a wink.
Kai walked toward the door, waiting as Lia gathered her things. As they stepped outside, he opened a sleek black umbrella, holding it out so it covered both of them. His shoulder was barely an inch from hers, and the soft sound of rain hitting the umbrella made the world feel smaller. Quieter.
As they walked through the courtyard, past cherry trees dripping with water, neither of them spoke.
And yet, it didn't feel like silence.
It felt like something was being exchanged in the quiet.
Something wordless. Unspoken.
By the time they reached the gate, her heart was racing.
He turned slightly, umbrella still shielding her.
"Be careful with your sketchpad," he said.
"I will."
He hesitated for a moment—then gently passed her the umbrella.
She blinked. "What about you?"
"I'll borrow another one," he said. "I'm good at finding things."
Then he walked away, letting the rain soak his shoulders.
Lia stood frozen, umbrella in hand, staring at the figure who didn't look back.
She didn't know what this was.
But whatever it was… it had begun.