The laughter still lingered in the air as the five of them crept back into the dorm shadows, hearts racing, shoes soaked, and cheeks flushed from the rain and running. Emma's fingers were still trembling—whether from the cold or from the joy, she didn't know. Noora nudged her with an elbow, smirking. "Told you your balcony would be the hotspot."
They paused in the corridor outside the girls' dorm entrance, a soft overhead light casting pale gold shadows across their faces. Caleb and Ryan whispered something to each other and chuckled, but Jake… Jake didn't laugh. His eyes were on Emma.
And then, without a word, he stepped forward.
Emma turned, confused, and then—
He took her hand.
The hallway seemed to go still.
Jake's fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around hers with quiet intention. He didn't say much. Just one line, but the way he said it—soft, low, like a secret only meant for her—made her heart flutter in her chest like wings against glass.
"Good night, Emma."
The way he said her name… like he'd never said it before, not properly. Like it meant something now. Something more.
Emma stepped back into the room, her chest rising and falling too quickly. Noora was already flopped on her bed, sighing dramatically. But Emma stood there in the moonlight, hand still warm, eyes still dazed.
On the other side of the building, Jake leaned against his door, breathless.
His mind kept flashing back to her eyes, wide and shining. The way her hair had stuck to her cheeks in the rain. The sound of her soft "good night" echoing in his ears. And something inside him whispered—
This is real.
Just as Emma curled up beneath her covers, her phone buzzed.
1 message from: Jake
You should dry your hair before you sleep. Or you'll wake up looking like a storm cloud tomorrow.
She laughed softly, fingers flying across the screen.
Emma:
You mean like you did during school? I've seen the photos. You were basically 90% hair and 10% hoodie.
Jake:
Rude. I was stylish. The wind just had a personal vendetta against me.
Emma:
You looked like a confused pinecone.
Jake:
And yet, here we are. You texting said pinecone after midnight.
Emma:
Touche.
A beat. Then—
Jake:
Wanna call? Just for a minute.
Her heart jumped. She typed yes and the call came instantly. Emma slipped her blanket over her head to muffle her voice. Across the line, Jake's chuckle came through soft and husky.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hey," she whispered back.
There was silence. The good kind.
And then he said, "Close your eyes."
She did.
And he sang.
His voice was rougher than polished, but there was something heartbreakingly beautiful in the way he let it waver. Like he wasn't just singing for her—he was giving her a piece of himself. The lullaby was in a language she didn't recognize, soft syllables cradled in the rhythm of rain and night.
By the time he finished, Emma was barely awake.
Jake smiled against the phone. "Good night again, storm cloud."
Her sleepy voice was the last thing he heard before the line went quiet.
The Next Morning
It didn't feel like a punishment.
The five of them—Emma, Jake, Caleb, Ryan, and Noora—stood in the middle of the main courtyard, caught red-handed for their midnight adventure.
"…and for your little escapade," the training lead announced over the morning assembly, "you five will spend your breaks today cleaning the front office and reorganizing the archives."
Gasps. Snickers. Whispers.
Especially when Jake's name was read.
"The Jake Rolister? Got caught?"
"I thought he was allergic to rule-breaking."
Jake didn't flinch. He just smirked and glanced sideways at Emma, who bit her lip to hide her laugh.
Cleaning the Archives
They swept. They dusted. They alphabetized folders from 1996. And in the middle of it, Caleb somehow broke a mop trying to joust with Ryan.
Ryan retaliated by drawing a mustache on Jake's ID photo with a sharpie. Emma nearly collapsed from laughter.
Jake leaned close to her as they sorted papers. "This is ridiculous."
She beamed at him. "I've never had so much fun getting punished."
He raised a brow. "You're a bad influence, Valeria."
"No," she said, softly. "You just needed someone to make you laugh again."
His breath caught—but before he could answer, Noora shouted, "I FOUND OLD SCHOOL UNIFORMS! EMMA, PUT ONE ON."
Afternoon Games
The training continued with silly team-building exercises: obstacle races, blindfold walks, building towers out of spaghetti and marshmallows.
Emma was terrible at most of them. Jake didn't care.
He was always there.
A hand at her back when she stumbled. A quiet joke when she doubted herself. When her marshmallow tower collapsed, he whispered, "It's still better than Caleb's entire structure."
"Hey!" Caleb shouted, spaghetti strands falling from his hands.
Laughter. Sunlight. Warmth.
Emma felt it all in her bones. This group. This campus. This strange, perfect day. And Jake…
He wasn't just watching her anymore.
He was seeing her.
And every time their eyes met, the storm that lived in her chest softened just a little more.
End of Part 17