The sky over Qinghe High turned dark by mid-afternoon, the gray clouds thick with promise. A storm was coming.
Liang Meiyu glanced nervously out the window as raindrops began tapping lightly against the glass. She had forgotten her umbrella again.
"Typical," she muttered under her breath.
Zhao Yichen leaned back in his chair beside her, arms crossed behind his head. "What's typical?"
She blinked. "Nothing."
He followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you didn't bring an umbrella."
She didn't respond.
"Seriously?" he laughed. "You're like a magnet for inconvenience."
Meiyu pouted and muttered, "I didn't plan for it to rain."
"You never do. But you're lucky the universe keeps sending me to rescue you."
She narrowed her eyes. "Says the boy who once tripped me on purpose."
He shrugged. "Balance."
---
The final bell rang, and students rushed out, umbrellas opening like fireworks. Meiyu stood at the front steps, books hugged to her chest, watching the sheets of rain fall across the courtyard. Her shoes would soak through in minutes.
Most of the students were already gone.
She sighed and stepped forward.
A puddle. A slip.
"Ah!"
Before she could hit the ground, an arm wrapped around her waist, catching her mid-fall.
"Careful," came a familiar voice, unusually close.
Zhao Yichen.
Her books tumbled onto the pavement, but she didn't even notice. Her eyes were wide, his hand still firm on her waist, the rain soaking through both their uniforms.
For a few heartbeats, they didn't move.
Yichen looked down at her, hair wet and messy, his smirk replaced by something unreadable.
"You seriously need to come with a warning label," he muttered.
Meiyu blinked up at him, breath caught in her throat.
Then he let go and stepped back quickly. "Don't misunderstand. I just didn't want to deal with your dramatic screaming if you twisted your ankle or something."
"Y-you're unbelievable," she stammered, cheeks burning as she crouched to pick up her books.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on."
Before she could ask what he meant, he pulled an umbrella out from his bag—black, plain, a little battered—and held it above her head.
She blinked. "You had an umbrella all along?"
He glanced at her. "I don't share this with just anyone, you know."
For once, she didn't argue.
They walked in silence, sharing the small umbrella as the rain danced around them. Her shoulder brushed his now and then, and each time, it felt like static.
Zhao Yichen didn't say another word. But he kept the umbrella tilted ever so slightly—to her side.