The sky had darkened by the time third period ended, heavy clouds rolling in like a warning. Amara tightened the straps of her worn backpack and glanced around the school courtyard
Students scattered in every direction, umbrellas snapping open, designer shoes splashing through puddles. She had no umbrella, no ride, just the thin jacket she had bought secondhand and shoes that had seen better days.
She started walking, keeping her head down, trying not to get noticed—or worse, teased. She had already felt the stares all morning. It wasn't just Liam Carter; whispers from rich classmates circulated like a storm cloud, always finding her.
Then she heard a calm, familiar voice.
"Need a ride?"
Amara froze. She looked up and saw Liam Carter standing beside a sleek black car, the engine running quietly. His hair was slightly damp from the rain, but his uniform remained perfect, his tie straight, shoes spotless. He looked untouchable, like he belonged somewhere far above her world.
"I—I can't," she stammered, panic rising.
"You'll get soaked," he said simply. "Come on."
Her pride flared. She didn't want to seem weak. She was used to handling herself, earning everything on her own. But the rain was relentless, soaking her hair and jacket in seconds.
Before she knew it, she was sliding into the car, buckling in, the warmth inside a sharp contrast to the cold outside. Liam didn't speak as he drove, but his presence was steady and grounding.
Amara stole glances at him, noticing small details she hadn't before—the curve of his jaw, the faint tension in his hands, the way his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel when he thought no one was watching.
"You're quiet," she said finally, breaking the silence.
He didn't answer immediately. Then softly, he said, "I'm not good at small talk. I don't see the point."
Amara blinked. "I… talk too much, so I guess that balances it out.
He glanced at her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You do talk a loot
"I just… get nervous," she admitted. "It's my first week here, and everyone is… so different."
"You're not like them," he said quietly.
"Not like them?" she repeated.
"No," he said. "You're… real."
Her chest tightened. In a school where appearances and money mattered more than everything else, being called "real" felt like a gold medal. She wanted to look down at her shoes, hide the sudden warmth in her face, but she couldn't.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that hinted at trust, the kind of silence that allowed feelings to creep in without words.
When they arrived near her home, Amara hesitated before opening the car door. She hated that she relied on him, that she had to accept his help—even for a ride.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"You're welcome," he replied. "See you tomorrow?
Amara nodded. "Yeah… see you tomorrow."
She watched him drive away, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her chest. Liam Carter had noticed her. He had spoken to her. He had made her feel less invisible in a world where she had always felt small.
The next morning, she braced herself for the hallway stares, but something felt different. Whispers were still there, but a few students paused mid-laugh when Liam walked past, his gaze briefly landing on her. She felt a flutter in her chest—something new and unsettling.
During lunch, she sat quietly on the steps outside the cafeteria, opening her notebook. Rain had left the ground wet, but the air was crisp and clean. She wrote about the morning, about Liam's words that had felt like a shield against the cold, the spark of curiosity she had allowed herself in weeks.
"Mind if I sit?" a familiar voice asked.
Amara looked up. Liam was holding a small umbrella he had borrowed from the car. Without waiting for an answer, he placed it above them both and sat beside her.
The proximity made her heart race. She was careful not to show it, but she couldn't stop stealing glances at him. The quiet sound of rain hitting the umbrella created a bubble around them, separate from the world.
"You write a lot," he observed.
"Just… thoughts," she murmured.
"Can I see?"
Amara hesitated. She had never shared her notebook with anyone outside her family. But the calm, sincere look in his eyes made her hand the notebook over. She flipped it open carefully.
He read a few lines, scanning silently.
"You're… different," he said finally.
"Different?" she asked, surprised.
"Yes. You notice things. You feel things. You don't hide it," he explained.
Amara felt warmth creeping up her neck. "That's… nice of you to say."
He shrugged. "Just telling the truth."
The bell rang, cutting their conversation short. They both stood, slightly awkward. Liam handed the notebook back, their fingers brushing briefly. The contact was electric, and Amara felt a jolt she hadn't expected.
"See you in class," he said, walking away without another word.
Amara watched him go, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her chest. It wasn't just admiration or curiosity. It was something more—a spark, a pull, a fragile hope that maybe she didn't have to be invisible here.
And deep down, she knew one thing: Westbrook High had just become a little more dangerous for her heart.