Ethan noticed her for the first time on a quiet Monday morning.
The classroom was loud, as usual—chairs scraping the floor, friends laughing, someone complaining about homework. But she sat by the window in the last row, untouched by the noise, as if the chaos didn't belong to her world.
Sunlight slipped through the glass and rested gently on her face. She wasn't doing anything special. No phone. No notebook. Just staring outside, watching the clouds move slowly across the sky.
For some reason, Ethan couldn't look away.
He didn't believe in instant connections. Life had taught him to be careful—with people, with feelings, with hope. But something about her calm presence made his chest feel strangely tight, like a thought he hadn't finished yet.
Her name, he would learn later, was Luna.
That day, they didn't talk.
They didn't even sit close.
Still, Ethan noticed small things.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she thought no one was watching.
The way her lips curved into the faintest smile whenever the wind brushed the window.
And strangely, every time he looked in her direction, she seemed to look away.
As if she had been looking first.
The final bell rang too soon.
Students rushed out of the classroom, eager to escape another long day. Ethan packed his bag slowly, his eyes drifting back to the empty seat by the window.
She was gone.
Outside, the sky had changed its mind. Dark clouds gathered, and rain began to fall without warning. Some students ran, others laughed as they got soaked.
Ethan stood near the school gate, searching his bag for his phone.
That's when he saw her again.
Luna stood near the bus stop, alone. No umbrella. Rain clung to her sleeves, darkening the fabric. She didn't seem upset—just distant, like she was somewhere far away.
Before he could stop himself, Ethan walked toward her.
"Hey," he said, holding out his umbrella. His voice was quiet, unsure. "Do you want to share?"
She turned to him, surprised. For a moment, she simply stared—then smiled.
It wasn't a big smile.
But it was real.
"Yes," she said softly. "Thank you."
They walked together under the small umbrella, shoulders almost touching. The rain fell harder, but neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
Sometimes, beginnings don't announce themselves loudly.
Sometimes, they arrive quietly—
between the last bell of the day
and a shared umbrella in the rain.
And without realizing it, Ethan knew one thing for sure:
This wasn't just a moment.
It was the start of something that would change them both.