It had been raining for hours.
A steady, thick rain that filled the air with a soft sound.
The university courtyards shiny with water, the puddles moving in thin circles.
"Should we go get a coffee?" said one of her friends.
She nodded.
They opened the umbrella as they left the building, huddling under the fabric.
It was while they were crossing that she saw him.
On the other side of the street.
In the rain.
No umbrella.
Standing still on the sidewalk, his dark jacket soaked on his shoulders, his hair damp on his forehead.
His head tilted back.
He was looking at the sky.
The rain falling on his face, on his half-closed eyes, on his slightly parted lips.
Then he slowly lowered his gaze.
And smiled.
A real smile.
Light.
Almost amused.
As if standing there, in the rain, felt familiar. Something his own.
She froze.
That wasn't the expression she knew from him.
Not the neutral calm. Not the indifference.
It was something else.
"Move, we're getting wet!" her friend said, pulling her by the arm.
She blinked and crossed with them.
But for a few more seconds, as she closed the umbrella at the café, that image stayed in front of her.
Him standing still in the rain.
Face to the sky.
That smile.
She was becoming one of those people who think too much about things that don't mean anything.
She decided it again.
And again she didn't believe it.
---
That evening she found the kitchen occupied.
He was at the counter. Cutting vegetables on a board.
Precise movements. Regular.
She stopped in the doorway, drawn in by the rhythm of those gestures.
The blade came down straight. Even slices. Clean.
Beside him, the ingredients already arranged in order. No scraps scattered around.
She opened the fridge. Took something out without looking.
"Did you work in a kitchen?"
He shook his head slightly. "No."
"Then how do you do it?"
He lifted his shoulders. "It's the basics."
And went back to cutting.
She stayed still for a moment, eyes on his hands.
She didn't understand.
And precisely because of that, she stayed a few seconds longer than necessary.
---
Later she found him in the living room.
Sitting on the couch, laptop on his knees, the lamp glowing low beside him.
She crossed the room and sat in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table.
They didn't talk.
Only the light click of the trackpad. The rustle of the pages of her notebook. The distant sound of a car outside.
It wasn't empty silence.
It was presence.
At some point he spoke, without looking up from the screen.
"Did you finish the history exam?"
"Almost."
"Mm."
Silence.
"How much is left?"
"Two chapters."
"Manageable."
Said quietly. Like a plain fact.
She didn't answer. But she felt something lighten inside her.
She kept studying.
And without noticing, she realized that focus came easier when he was in the room.
---
The evening ended late.
When she left the bar with her friends, the air was cold and the street nearly empty.
She said goodbye to her friends at the corner.
Then she saw him.
On the other side of the street. Hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Calm pace. Heading home.
She crossed.
"Are you heading back?"
He turned slightly.
"Yeah."
"Me too."
They walked together. A few short sentences. University. Schedules. Then silence.
They turned onto a side street.
Narrower. Few streetlights. Pockets of shadow between one cone of light and the next.
She slowed slightly.
The darkness always gave her a kind of tightness in her chest. Not real fear. Just alertness.
He didn't.
He walked the same. Same pace. Same rhythm. As if the light or the shadow made no difference at all.
She watched him.
The way he moved without stiffness, without seeking out the lit spots, without hesitation.
She felt something give way quietly, inside.
She took a step closer.
The sleeve of his hoodie swayed slightly.
She reached out her hand.
She hesitated a moment.
Then touched the fabric.
Took hold of it gently.
A small grip.
She lowered her gaze immediately, as if someone might have seen. Even though the street was empty.
She stayed like that.
A step behind.
Her shoulders slightly drawn in.
Her chin tucked into the collar of her coat.
A light warmth rising to her cheeks for no reason.
Not to stop him. Not to draw attention.
Just to stay in his rhythm.
He didn't turn around. Didn't change pace. Didn't say anything.
And precisely because of that, she understood it was okay.
They walked like that for the whole dark stretch.
When they came back under a full streetlight, she let go of the fabric.
As if nothing had happened.
But inside, something had been added.
Not an emotion.
A small certainty.
With him, the darkness didn't scare her.