Chapter 7
It was still raining.
Outside Solenne’s window, the sky hung low like a secret too heavy to hold. The clouds were a bruised shade of gray, the kind that felt like they had been stitched into place, refusing to move on, refusing to let light bleed through. The soft hum of raindrops against the glass was steady, almost cruel in its gentleness. Solenne sat curled on the edge of her bed, blanket tangled around her legs, her phone face-down beside her as if even that slight glow of notification might be too much to bear.
She walked the long route home today. She told herself it was to clear her head, to shake the weight off her shoulders. But the truth was, she was running—from thoughts, from truths, from her. She walked slower than usual, deliberately so, letting the breeze tug at her sleeves and the scent of rain-soaked earth wrap around her. But nothing softened the tightness in her chest. Not the weather, not the silence, not the boy who walked beside her with practiced charm and easy words. She smiled, answered, nodded—and still felt nothing.
And that nothing felt like a betrayal.
Because when she was with Aurelle, everything felt like something. A glance lingered longer than it should have. A touch sparked with warmth that curled deep beneath her ribs. A laugh echoed in her bones like a song she never wanted to forget. Even in silence, there was comfort. Even in stillness, there was understanding. But today, it was just absence. A hollow void where Aurelle should’ve been.
And she’d chosen that.
Solenne leaned back slowly, her head pressing into the wall, the cold seeping into her skin. Her eyes traced the familiar corners of her room, but it all looked strange—like a life she no longer fit into. Her thoughts circled tightly around themselves, coiling like smoke without fire. She wanted to cry, but her eyes stayed dry, too heavy with something thicker than tears.
Why did it hurt so much? Why did seeing Aurelle walking away feel like being left out in the cold—like she’d been given a key to something sacred and then forgot how to use it?
She thought of Aurelle’s face, how unreadable it looked in that brief moment their eyes met. No smile. No familiar softness. Just distance. A quiet kind of sadness that mirrored her own.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”
The words echoed in her chest, even if they never left her lips.
They were best friends. Everyone said so. Everyone knew. They were Solenne-and-Aurelle, a pair, a rhythm, a certainty. And yet, something shifted—slowly, silently, like the tide pulling back before an impending storm. She noticed it in the way Aurelle’s gaze flickered, like she was searching for answers she couldn’t name. She felt it in the way her own laughter faltered when Aurelle didn’t echo it.
What changed?
No. Not what. She knew.
It wasn’t the teasing from their friends, though that’s once been harmless. Lately, those words—“You’re like a couple,” “You two need to just kiss already,” “It’s like watching a love story in real time”—started to sting. Not because they were wrong, but because they were too close to the truth. Because each joke settled in her bones like a weight she didn’t know how to carry.
Because she started to wonder. To feel.
And she didn’t meant to. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t wake up one day and think: I’m going to fall for my best friend. But it happened, slowly and irreversibly, like petals curling open to the sun. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment it began, but she knew when she felt it—the ache when Aurelle pulled away. The panic that crept in during the silence. The devastation, quiet and brutal, when she imagined a world where they aren’t “Solenne-and-Aurelle” anymore.
That thought alone made her breath catch. Not just because of what it meant, but because she didn’t realized how deeply she was already chained.
“I love her.”
It didn’t come like a lightning strike. It came like a whisper, shy and trembling, curling in the hollow spaces of her heart like it has always been there. Her eyes widened slightly, her chest tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her blanket.
I love her.
Not in the easy, sisterly way their friends teased about. Not in the soft platonic comfort of shared secrets and inside jokes. No, it was something more. Something wilder. Something terrifying. A kind of love that made her want to memorize the shape of Aurelle’s smile, the rhythm of her walk, the way she said her name like it meant more than just syllables.
She loved her. And now she didn’t know what to do with it.
What if it was too late? What if Aurelle already started walking away—physically, emotionally, truly—and she only just begun to understand what she was losing?
She reached for her phone with trembling fingers, staring at the screen like it might hold an answer. Her thumb hovered over Aurelle’s name, that familiar icon that always made her smile. But now, it just made her ache.
What do I say?
Do I say anything at all?
Every message she typed, she deleted.
“Are you okay?” No, too vague.
“I’m sorry.” For what? She hadn’t even found the words yet.
“Can we talk?” It sounded like a goodbye.
She stared at the screen, willing it to light up, to show her name—Aurelle. But it didn’t.
She pressed the heel of her palm to her chest, as if she could steady the storm inside her. But it wouldn’t still. It raged louder with each second. How did she not seen it before? That her smile always lingered longer when it was for Aurelle. That her laughter came easier when Aurelle was beside her. That her entire day tilted toward where Aurelle stood—like sunflowers craning for warmth, even on overcast skies.
Why did it take distance to understand the gravity of someone's presence?
She swallowed the rising ache, scrolling through old messages. The tiny timestamps, the simple “good mornings,” the inside jokes that now felt like memories she couldn’t touch without hurting. Her thumb hovered over their chat, the weight of unspoken words pressing against her lungs.
She typed again, quickly. Hesitating would only make it worse.
“Are you home?”
She sent it.
And then waited.
One minute.
Then two.
She bit her lip.
Three.
Aurelle wasn’t answering.
The screen stayed blank. No typing bubble. No reply. Just that single message, suspended in space like a question that might never be answered.
The minutes stretched on. Seven. Eight. Nine. Still nothing.
She remembered how it used to be—how Aurelle never waited even seconds to reply. How she’d respond in real time, sometimes even before Solenne could lock her phone. Like she’s been waiting too. Like their conversations were threads of a story they were always eager to continue.
But now the screen was silent. Blank. Unmoving.
Solenne’s hands trembled. Her breath stuttered.
Was this it?
Had she broken something by walking with someone else? By hesitating when she should’ve reached out? Did her silence cost her a connection she didn’t even known was that fragile?
She pressed her forehead to her knees. The sheets beneath her felt cold, damp with sweat despite the chill. She didn’t cry. Not yet. But something inside her was cracking—slow, precise fractures, like hairline cracks in porcelain. It wouldn’t shatter all at once. No. It would break gradually, cruelly, piece by aching piece.
And still—nothing.
The phone stayed silent.
What terrified her most wasn’t Aurelle being upset. It was the possibility that Aurelle already begun to give up.
The thought of not being in Aurelle’s orbit… it felt like suffocating in open air. How did she gone so long without realizing that everything in her days—her laughter, her comfort, her stillness—was built around one person? That every conversation was an excuse to hear Aurelle’s voice, every walk an attempt to prolong their time together?
And now, that very presence have become a ghost. Untouchable.
Her throat tightened.
Maybe she’d been foolish. Maybe she'd been blind. She thought she was keeping things steady by not rocking the boat, by staying in denial, by pretending nothing had changed when everything had. But now, she saw the cost. And it was devastating.
The thought of Aurelle giving that smile to someone else. Of walking beside someone else. Of not needing Solenne anymore.
It made her want to scream.
Instead, her fingers began to type again. Stumbling. Uncertain. But desperate.
Please text back.
She stared. Backspaced it.
Too much.
She typed again.
are you mad at me?
Backspaced again.
In the end, she sent nothing. The fear was too loud. The shame, louder.
So, she stared at that single message.
are you home?
Unanswered.
And for the first time, Solenne felt what it was like to miss someone who hadn’t even left.
Because Aurelle was still there—still alive, still breathing somewhere under the same sky. And yet, she felt like she had already slipped beyond reach. And Solenne… Solenne had no idea how to bring her back.
Not when her silence was the one that pushed her away.
------------
Still, no reply.
Solenne stared at the screen as if willing it to change would undo the distance growing between them. As if blinking enough times would summon a reply like magic. But there was nothing—just the glowing echo of her message hanging there unanswered, like a breath held too long.
The silence wasn’t just silence anymore. It was rejection wrapped in uncertainty. It was space growing teeth. It was every unspoken thing suddenly screaming into the silence.
Her thoughts began to stumble over themselves, frantic and messy.
What if I said something wrong? What if it’s too late? What if she’s done? What if that text was the last thread and I tugged too hard?
She tried to breathe but it came in shallow gasps, like her chest had collapsed inward. Her heart was beating too fast, not like a gallop—but like a bird trapped in a cage, all wings and fear and nowhere to fly. She pressed her palms into her eyes like she could press back the tears, like she could rearrange her thoughts into something that made sense.
But nothing made sense now.
Because this wasn’t just about a message.
It was about every moment that led to this—every glance held too long, every silence stretched between them, every lingering word and laughter that felt like a lifeline. It was the way Aurelle’s voice curled around her name like it belonged to her. It was the way being next to her felt like standing at the edge of something she was both terrified of and desperately drawn to.
And now that presence—her—was gone.
Not literally. Not entirely. But Solenne could feel her slipping through the cracks. With every second of stillness, with every unread message, it felt like Aurelle was turning into smoke. Something she couldn’t hold. Something that had been hers, quietly, unknowingly, and now was threatening to disappear.
“I can’t…” she whispered to no one. “I can’t lose her.”
The thought rose up like a scream in her chest, loud and sudden and undeniable.
Because I love her.
Suddenly, the air in her room felt too thin.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She grabbed her phone, slipped into her sneakers, and flung the door open. The rain greeted her like a crashing confession—cold, unrelenting, and real.
“Solenne!” her mother called out from somewhere down the hall, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t even turn her head. Her feet slapped against the pavement like a heartbeat, the kind that begged not to be too late.
She didn’t care about the storm. She was the storm.
Hair plastered to her cheeks; jacket soaked through in seconds—none of it mattered. All she could think about was Aurelle. Her name on repeat like a prayer, a song, a lifeline.
But the rain was merciless.
It was no longer a gentle drizzle that kissed the rooftops or tapped lightly against windowpanes—it was an orchestra of grief, a tempest that matched the storm unraveling inside Solenne. She didn’t remember grabbing her coat. Didn’t remember flying down the stairs, her mother’s voice calling after her—concerned, confused, unanswered. She only remembered the way her heart cracked open with each passing second.
She ran.
Through the iron gates, through the dim-lit streets that blurred with tears and rainwater, through the roar of her thoughts and the silence of unanswered prayers. Her shoes slapped against the pavement, water soaking through the fabric and into her socks, chilling her to the bone. Each breath was sharp, shallow, frantic. Her legs screamed with the effort, her muscles burning, but still she ran—because stopping meant feeling, and feeling meant breaking completely.
Her hand trembled as she unlocked her phone, nearly dropping it. Her fingers, numb from cold and panic, managed to press Aurelle’s name.
The call rang.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
Solenne gasped and shook her head, shaking the screen like it had betrayed her. “No,” she whispered, her voice drowned by the sky. “Not now. Please.”
She called again.
Four rings. Five.
No answer.
Her feet hit a puddle, the splash soaking her jeans, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The rhythm of her running synced with her panic, and the question echoed louder with each beat: What if I’ve already lost her?
She remembered the look on Aurelle’s face earlier—tired, distant, hollow. She remembered the silence, the weight between them, like a ghost neither of them wanted to name. It had been building for weeks, creeping into their spaces like ivy, choking the familiarity they once wrapped themselves in.
She stumbled.
The world tilted as she tripped on uneven concrete, the fall scraping her palms and tearing at her knees. For a second, she stayed there, hunched on the sidewalk beneath a flickering streetlamp, breathing like she was drowning. Her phone landed beside her, screen glowing like a beacon in the storm.
Her breath hitched.
She couldn’t stay here.
She picked up the phone, pressed call again.
Six rings. Seven.
Still nothing.
A choked sound escaped her lips—a sob or a breath, she didn’t know. She pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could keep her heart from tearing open completely. Each ring felt like a goodbye she wasn’t ready to say. Each silence like a door closing.
And then—
She reached the street. Their street.
The familiarity of it made her legs buckle, but she didn’t fall this time. Aurelle’s house stood ahead, its outline blurred by rain and the mist of her breath. The porch light flickered in the distance like a lighthouse, like hope.
Her fingers hovered over the screen again, pressing the call button one more time. Her voice cracked as she choked out a sob.
“Please, just once…”
Eight.
The line connected.
--------------
The rain hadn’t let up since the afternoon, a constant hush against her window like the world itself was trying to drown out the thoughts spiraling in her mind. Aurelle sat on the edge of her bed, the soft hum of the storm outside seeping into the corners of her room. She’d been staring at her phone for too long, watching the screen like it might light up on its own. But Solenne hadn’t messaged since earlier—and that message, those eight words, still echoed in her head.
“No need. Someone will walk me home.”
Aurelle read it again in her mind, again and again, until the words became something else entirely. Something cold. Something cruel. Even if it wasn’t meant to be.
Her throat felt dry; her chest too full. She rose to her feet, needing to move, needing to shake the heaviness off. Maybe a shower, she thought. Maybe if she let the water run long enough, it would drown this ache before it could settle in her bones.
The light in the bathroom flickered slightly as she stepped in. The mirror caught a glimpse of her face—tired, puffy-eyed, and not entirely herself. Not the girl who used to tease Solenne for how long she took to pick socks in the morning. Not the girl who used to walk beside her every afternoon like nothing could ever shift the rhythm of their footsteps.
She turned the knob and stepped under the spray.
The water hit her skin like a thousand tiny needles—hot, too hot, but she didn’t flinch. It was better than the dull throb inside her. She closed her eyes, letting the water fall down her back, her face, soaking her hair and trailing down her spine like fingers of memory.
She thought of Solenne.
Solenne with her sun-warmed laugh, the kind that spilled like gold over everything. Solenne who always stood just close enough that their arms would brush. Solenne who always looked back when they crossed the street, just to make sure Aurelle was still beside her. Solenne, who once whispered secrets in the dark like the night sky itself was listening.
Aurelle pressed her forehead against the tile. The heat clung to her skin like regret.
You’re so stupid, she thought. So stupid for waiting so long. For letting the silence grow it’s roots.
She should have told her. She should have said something before it got this far. But she had waited, hoping maybe it would pass. Maybe the feelings were just confusion. Maybe the way her heartbeat fluttered every time Solenne smiled wasn’t something real. Maybe if she stayed quiet, she could preserve what they had.
But now, she was alone, soaked and trembling, with steam clouding the glass and her chest caving in on itself.
She didn’t know how long she stayed in the shower. Minutes? Half an hour? It could’ve been longer. Time had stopped making sense. The water had gone lukewarm and her fingers were pruned, but still she stood there—like if she stood still long enough, everything else would, too.
When she finally emerged, wrapped in a towel, she caught the glow of her phone from across the room.
She froze.
One missed call. Then another. And another.
Five.
Solenne.
Her name pulsed on the screen like a heartbeat.
Panic bloomed—but not the kind that quickens the breath. It was the quiet kind. The kind that roots itself in your ribs and asks what now?
Her fingers hovered over the phone. She didn’t touch it.
It rang again.
Six.
Her breath hitched.
She didn’t move.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her breathing uneven, shallow. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t hear her voice—couldn’t hear the person who once made everything feel so easy, so light. Not when things between them now felt like a ruin of what once was. Not when every moment with Solenne had become a minefield of almost, maybes and what-ifs.
Seven.
Her heart twisted.
How could she answer when she didn’t even know what to say? How could she face her, soaked in silence and distance, when all she wanted to do was fall into her arms and confess the storm she’d been hiding?
The phone rang.
Eight.
And this time, Aurelle—against her own will, against the ache in her chest—answered.
“Not now, Solenne,” she said, her voice cracking like glass. “I can’t—please, I can’t do this right now.”
But before she could end it, before she could retreat back into the silence she thought she needed, Solenne’s voice broke through.
“No—wait, please—Aurelle, just—just let me say something. I need to— I’m sorry, I just—please—”
Her words tumbled over themselves like falling leaves, like a dam breaking. But Aurelle couldn’t hear them. Not really. Something else caught her attention.
The rain.
Not the kind muffled through glass or remembered in dreams. This was real. Heavy. Present. The sound of it bleeding into Solenne’s call—sharp, chaotic, and relentless.
Aurelle’s heart slowed, then stuttered, then raced.
She pulled the phone from her ear and brought it back again, eyes wide.
“Solenne,” she said quietly, too aware now. “Where are you?”
Silence.
She waited, breath lodged in her throat.
And then—small, quiet, like the crumbling of something once sacred—Solenne whispered, “I’m outside.”
The world tilted.
Aurelle dropped the phone. Her body moved on instinct, legs numb, feet bare on the floor as she crossed the room and tore open her curtains.
And there she was.
Solenne, standing beneath the bruised night sky, soaked through to the bone, the rain carving rivers down her skin, her figure trembling beneath the streetlight glow. Her arms hugged her body as though trying to hold herself together.
And her eyes—
God, her eyes.
They looked up at Aurelle’s window like it was salvation. Like she had nowhere else to go.
Aurelle pressed her palm to the cold glass, and something inside her cracked wide open.
She didn’t remember moving.
One heartbeat she was pressed against the glass, and in the next, she was tearing down the stairs, her feet pounding against the wooden floor, the front door flung open with a force that startled the night. The rain swallowed her whole. It hit her skin like needles, cold and unrelenting, soaking through her clothes instantly. But she didn’t care. All she could see—through the mist, the blur of tears and storm—was her.
“Solenne!” her voice cracked as she ran, breath catching in her chest like a splinter.
Solenne was just standing there, in the center of the street, beneath the dying glow of the streetlamp. Her hair was plastered to her face, her arms folded like she could keep herself from falling apart, but her eyes—those damn eyes—never left Aurelle’s.
Aurelle reached her in seconds, the water squelching in her slippers, her shirt clinging to her spine, heart beating a frantic rhythm. She stopped in front of Solenne, breathless, wild with panic.
“Are you insane?” she shouted over the sound of the rain, her voice trembling more than she wanted. “What are you doing? You’re going to get sick out here!”
Her hands, shaking, reached out and clutched Solenne’s arms. She tried to pull her gently, tried to guide her back toward the house. “Come inside. Please. This is crazy—come inside before—”
But Solenne didn’t move.
She didn’t even flinch.
Aurelle froze. The cold seeped deeper into her bones now, not from the rain—but from the way Solenne looked at her.
Like she was made of glass and thunder. Like this moment had been waiting in the quiet between them all along.
Aurelle turned back to her slowly, blinking water from her lashes.
Solenne wasn’t just wet—she looked shattered.
Like everything she’d been holding in had slipped through the cracks, like the only thing keeping her upright was this moment—this gaze between them—so heavy it felt like gravity itself had shifted.
And even though the rain poured like grief around them, and their breaths fogged and trembled between them, neither said a word.
It was as if the world had silenced itself to make room for something louder: the storm inside them both.
Aurelle opened her mouth to say something—anything—but her throat burned with the things she didn’t know how to confess. With the guilt, the love, the ache, the terror of what all of this meant.
The rain kissed her lips. The cold bit her cheeks. But Solenne—Solenne looked at her like she was the only warmth left in the world.
And Aurelle knew then.
This wasn’t just about a moment. This wasn’t just panic.
This was something else. Something that had been building, quietly, dangerously, under every look, every silence, every touch.
And now, it risen with the rain.
And neither of them could run anymore.
Aurelle let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and reached for Solenne again, fingers curling gently around her wrist this time—softer, like the trembling of her own heart had finally spilled into her hands.
“Solenne,” she whispered, voice thin and threadbare against the storm. “Please. You’re soaked. You’ll catch a—”
But when she tugged again, Solenne still didn’t move.
She stood there, feet rooted to the pavement, her skin glistening with rain, hair cascading in heavy tendrils down her shoulders, dark as ink beneath the weak orange flicker of the streetlamp. The water traced every curve of her face—over the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the trembling shape of her mouth. Her eyes, wide and glassy, held Aurelle’s gaze like they were clinging to the last anchor before she drowned.
“I—I’m not going in,” Solenne said, her voice brittle, fragile as the tension strung between them. “Not yet. Not until I—I say this.”
Aurelle froze, her heart tightening in her chest like a fist clenching around something it didn’t know how to name.
Solenne looked away for a second, as if the sky might offer her a braver version of herself. But the only thing it offered was more rain—soft and relentless, like a thousand whispered truths falling between them.
“I c-can’t do this anymore,” Solenne continued, her breath hitching. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. I—I thought if I gave it time, if I just ignored it long enough, it would go away, or maybe it wouldn’t matter. But…”
Her throat tightened, and she looked back at Aurelle, blinking away the rain, or maybe the tears. Her hands shook at her sides.
“But every time you’re near me and don’t look at me the way you used to, it—it hurts, Elle. And I—I don’t even know when it started, or how it got this bad, but it’s there. It’s always there. In the way you smile at everyone else but not me anymore. In the silence when we walk home. In the space between our hands that used to never exist.”
She pressed her lips together as if to stop herself, but the dam was breaking now, and it was too late to hold it back.
“I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss us. I miss how easy it used to be. And now I feel like I’m losing you, and it’s—it’s like I’m losing the only part of me that made sense.”
Her breath caught again, jagged and trembling.
“I—God, I didn’t mean to feel this way. I didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend. I started noticing every time you tucked your hair behind your ear, every time you laughed too loud, or got passionate about stupid things, or forgot to tie your shoelaces, or—”
Her voice cracked.
“Or when you didn’t wait for me anymore.”
Aurelle flinched, almost subtle, but Solenne saw it. She swallowed thickly.
“I thought I was imagining it. I—I kept trying to tell myself it was nothing. That I was just tired, or overthinking, or being clingy. But it’s not that. It’s not. It’s because I love you, and I’m scared. I’m so scared, Elle.”
Solenne’s chest rose and fell with every word like she was trying to breathe underwater.
“And today, when you walked away, and I didn’t go after you—I thought I could handle it. I thought I just needed space. But all it did was make everything worse. Because I kept thinking—what if that’s how it ends? What if that’s it? What if you walk away and never come back?”
She shook her head, biting her lip so hard it almost bled.
“I’m not okay,” she whispered. “I’m not okay without you. I’ve been trying to be, but I can’t. I can’t imagine a world where we’re just… strangers again.”
She was sobbing now, but quietly, like she didn’t think she deserved to be loud about her pain.
“And I’m sorry if this ruins everything. I—I don’t know what you feel, or if you feel anything close to what I do, but I had to say it. Because if I didn’t… if I kept it in one more day, I think it would have broken me.”
Her voice shook, desperate, barely held together.
“I love you, Aurelle. I love you so much it hurts. And I don’t know what to do with it anymore.”
The silence that followed was heavy and wild.
The streetlamp above them buzzed, casting flickers of gold against the sheen of rain on their skin. Solenne looked like a painting—soaked and shattered, lit from behind like some tragic figure lost in her own confession. The world had gone still, save for the murmuring of the rain and the sound of two hearts beating in uneven time.
And Aurelle—Aurelle could only look at her, stunned, broken open by the weight of everything Solenne had given, her voice still echoing in the downpour like a fragile truth waiting to be held.
The world slowed.
Aurelle's breath caught. Her heart surged and sank all at once, as if it collided with something she wasn’t ready to face. The rain clung to her skin like a second heartbeat, her clothes heavy with water and disbelief. Time stretched like fog, pulling the moment into something unreal.
Solenne loved her.
The girl she have spent years beside—chasing laughter through hallways, whispering secrets into sleep, stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking—loved her.
Aurelle’s throat felt tight, her thoughts a storm of their own. Wasn’t this what she feared all along? That the ache in her chest wasn’t just confusion? That the reason her world dimmed when Solenne smiled at someone else was not platonic jealousy—but longing, unspoken and unclaimed?
She wanted to say something—anything—but her mouth felt sealed shut by the weight of everything she hadn’t let herself feel. Words jostled in her chest, bruising her ribs with their urgency, but none of them felt right. None of them could reach the trembling girl in front of her the way she wanted them to.
Because she wanted to. God, she wanted to.
But before she could speak, before she could reach out and close the unbearable distance between them—
“Aurelle?! What the hell are you doing out there?!”
The voice pierced the rain like a blade.
Aurelle blinked, reality crashing back down around her. Her mother stood at the porch, arms crossed over her robe, the warm golden light from inside casting her in a silhouette of worry and confusion.
“I said—what are you doing?! Both of you! Get inside right now! You’re going to get yourselves killed out there!”
Solenne flinched beside her. The fragile moment shattered.
Still stunned, Aurelle reached again for Solenne’s wrist—this time with more purpose, more urgency. She tugged, gently but firmly, willing her to follow, to move, to break free from the gravity of everything that had just changed.
But Solenne didn’t move.
Aurelle turned, confusion tightening her brows. Solenne was staring at her, her lips still parted from the confession, her eyes searching Aurelle’s face like she was trying to read the answer in the spaces between her silence.
Aurelle opened her mouth, another flood of words rising up her throat, but her mother’s voice cut through the moment again—sharper this time, more urgent.
“Get inside! Now!”
The weight of the world returned all at once.
Without thinking, Aurelle gripped Solenne’s wrist and pulled. Solenne followed, feet dragging, and together they crossed the threshold into the light, soaked, breathless, and changed.
And though Aurelle still hadn’t said a single word…
Her silence was like thunder.
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The door clicked shut behind them with a weight that echoed far beyond its sound.
Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around them like a second skin—too hot, too bright, too loud after the hushed ache of the rain. Water pooled around their feet, trailing across the floor like a trace of the moment they had just left behind.
Aurelle’s mother stood in front of them, arms folded tight, face twisted in that specific kind of maternal fury born from fear.
“What were you two thinking? Standing out there like that in the middle of a storm—at night! You could’ve gotten sick, struck by lightning—anything!”
Neither of them spoke. Solenne’s eyes were cast low, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks. Aurelle stared past her mother, at the staircase, at the shadows flickering against the walls—anywhere but at Solenne.
Her mother sighed, exasperated, and shoved two towels into their arms. “Dry yourselves now. And for God’s sake, change out of those clothes before you catch something.”
Still, they said nothing.
She glanced between them, finally pausing, her tone softening ever so slightly. “Are you girls, okay?”
Aurelle nodded too quickly.
Solenne only whispered, “Sorry, Tita.”
Her mother gave them a look—one that lingered a second too long on Aurelle. “Both of you, upstairs. Get out of those wet clothes,” she ordered, her tone stern but softening beneath a layer of worry. “You’ll catch your death if you keep standing there like that.”
Solenne shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting toward the door. “Tita, I—I think I’ll just go home. I’ll be fine, really—”
“No,” Aurelle’s mom interrupted, the word sharp, final. “Absolutely not. You’re not going back out there. Not in this condition.”
Solenne froze mid-step.
Aurelle didn’t move either.
Her mother turned to Aurelle. “Take her upstairs, let her borrow some dry clothes. I’ll make some soup for the both of you. And please, for the love of all that’s good—try not to give me another heart attack tonight.”
Aurelle swallowed, throat thick. “Okay.”
Without another word, her mother turned and padded off to the kitchen, muttering something about teenagers and rains and how it’s always them who made her feel fifty before her time.
The warmth of the hallway returned with her absence, but neither Aurelle nor Solenne could feel it. The storm might’ve been locked behind the walls, but it still raged between them—unspoken and raw.
Solenne looked down at the towel in her hands, twisting it between her fingers like it was the only thing anchoring her. Her voice was small, barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to—”
“Come on,” Aurelle said, quietly. “You’ll catch a cold.”
She turned toward the stairs, not waiting to see if Solenne would follow.
She didn’t have to look to know she would.
Their footsteps were soft on the stairs, a slow rhythm echoing in a house hushed by rain. Solenne followed Aurelle quietly, one hand holding the edge of the towel around her, the other clenched to her side like it was the only way to keep herself steady. Every step felt like crossing a fragile line—one she'd blurred, one she'd exposed beneath the rain.
Aurelle didn’t glance back, not even once. Her silhouette, just a few steps ahead, a shadow Solenne had always trusted to follow. But tonight, that shadow felt distant, unreachable. Like something that might vanish if she reached for it too fast.
Solenne's mind was a storm in its own right—words crashing against each other, too many thoughts trying to speak at once. Her confession still hung in the space between them, fragile and naked. She had spilled herself open in the rain, stuttering, trembling, raw—and Aurelle had said nothing. She wasn’t even sure if Aurelle had heard her completely. And now, the weight of that silence pressed into every corner of her thoughts.
What did I do?
Did I ruin everything?
Why isn’t she saying anything?
Why did I say it like that? Why now?
Was I too late?
She wrapped the towel tighter around herself, not for warmth, but for protection—as if fabric could somehow guard her from the ache blooming behind her ribs.
They reached Aurelle’s room, and when the door opened, it was like stepping into a memory Solenne hadn’t prepared herself to face. The light was soft, the walls familiar, but now it all seemed distant, like returning to a place from a dream that had shifted ever so slightly.
She hovered by the door, afraid to step inside, afraid to move too loudly—as though the floor itself might crack beneath the weight of her ownguilt.
Then she saw them—reminders of herself scattered around Aurelle’s room like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t realized they’d been building for years.
There, on the shelf, was the small stuffed bear she’d given Aurelle in sixth grade—missing one eye now, its fur dulled with age, but still sitting upright as though it had been waiting all this time. A photo frame on the nightstand caught her eye next: the two of them smiling, arms slung around each other like gravity didn’t apply when they were together. A pressed flower, long dried, tucked in the corner of Aurelle’s mirror—the one Solenne had picked for her during a field trip and awkwardly given with flushed cheeks.
And on the desk—her hairclip. The one she thought she’d lost forever. Solenne blinked, throat tightening. Why had she kept it?
Her knees nearly buckled under the quiet weight of it all. I was everywhere here, she thought. Am I still?
Aurelle moved toward the closet without a word, opening it with practiced ease. Solenne’s gaze followed her, searching for answers in the set of her shoulders, in the way her hands lingered too long on the clothes she chose. She pulled out an oversized hoodie and sweatpants—something comfortable, something warm. For her. She still thought about her comfort.
When Aurelle turned and held them out, their fingers brushed, just for a second. It wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
Solenne clutched the clothes to her chest, heart roaring louder than the rain outside. Her mouth opened before she could stop herself.
“I—maybe I should just… go ho—”
“Don’t.” Aurelle’s voice cut through her hesitation. It wasn’t harsh. But it was final.
Solenne froze.
“Just get changed. Use the shower if you want.”
Her throat closed around the thousands of words threatening to spill again. Please say something else, she thought. Please say you didn’t hate hearing it. Please say you felt it too. Please—
But nothing came.
Her eyes moved around the room again. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips, feel her breath catch on the edges of the silence. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
She looked at Aurelle.
And Aurelle looked back.
That look—Solenne wanted to reach into it, peel it apart like pages in a book, and find her answer. But Aurelle’s eyes held that same quiet she always had when she was thinking too hard—guarded, like a locked door behind glass.
They stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime suspended in raindrops. Then, Aurelle blinked slowly and gave a small sigh.
“You’ll catch a cold if you keep standing there.”
Solenne nodded, not trusting her voice. She turned toward the bathroom with slow, reluctant steps. Her fingers gripped the clothes tightly like a lifeline.
Behind her, the door clicked shut softly—but in her chest, something cracked louder. Something small, something terrified. Something that still hadn’t healed from the moment she saw Aurelle walking away, carrying silence where once there was laughter.
And now, every corner of this room was a reminder of the love Solenne had always been wrapped in—and never dared to name until it might be too late.
-------------
Outside the bathroom, the sound of running water hummed gently, a low backdrop against the quiet of Aurelle’s room. The rain still tapped lightly against the windows, softer now—less of a storm, more of a lullaby sung to aching hearts. Aurelle stood there for a long moment, her body still damp despite the towel, her hands unmoving by her sides.
Then, almost as if remembering herself, she turned slowly and changed into dry clothes—an oversized hoodie, loose and worn, and a pair of shorts. Her movements were mechanical, mind somewhere else. When she finally sat on the edge of her bed, she felt the weight of everything at once. Her shoulders sank, her fingers clutched at the comforter, and her eyes settled on the closed bathroom door.
Solenne was in there. Solenne had said those words. Words that had never been said out loud before, not between them, though they had been whispering underneath everything for weeks, months—maybe even years.
“I love you.”
Three words that rewrote everything. Three words Aurelle had dreamt of and dreaded all at once.
She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, trying to make herself smaller, trying to shut up the screaming in her mind. Her heart was still thudding against her ribs, loud and wild, like it couldn’t decide if it was terrified or relieved. She wanted to throw up. Or cry. Or scream into the silence until it cracked.
She hasn’t said anything back. She couldn’t. The words had caught in her throat like splinters, sharp and impossible to swallow. Not because she didn’t feel the same—no, God, she did. She felt everything. Too much.
She’d been feeling it for a long time now. Every lingering touch. Every glance that lasted too long. Every moment where their laughter tipped into something breathless and uncertain. She felt it in the silence between them lately, too. In the weight of what neither of them dared to say.
But if they said it—if they stepped across that fragile, invisible line—there would be no going back.
And that terrified her.
Because this—this thing between them—it had always been sacred. Their friendship was the one thing in her life that had never faltered, never left, never shattered under the weight of the world. Solenne was her constant. Her north star. The only person who saw her without needing explanation.
But love had teeth. It could bite, bleed and bruise. What if they tried, and it didn’t work? What if they ruined the only thing that had ever truly felt like home?
Aurelle glanced at her nightstand and saw the photo—the two of them, years younger, arms around each other, laughter caught mid-bloom in the lens. Behind it, the teddy bear Solenne gave her on her birthday. On her shelf: the mixtape they made together. Her walls were covered in Solenne’s fingerprints, even if no one else could see them.
And suddenly, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
What if I lose her? What if I’m the one who breaks her?
Her fingers dug into the fabric of her hoodie, knuckles white.
She remembered the look in Solenne’s eyes. Desperate. Exposed. That raw trembling that only comes from offering someone your heart without a promise it’ll be held gently.
Aurelle had seen it. And she’d looked away.
Not because she didn’t love her. But because loving Solenne meant risking the most precious part of her world.
The water stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Aurelle stared at the closed door, her heart beating faster with every passing second. Solenne would come out soon. Would look at her again with those eyes, with that question still lingering in the air. And Aurelle didn’t know if she has the strength to face it. To face her.
She leaned forward and pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to force the tears back. Her chest ached with the pressure of everything she hasn’t said.
I love you, but I’m scared.
I love you, but I don’t want to lose what we have.
I love you, but I don’t know how to carry that love without breaking under the weight of it.
But most of all—I love you, and that’s what terrifies me the most.
Because if they fell apart… she would never recover from it.
And yet…
And yet, a voice in her, quieter but deeper than fear, whispered: You already love her. You've already crossed the line. You're just pretending you haven’t.
Aurelle looked down at her trembling hands. How do you hold something so precious, so fragile, without shattering it?
The doorknob turned.
And suddenly, Aurelle wasn’t sure if she was ready to find out.
-----------------
The door creaked softly, and Solenne stepped out into the quiet room, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt Aurelle had given her. Her hair, still damp, clung to her cheeks, framing her face in dark strands. She didn’t move further, just stood there—half in the hallway light, half in shadow—eyes locked on Aurelle like she was waiting for permission to breathe again.
Aurelle looked up, her heart stumbling against her ribs. Solenne looked so fragile in that moment, like if she exhaled too hard, she’d disappear into the hush of the room. Her gaze softened, and with a quiet breath, she offered the gentlest smile she could muster. Then, wordlessly, she patted the empty space beside her on the bed.
Solenne hesitated—only for a heartbeat—before her feet carried her forward like the floor had pulled her in. She sat down, the mattress dipping beneath her weight, but she didn’t lean in. She kept her hands to herself, shoulders tight, every part of her braced like a wave was coming.
Silence settled between them again. Not heavy like before, but tentative. Fragile. The kind of silence that knew it was balancing on the edge of something irreversible.
It was Aurelle who broke it, her voice barely louder than a whisper, but cutting through the stillness all the same.
“…What you said. Earlier.” She swallowed, feeling her throat tighten. “Did you mean it?”
Solenne stilled. For a moment, she looked like she hadn’t heard it, or maybe hoped she hadn’t. But then her eyes flicked to Aurelle, wide and uncertain, and she gave the smallest of nods. “Yeah,” she said, so soft it was almost lost in the hum of the night. “I did.”
Aurelle’s chest constricted. She opened her mouth, searching for the words, but Solenne beat her to it—words spilling out before she could hold them back.
“I—I know I shouldn’t have said it like that, I just—I couldn’t hold it in anymore. And I know it might mess things up, and I know you probably don’t feel the same, or maybe you’re not ready, and I’ll understand, I promise, I just—”
“Solenne,” Aurelle said, gently, but firm enough to stop the unraveling thread of panic.
Solenne froze, her eyes glassy with nerves, her breath caught between apology and hope.
Aurelle turned toward Solenne fully, her knees drawn up, hands curled tightly in the sleeves of her hoodie like they might keep her from unraveling. She looked at Solenne—really looked—and the dam she’d been holding back for weeks cracked open.
“I do,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper, but each syllable carried a tremor of truth. “I do feel the same.”
Solenne blinked at her, the shock painting a question across her features, but Aurelle wasn’t done—not yet, not after carrying the weight of unspoken feelings for so long.
“I’ve felt it for a while now,” Aurelle continued, her voice raw, like every word scraped against something tender inside her. “I just… I didn’t want to. I kept telling myself that it’s just us being us. That we’re just close. That I’m just imagining things. But every time you looked at me with that smile, like I was your whole world… it felt like falling, slowly and helplessly.”
She took a shaky breath, eyes cast down toward their hands on the bed—close, but not touching.
“I started pulling away because it scared me. Because I realized I wasn’t just afraid of you not feeling the same—I was afraid that you did. That if we let this become something more… we might ruin it. And I don’t know how to live in a world where you’re not beside me. You’re the first person I run to when everything falls apart, the one constant in a world that won’t stop changing.”
She paused, her breath hitching. “And I guess I thought if I kept pretending, if I stayed silent, then I could keep you close—keep us safe. But that silence became a wall. And I kept watching us drift further and further away, too afraid to speak, too afraid to lose what little of you I still had.”
Her voice cracked, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Every day, I wake up and pretend I don’t miss the way we used to talk about everything and nothing. I pretend it doesn’t kill me that our morning walks are quieter now. I tell myself I’m fine—because if I say it out loud, that I love you, that I need you—what happens if you walk away?”
She looked up at Solenne, finally meeting her eyes again, the storm of her fear and longing laid bare. “But when I saw you standing in the rain tonight, soaked and trembling, and I realized you came all this way because you couldn’t keep it in either… I knew I couldn’t pretend anymore.”
Her voice softened to a whisper, as if confessing to the stars.
“I love you, Sol. And it terrifies me. Because you mean so much to me that the thought of anything changing feels like stepping off the edge of the world. But I think I’d rather fall with you than stay safe and never know what it could be.”
Aurelle let the silence settle after that—heavy, trembling, sacred. The kind that asked not for a reply, but simply to be understood.
“But I’m scared,” she admitted, her eyes fixed on the space between them, as though even looking at Solenne would shatter her composure. “Not just of what this means… but of losing you. Of loving you the wrong way and ruining everything we’ve built. You’ve been beside me my whole life—what if we ruin it?”
Aurelle’s voice wavered as it cracked past her throat, the words feeling too big for her chest. “What if we don’t work out?” she whispered. “What if this… ruins everything?”
She wasn’t looking at Solenne anymore. Her gaze dropped to the floor, to the edge of the blanket crumpled beneath her fingertips, to the way her hands trembled in her lap—because meeting Solenne’s eyes felt like stepping out onto a ledge with no guarantee of landing. “You’ve always been the one constant, Sol. If we try and fail… I don’t think I could handle losing you.”
For a long moment, Solenne said nothing. The silence wasn’t cold—it was soft, holding space like a pair of open arms. Then, slowly, she shifted closer until their knees touched beneath the blanket of still air between them. Her hand reached out again, this time with more certainty, and slipped into Aurelle’s, fingers intertwining like they were meant to find each other in the dark.
“You’re not going to lose me,” Solenne said softly. “I’m still here. I’ve always been here.”
And then her other hand—warm and careful—lifted Aurelle’s chin until their eyes met again.
Solenne’s expression wasn’t just calm—it was steady, gentle, the way the moon stayed in place even when the tide tried to pull it away. Her thumb rubbed soothing circles against the back of Aurelle’s hand, grounding her, calming the tremors of fear and doubt.
“I know this feels big. I know it’s scary. It is for me too. I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself that it was just friendship. That the way I looked at you wasn’t different, that my heart wasn’t always skipping too many beats when you smiled at me. But I can’t lie to myself anymore.”
Her voice dropped, growing more intimate. “Every memory I have, you’re in it. Every time something good happens, you’re the first person I want to tell it to. When things go bad, I want your voice. Your comfort. Just… you.”
Aurelle blinked fast, her lashes wet with unshed emotion, because Solenne was saying everything she had buried beneath the fear.
“I know we don’t have answers. And yeah, maybe this will be messy. Maybe we’ll get confused or hurt or have to figure things out as we go. But Elle, isn’t it worth trying? Isn’t loving each other—finally, openly—worth a little uncertainty?”
She leaned forward, her forehead brushing lightly against Aurelle’s. “I don’t want to look back one day and wonder what we could’ve been if only we were brave enough.”
Aurelle felt the sting in her throat as the ache she’d been carrying bloomed fully, finally free. Her heart was racing, and it terrified her that someone could make her feel this vulnerable, this seen—and still, still, be the safest thing in the world.
“You really think… we’ll be okay?” she whispered.
Solenne gave a tender smile. “I don’t know what the future holds, Elle. But I know I want it to hold you. We’ll still be us. We’ll still laugh at the dumbest jokes and fight over the last donut and race to the corner just because we can. But maybe… maybe now, when I hold your hand, it won’t be by accident.”
She pressed a kiss to the knuckles of Aurelle’s hand—slow, reverent, like a promise.
“And when I look at you,” she continued, her voice trembling with the depth of what she felt, “it won’t be with words left unsaid. It’ll be with all the love I’ve carried quietly, all this time.”
Aurelle let out a soft sound, half-sob, half-laugh, and leaned forward until their foreheads touched again. Her free hand came up to cup the side of Solenne’s face, tentative but full of longing.
“I want that,” she murmured, almost breathless. “God, I want that. I’ve wanted it for so long I didn’t even realize it. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“You just did,” Solenne whispered, brushing her thumb against Aurelle’s cheek. “And I’m right here.”
They stayed like that for a while—just breathing, hearts syncing in the quiet, like the world outside had melted away with the rain. Nothing else mattered. Not tomorrow. Not the risk. Not the fear.
Only this moment, this closeness, the kind of love that had always been there, now spoken into the air like a prayer finding its home.
Eventually, Aurelle let out a breathy laugh. “So… this is us now?”
Solenne smiled. “Yeah. This is us.”
“Step by step?”
“Step by step.”
“Just… us?”
“Exactly.”
----------------
Just as the hush between them settled into something warm and breathable, Aurelle’s mom called from downstairs, her voice slicing through the quiet like a familiar bell ringing in a chapel. “Girls, come eat! The soup’s going cold!”
They looked at each other—an echo of a thousand times before—then smiled, soft and knowing. No dramatic declarations. No need for more words. Just two girls who had finally said what their hearts had been carrying all along.
So, they stood, still hand in hand, and walked downstairs where the steam from the soup fogged the kitchen windows and the lights cast a golden hue over the room. Aurelle’s mom didn’t say much—just raised an eyebrow and mumbled about how rain made people act foolish—but there was a gentleness to the way she placed extra bread on their plates and refilled their glasses without asking.
They ate like they always had, shoulder to shoulder, legs brushing beneath the table. Conversation was easy, unforced. A joke about how Solenne looked like a drowned cat. A playful nudge when Aurelle rolled her eyes. Laughter, like a river finally unblocked, flowing freely.
And when the dishes were washed and lights began dimming across the neighborhood, they climbed the stairs again—quiet feet on creaking wood, hearts lighter than they had been in weeks. In Aurelle’s room, the air smelled like home and rain and something newly bloomed.
They didn’t talk much after that. They didn’t have to. Aurelle pulled the blankets back and slipped beneath, just as she always had. And Solenne followed, just as she always had.
They lay there for a while, letting the silence stretch and breathe between them—no longer heavy, but full of something warm and golden. The soft hum of the rain outside still whispered against the windowpanes, a lullaby now instead of a storm.
Solenne shifted slightly beneath the covers, turning on her side to face Aurelle. Her hair was still a little damp, curling softly against her cheeks, eyes reflecting the dim lamplight in hues of gentle amber. Aurelle turned too, mirroring her without even thinking, drawn like tide to moon. Their faces were close now, just inches apart, their breath mingling in the space between—soft, quiet, steady.
Aurelle smiled first, barely there, but unmistakably tender. “Goodnight, Sol.”
And Solenne, eyes shining like she was holding stardust behind her lashes, whispered back, “Goodnight, Elle.”
Their names, stripped down to affection and familiarity, curled into the dark like petals closing at dusk.
Neither of them looked away. Not at first.
They stayed like that, gazing at one another with something that was no longer confusion, no longer fear—but a dawning reverence. A quiet marveling. Like seeing a favorite constellation for the first time, even though it had always been there.
Solenne reached out, just brushing her fingers against Aurelle’s hand beneath the blanket, their touch feather-light and full of promise. Aurelle didn’t pull away. She curled her fingers into Solenne’s, gently, and held on.
No more hiding.
Their eyes fluttered closed not long after, hearts echoing the same quiet rhythm.
And in the stillness of that room—warm and humming with the hush of rainfall outside—their love no longer lived in the spaces between what was said and left unsaid. It lived here now, breathing between them. Not in promises of forever, but in the quiet courage to begin.