Lanterns in the Rain

Chapter One: Rainfall Beginnings

The rain tapped a soothing rhythm against the classroom window, streaking down in silvery threads as Rae leaned her chin on her hand, her hazel eyes half-lidded in quiet contemplation. It was one of those moments she cherished—where the world felt muted, softened by the rain's gentle insistence. She adjusted her black hood, perched defiantly over her school uniform despite the disapproving glances of her teachers. The hood wasn't just a piece of clothing; it was a shield, a quiet declaration of the space she guarded fiercely.

Behind her, a faint shuffle of papers broke her trance.

"Do you ever get tired of staring out the window?"

Rae stiffened slightly at the voice, her gaze flicking toward its source. Henry. She recognized the voice immediately—warm, curious, and tinged with a hesitant kindness that never seemed to waver.

"Do you ever get tired of asking questions?" she replied without looking at him, her voice low but steady.

Henry chuckled softly, unbothered by her sharp tone. He slid into the seat beside her, a casual yet deliberate move that made her shift slightly in her chair.

"It's hard not to wonder what you're thinking about, always staring at the rain like that," he said, leaning back as though he were settling in for a long conversation.

Rae sighed, her breath fogging the glass slightly. "The rain doesn't ask anything of you. It just... exists. It's constant, and you don't have to explain yourself to it."

Henry tilted his head, studying her profile. There was something fascinating about Rae—not just her quiet, mysterious demeanor, but the way she seemed so utterly untouchable, like the rain she adored. Yet, there was a softness to her, buried beneath the hood and her self-imposed solitude, that he couldn't ignore.

"You don't explain yourself to people, either," he pointed out, his voice gentle.

Rae finally turned her gaze to him, her hazel eyes locking with his brown ones. For a moment, he thought he saw the faintest trace of a smile—a ghost of one, really—but it disappeared so quickly he wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Maybe I just don't see the point," she said, shrugging as she returned her focus to the rain.

"Well," Henry said, his tone light, "if you ever decide there is a point, I'd listen."

The words hung in the air between them, unexpected in their sincerity. Rae blinked, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. She wasn't used to people saying things like that—let alone meaning them.

The bell rang, breaking the moment. Rae stood quickly, pulling her hood tighter as she gathered her books. Henry hesitated, watching her retreat to the door. Just as she was about to leave, she paused, looking over her shoulder.

"Why do you care, Henry?" she asked, her voice almost too soft to hear.

He smiled—a bright, genuine smile that seemed to light up the dim, rainy classroom.

"Because you're interesting, Rae. And I think everyone deserves someone who cares."

Her heart skipped a beat, an unfamiliar warmth curling in her chest. She said nothing, but as she walked away, she felt the rain's rhythm match the faint, hesitant flutter of something new stirring within her.

Henry watched her go, his own heart racing. He had no idea if she'd ever let him in, but for the first time, he felt as though he might have glimpsed the smallest crack in her armor. And for him, that was enough.

The rain continued to fall, but for Henry and Rae, something had shifted. It was a beginning—quiet, tentative, and fragile, like the first drops of a storm.