Lanterns in the Rain

Chapter Seven: The Bridge Between Us

The rain had eased into a steady drizzle by lunchtime, the gray sky casting a muted glow over the school grounds. Rae had claimed her usual spot under the small overhang just outside the library, her hood up, a book open in her lap. She wasn't reading, though. Her hazel eyes were fixed on the raindrops sliding down from the overhang's edge, each drop catching the pale light before vanishing into the puddle below.

The quiet was comforting, but it didn't last.

"Figured I'd find you here."

Rae didn't have to look up to know it was Henry. His voice carried an unmistakable warmth, like a fire burning low on a cold day.

"What gave me away?" she asked, still watching the rain.

"Well, the hood's a pretty good clue," he teased, sitting down beside her on the bench without waiting for an invitation.

Rae sighed but didn't move away. "Don't you have other people to bother?"

"Probably," Henry admitted, shrugging. "But they're not as fun as you."

She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not fun."

"That's what makes it fun," he replied with a grin, leaning back against the wall.

Rae rolled her eyes and turned back to the rain. But despite her usual resistance, she found herself oddly comforted by his presence. There was something steady about Henry—something that made the walls she'd built around herself feel a little less necessary.

"Why are you always so... persistent?" she asked after a while, her voice quieter than before.

Henry didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled something out of his bag—a small thermos—and handed it to her. "Here," he said.

Rae blinked, startled. "What's this?"

"Hot chocolate," Henry said with a shrug. "Thought you might like it."

She hesitated, staring at the thermos as though it might explode. "Why?"

"Because it's cold, and you're sitting out here in the rain like it's summer," he said, his tone light but his eyes sincere. "And because I thought it might make you smile."

Rae frowned, her fingers curling around the thermos almost reluctantly. "You're impossible," she muttered, unscrewing the lid.

"And yet, here we are," Henry said, watching as she took a cautious sip.

The warmth of the drink spread through her, chasing away the chill in her fingers. She didn't say thank you, but Henry's grin told her he didn't need her to.

For a while, they just sat there, listening to the soft patter of rain. Rae found herself relaxing, the usual tension in her shoulders easing as the moments stretched.

"Can I ask you something?" Henry said, breaking the silence.

Rae glanced at him warily. "Depends."

"Why do you hide?"

The question hit harder than she expected, but Henry's tone wasn't accusing. It was curious, gentle, like he genuinely wanted to understand.

"I don't hide," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Henry tilted his head, his brown eyes meeting hers. "You do. Not just with the hood, but... with everything. You're always keeping people at arm's length, like you're afraid to let anyone in."

Rae looked away, her chest tightening. "It's not fear," she said quietly. "It's... easier this way. People are unpredictable. Messy. If you don't let them in, they can't hurt you."

Henry nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. I really do. But..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Not everyone's out to hurt you, Rae. Some people might actually surprise you."

She didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the rain again. The words felt too big, too heavy to address.

"Here," Henry said suddenly, pulling something from his pocket.

Rae turned, her brow furrowing as he held out a small, folded piece of paper.

"What's this?" she asked, taking it hesitantly.

"Just something I thought you'd like," he said, his tone casual. "Open it later."

Rae studied him for a moment, then tucked the paper into her pocket without unfolding it. "You're full of surprises," she muttered.

"I try," Henry said with a grin, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "See you in the library later?"

"Maybe," she said, her tone noncommittal.

He nodded, as though her vague response was good enough, and disappeared into the rain.

Rae sat there for a long time after he left, her fingers brushing against the thermos and the folded paper in her pocket.

Later that night, as she sat by her bedroom window watching the rain, she finally unfolded the note.

It was a simple sketch of her—hood up, staring out a window, her freckles faint but visible. Beneath it, in Henry's messy handwriting, were the words:

"Even the rain looks better with you in it."

For a long time, Rae just stared at the paper, her chest tight with something she didn't fully understand.

For the first time in years, she felt seen.

And it terrified her.