Chapter 26: Where the Silence Grows Flowers
The sky was still grey when afternoon came, but the rain had softened into something that felt more like memory than weather. A light drizzle clung to the glass windows of the library as Anya sat curled against the far wall, knees to her chest, a book resting on her thighs unopened.
Oriana was late.
Not late in the way teachers called it—just a few minutes behind—but late in the way Anya's heart now noticed. The absence was louder than the silence. Each second stretched longer than it should have, as if time itself had paused to listen for approaching footsteps.
Anya stared at the page she hadn't turned in ten minutes.
She couldn't focus.
All she could think about was the feeling of Oriana's lips against hers, the softness of her breath, the way the rain had wrapped around them like a curtain pulled gently shut.
It hadn't been a dream.
She touched her lips, almost shyly.
No. Not a dream.
It was real.
She had kissed her. And Oriana had kissed her back. Not out of curiosity, not as a dare, not as some fleeting thing that would vanish when the clouds cleared—but with feeling. With presence.
Anya had never felt more seen.
"Thinking about me?"
The voice came from behind, warm and teasing, and Anya startled, nearly dropping her book.
Oriana leaned over the top of the shelf, resting her chin on folded arms, eyes bright even under the clouded sky. Her hair was still slightly damp, and her uniform collar was wrinkled like she'd run here.
Anya smiled despite herself. "No."
Oriana raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe," Anya admitted, cheeks warming.
"Good," Oriana said, stepping around the shelf and plopping down beside her without asking. "Because I haven't stopped thinking about you either."
Anya tried to look away but failed. "Even during class?"
"Especially during class," Oriana said, her voice a low hush. "Mr. Tanaka was explaining the velocity of falling objects, and all I could think about was how fast my heart dropped when I looked at you in the rain."
Anya covered her face. "That's so cheesy."
"I know." Oriana leaned in close. "But it's true."
They laughed softly together, the kind of laughter that stayed in the chest, never quite spilling over. Not loud. Just warm. Just theirs.
"Can we talk about it?" Anya asked after a pause.
"Of course."
"I mean… the kiss."
"I know," Oriana said gently. "I've been waiting for you to bring it up."
Anya exhaled slowly. "I was scared."
"Of me?"
"No. Of how much I liked it."
Oriana didn't say anything for a long time. She just stared at Anya with that quiet gaze that always made Anya feel like the only person in the world.
"You can like it," she said eventually. "You're allowed to like it. And you're allowed to want more."
Anya's heart thumped once—loud, clear.
"I do," she whispered. "Want more."
Oriana took her hand then—no hesitation, no secrecy. Just her fingers fitting into Anya's like they'd been doing it for years.
They sat in the library like that, in the soft hush between bookshelves and breathing, while the world outside soaked itself into grey and light.
"I never thought I'd fall for someone like you," Oriana said, breaking the silence.
Anya tilted her head. "Someone like me?"
"You're quiet. Careful. Like you think the world is watching every move you make."
"Maybe I do," Anya said.
"And yet," Oriana went on, "you still smiled at me. Even when I was being cold. Even when I didn't deserve it."
Anya didn't know what to say to that.
So she said, "You weren't cold. Just scared."
Oriana blinked. "How do you know that?"
"Because I'm scared too."
Their hands tightened around each other, as if reassurance could be held like warmth.
"I want to be brave," Anya said softly. "But sometimes I think the world has a list of rules, and I don't know which ones I'm allowed to break."
"We'll write new rules," Oriana said.
"Together?"
"Always."
The clock above the entrance ticked quietly. Students passed by outside, voices echoing faintly through the hallway. But none of it mattered here. Not in this little world they had created between pages and whispers.
Oriana leaned against Anya's shoulder.
"Do you think people like us get a happy ending?" she asked.
Anya rested her head against Oriana's. "Maybe not the kind from fairytales. But something better."
"What's better than a fairytale?"
"One that's real."
Oriana smiled. "Then let's make it real."
They didn't go to class that afternoon. Instead, they left the library hand in hand, sneaking past the back gate where no one would notice them missing. The sky was still gray but kinder now, the rain nothing more than a mist that kissed their skin.
They walked in silence for a while, through the narrow side streets of town. Past shuttered shops and old noodle stalls and puddles that reflected their joined hands.
They ended up at the park.
The one with the old swings and the rusted merry-go-round. The one Anya hadn't visited in years. They sat on the swings side by side, their legs dangling, shoes muddy.
"Do you remember the first time you liked me?" Anya asked.
Oriana laughed. "I think it was the day you asked me what my favorite flower was."
"I never asked that."
"You did. Sort of. You saw the flower I was drawing in my sketchbook and said, 'That looks sad. Why?'"
"Oh. Right. It was a lily, wasn't it?"
"A white lily," Oriana nodded. "For mourning. I told you that, and you just said, 'Even sad things can be beautiful.'"
"I didn't think you were listening."
"I always listened to you," Oriana said. "Even before I liked you."
Anya looked down at her feet, twisting slowly in the dirt. "You're easy to love."
"No," Oriana said, nudging her gently. "You're just easy to love me with."
They swung in silence for a while, and then Oriana reached out and tugged gently on Anya's sleeve.
"Close your eyes," she said.
Anya hesitated, then obeyed.
A moment later, she felt the brush of lips against her cheek.
Warm. Gentle. Like a petal falling.
When she opened her eyes again, Oriana was looking at her like she was a sunrise worth waiting for.
"I wanted to do that all day," Oriana murmured.
Anya blushed, but smiled. "Me too."
They walked home together that evening, the sky fading into dusk.
When they reached the small path where their streets diverged, they stood for a long time without saying goodbye.
Anya shifted on her feet. "Will you think of me tonight?"
"I always do," Oriana said.
And before she could respond, Oriana kissed her again—softly, quickly, and full of a promise that didn't need words.
That night, Anya lay on her bed, lights off, listening to the rain begin again. A slow, steady rhythm on the rooftop, like a heartbeat.
She picked up her notebook, the one where she wrote things she didn't dare say out loud.
And for the first time, the page wasn't filled with questions or worries.
It was filled with her.
With Oriana.
With the memory of rain and lips and smiles.
With the way silence, in the right hands, could grow flowers.
And at the very bottom of the page, written like a secret:
"I think I'm in love with her."