Chapter Three — Almost Something
(Inara's pov)
It's strange how fast a person can become part of your rhythm.
One day, they're just someone who asks for directions. The next, they're in every thought, every moment that feels a little brighter than it used to.
That's how it was with Elias Rowan.
It had been three weeks since that first rooftop afternoon, and somehow, we'd slipped into a quiet pattern — one that felt like it had always been there, waiting for us to find it.
Every day after last period, he'd show up at my locker with that lopsided grin, a notebook in one hand, his guitar pick necklace catching the light.
And every day, I'd pretend I hadn't been waiting for him.
We'd head up to the rooftop — sometimes to talk, sometimes just to sit. I'd draw. He'd play. The city of Hallowridge hummed beneath us, loud and alive, but up there, it always felt like the world had pressed pause.
"Why do you always draw people when they're not looking?" Elias asked one afternoon, leaning over my shoulder as I sketched a pair of students laughing on the courtyard bench below.
"Because people act different when they know they're being seen," I said. "They stop being real."
He smiled. "So you like things that are real."
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Not really," he said softly. "Most people like what looks perfect."
He said it so quietly that I almost missed the shift in his tone. I glanced at him, but he was already looking away, pretending to study the clouds.
I didn't push. I'd learned that some truths take time to be told.
At school, people had started to notice us — not in a big, dramatic way, but enough for whispers to start following us through the halls.
Tess noticed first, of course.
"Oh my God, Inara," she said one morning, slamming her locker door shut beside me. "You've been glued to the new guy lately. Is this, like, your charity project or something?"
I froze halfway through packing my books. "He's my friend, Tess."
"Right," she said, dragging out the word. "Friends. That's what everyone says before they start writing each other's initials in notebooks."
My face heated. "Seriously?"
"What? I'm just saying, he's cute, and you—" She gestured vaguely at me. "You've got that whole mysterious-art-girl vibe going on. Maybe you'll finally get invited to something that doesn't involve sketchbooks."
I slammed my locker shut. "Not everything's about popularity."
She blinked, surprised at the edge in my voice. "Relax. I was kidding."
But she wasn't. Tess never really kidded — she just said what she meant in a way that let her take it back later.
By the time I reached the rooftop that day, I was still replaying the conversation. Elias was already there, lying flat on his back, hands behind his head.
"You okay?" he asked, sitting up as soon as he saw me.
"Yeah," I said automatically. "Just… Tess being Tess."
He smirked. "Let me guess — told you I'm secretly in love with you or something?"
I blinked. "What—how did you—"
He laughed. "It's always the first rumor. Trust me. I've switched schools enough times to know the pattern."
I raised an eyebrow. "Switched schools? How many?"
"Five," he said, leaning back on his elbows. "My dad's job moves a lot. Hallowridge's supposed to be our last stop for a while. My little brother's thrilled."
"Marco, right?"
He nodded, smiling. "Yeah. He's six. Thinks he's Spider-Man. Broke a window last week trying to 'web-swing' off the couch."
I snorted. "Sounds like Naomi. She's five. Keeps painting the cat because she says he 'looks sad.'"
He grinned. "Maybe she's onto something. The world could use more color."
"Not on my mom's white furniture, it couldn't."
We both laughed, and I felt something inside me ease — the kind of warmth that sneaks up on you, the kind that feels like home.
As the weeks passed, our friendship became something solid, something easy.
We shared snacks during lunch, exchanged playlists, mocked the teachers who gave way too much homework.
Sometimes he'd walk me home. Naomi adored him instantly — which was impressive, considering she'd cried the first time she met most people.
"'Lias plays funny music," she told me one evening, proudly handing him her pink plastic keyboard. "You play too!"
And of course, he did — badly, off-key, laughing the entire time while she sang nonsense lyrics about dragons and cookies.
I couldn't remember the last time my house had sounded that alive.
That night, when he left, I stood by the window and watched him walk down the street, the fading sunlight catching in his hair. For the first time in years, Hallowridge didn't feel like something I wanted to escape.
A week later, it rained.
We sat on the rooftop anyway, huddled under a broken umbrella he'd found somewhere, our shoes soaked, laughter echoing against the metal vents.
"You know," Elias said between laughs, "normal people go inside when it rains."
"I'm not normal," I said, grinning.
"Good," he said softly. "Normal's overrated."
For a moment, the world quieted. Raindrops slid down the edges of his lashes. His eyes met mine — gray-blue and stormy.
Something unspoken lingered between us, a heartbeat too long.
Then he looked away, brushing wet hair out of his face. "You're gonna catch a cold."
"Only if you stop singing your tragic fountain songs."
He laughed, the tension breaking, and I felt the air shift again — subtle, fragile, like the beginning of something neither of us was ready to name.
When I got home, Naomi ran to the door, yelling my name. Mom scolded me for being soaked, but her voice faded somewhere behind me.
All I could think about was the rooftop, the rain, and the boy who made the world feel like it was finally starting again.