The rain shifts from drizzle to something serious—fat drops that land on my shoulders, darkening the shoulders of Liam's gray hoodie. I shiver, and his thumb traces a circle on my palm, asking if I'm okay without a word. I squeeze back. I am. More than I've been in months.
"Sofia? Sofia!"
The voice cuts through the rain like a siren. I know it before I turn—Jenna, hunched under a purple umbrella that's clearly losing the fight, her bright copper hair already frizzing into a halo around her face. She's half-jogging toward us from the direction of campus, a canvas tote bag bouncing against her hip.
She stops dead when she sees our hands locked together.
Her freckled face breaks into a slow grin—the kind that says she's been waiting for this piece of gossip since November. "Well, well, well." She steps closer, raindrops clinging to her curls, and her green eyes flick from me to Liam and back with theatrical precision. "I was gonna ask how the coffee went, but I think I got my answer."
I feel the heat climb up my neck, into my cheeks. My free hand moves to my hair, tucking a wet strand behind my ear. "Jenna—"
"No, no, no." She holds up a hand, rain sliding off her umbrella's edge and splattering on the sidewalk. "I need a moment. I need to savor this. The mystery girl. The math class romance. The I-told-you-so I've been sitting on for three months." She turns to Liam, who's gone still beside me, his jaw tight but his eyes not hostile. "Gallagher. You finally grew a pair?"
"Jenna," I say again, sharper this time, but Liam's thumb presses into my palm, a small anchor.
"It's fine," he says, his voice low, almost lost under the rain. He looks at Jenna, and there's something steady in his pale blue eyes. "Yeah. I did."
Jenna's grin softens into something warmer. She shifts her umbrella so it covers me too—Liam gets left out, but he doesn't seem to mind, rain darkening his hood. "Good. Good. I was about to stage an intervention." She drops her voice, conspiratorial. "So. Maya?"
The name lands lighter than I expected. Maybe because I already chose. Maybe because Liam's hand is still wrapped around mine, warm despite the cold rain. "She left. I said goodbye."
Jenna studies me for a long moment, rain beading on her freckled nose. Then she nods, once, satisfied. "Good for you, Reyes. Good for you." She backs away, umbrella wobbling. "I want details later. All of them. But right now, you two look like you need dry clothes and pancakes." She winks at Liam. "Don't screw this up."
She's already turning, her sneakers splashing through puddles, before I can say anything else. The rain swallows her, a flash of purple disappearing around the corner.
Liam exhales, long and slow, like he's been holding his breath. "She's a lot."
I laugh, the sound surprising me—light, easy. "She's my friend."
His lips twitch. "I know. I'm glad." He tugs my hand, and we start walking again, the diner's neon sign flickering through the rain two blocks ahead. "You okay? For real?"
I think about it. The coffee shop. Maya's face when I said goodbye. The twenty-dollar bill in my pocket. Liam's key against my thigh. "Yeah," I say, and I mean it. "I really am."
The diner is warm when we push through the door—a blast of heat and the smell of bacon and old coffee. A bell jingles overhead. The place is half-empty, a few old men at the counter nursing mugs, a family in a booth with a crying toddler. The waitress—a woman in her fifties with a name tag that says Brenda and a no-nonsense expression—waves us to a booth by the window. Rain streaks down the glass, blurring the street outside.
We slide in across from each other. The vinyl is cracked, a silver strip of duct tape holding a tear together near the window. I pull the paper napkin from the dispenser and lay it flat, my fingers restless.
Liam's hands are on the table, palms up. An invitation. I take them.
"What did she say? At the end?" His voice is careful, like he's testing the ice.
I shake my head. "Not much. I told her I'm with you. She said she understands. Then she left." I pause. "She gave me twenty dollars for the coffee."
Liam's eyebrows lift. "That's it?"
"That's it." I pull the bill out of my pocket, creased and damp at the edges. "I don't know what to do with it."
He looks at the bill, then at me. "Keep it. Spend it on something that makes you happy."
I fold it and tuck it back into my pocket, next to the key. "I already did."
Brenda appears with a notepad. "What can I get you, kids?"
Liam orders pancakes and coffee. I ask for the same, and Brenda scribbles, already walking away before I finish. The diner hums around us—the clatter of plates, the low murmur of conversation, the rain drumming on the roof.
Liam's thumb traces the edge of my knuckles. "You want to talk about it? Like, for real?"
I think about the coffee shop. Maya's silver eyebrow ring, the way her voice cracked when she said I still think about you. The moment I held Liam's hand tighter and watched something die in her eyes. "I feel like I should feel sadder. Like I'm supposed to mourn it." I look at our hands. "But I just feel… light."
Liam is quiet for a long moment. The rain streaks down the window behind him, distorting the streetlights into soft blurs. "Maybe that means you already mourned it. When she ended it. You did the grieving then."
I let his words settle. He's right. I cried over Maya in December. I missed her in January. I carried her ghost through February. And then Liam sat next to me in math class, and the ghost started to fade. "You're smart," I say, and I smile.
"I have my moments." He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles, his lips warm against my rain-cold skin. The gesture is so quiet, so him, that my chest tightens.
Brenda arrives with two mugs of coffee and a pot of creamer. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers. The ceramic is chipped, a small crack running from the rim to the handle. It's perfect.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With us?"
Liam stirs his coffee, the spoon clinking against the mug. "I don't know. Same thing that happened before, I guess. We keep doing this." He gestures between us. "We keep showing up. I wake up next to you, and I don't freak out about how much I want that."
"And the summers? You're going to state school. I'm doing community college. That's—"
"Three hours. That's three hours." He sets the spoon down and meets my eyes. "I'll drive down every weekend. You can take the bus up. We'll figure it out."
"You don't even have a car."
"Marcus does. He'll loan it to me twice a month if I beg." A small smile. "I'll learn to beg."
I laugh, and it feels like a release. The pancakes arrive—a tall stack, steam rising, syrup already pooling on the plate. We eat in comfortable silence, the rain continuing its rhythm against the glass. His foot finds mine under the table, resting against my sneaker. I leave it there.
By the time we finish, the rain has softened to a mist. We leave a ten on the table—his treat, he insists—and step back outside. The air smells like wet concrete and petrichor. The diner's neon sign buzzes overhead, a blue glow reflected in the puddles at our feet.
"Walk me home?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
He takes my hand. "I was going to."
We walk through the mist, the streetlights casting halos on the pavement. His apartment is closer than mine—mine is a fifteen-minute walk from campus, his is ten—but he doesn't mention it, and neither do I. We pass the library, the student union, the coffee shop where I said goodbye. I don't look. I keep my eyes on the sidewalk, on his hand in mine, on the way the mist clings to his hair and darkens his gray hoodie.
When we reach my building, I hesitate at the bottom of the steps. The porch light is on, casting a faint glow across the worn wood. My keys are in my pocket, the cool metal of Liam's key separate from my own.
"Do you want to come up?" The words come out softer than I meant them.
He looks at the building, then at me. "Yeah. I do."
My apartment is on the second floor—a small one-bedroom I share with a roommate who works nights and is never around. The hallway smells like old carpet and someone's dinner, garlic and soy sauce. I unlock the door and step inside, flipping on the light.
The living room is small, cluttered with textbooks and a half-empty mug from this morning. A plant on the windowsill—a pothos I've been trying to keep alive—droops slightly, in need of water. I dump my bag on the armchair and kick off my wet sneakers.
Liam stands in the doorway, rain dripping from his hood, and there's something careful in his posture, like he's still learning that he's allowed to be here.
"You can come all the way in," I say, and I hold out my hand.
He crosses the threshold and takes it. His fingers are cold, his palm warm. I pull him toward the bedroom, past the stack of laundry I haven't folded, past the desk with its scattered notes for English class. The bed is unmade, sheets tangled from this morning when I left for the coffee shop—how was that only a few hours ago?
I sit on the edge of the mattress and look up at him. He's still wearing his wet hoodie, water darkening the shoulders, a droplet clinging to the end of his hair. I reach out and pull him down, his knees hitting the mattress, his body folding toward me.
I kiss him. Soft at first, a question. He answers with his mouth, his hand finding my jaw, tilting my head back. The kiss deepens, and I taste coffee and syrup and him.
We fall back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and damp clothes. His hoodie comes off, then my sweater. The room fills with the sound of rain against the window and our breathing, and the way he says my name—Sofia—like it's a prayer and a promise.
We make love slow, the way we did the first time, like we have all the time in the world. His body is warm above me, his mouth tracing a path down my throat, my collarbone, my chest. I arch into him, my fingers threading through his damp hair, and when he enters me, I gasp—a sound that's half surprise, half relief—and he stills, waiting, his forehead pressed to mine.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I breathe. "Yeah. Keep going."
And he does. We move together, the rhythm building, the room narrowing to the space between our bodies. I lose track of time. I lose track of everything except his hands, his mouth, the way he says my name when he comes, buried deep inside me, his body shuddering above mine.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his head on my chest, my fingers tracing the scar above his eyebrow. The rain has faded to a whisper. The room is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows across the ceiling.
"I love you," he says, his voice muffled against my skin.
I press a kiss to the top of his head. "I love you too."
We lie in silence for a long moment. My phone buzzes somewhere on the nightstand, but I don't reach for it. I don't want to leave this bubble.
It buzzes again.
Liam shifts, lifting his head. "You should check."
I reach over and grab the phone. The screen is bright in the dim room. A text from an unknown number—but I recognize the area code. Hawaii.
I open it.
I meant what I said. I'm glad you're happy. Take care of yourself, Sofia. —M
I stare at the words. No I miss you. No guilt. Just goodbye.
Liam reads over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.
I type back: I will. You too.
I lock the phone and set it face-down on the nightstand, next to the key to Liam's apartment. The two of them sit side by side—the end of one thing and the beginning of another.
I turn back to Liam, pull him close, and press my lips to his. The rain has stopped. The world outside is quiet.
And for the first time in months, I don't feel like I'm waiting for something to end. I feel like I've finally arrived.