Chapter 8 Shifting lines

The next morning, the world hadn't changed.

But Brianna had.

She walked to class like usual. Same path, same buildings, same sky. But everything felt... different. Softer. Like the world had tilted slightly, and no one else noticed except her.

She hadn't spoken to Malvin since the rooftop.

Hadn't texted him. Hadn't planned to see him.

And yet, she felt him in every corner of her thoughts.

When she entered the lecture hall, he was already there.

Same seat.

Same calm, unreadable expression.

But when she passed by, he looked up-and this time, he didn't look away.

She sat beside him.

Neither of them said hello.

They didn't need to.

---

After class, Lydia caught up to her outside. "Okay," she said, falling into step beside Brianna, "so... what's going on?"

"With what?"

"With you. You're quiet. You're... softer. Like a snowstorm trying not to be noticed."

Brianna blinked. "That's a weird metaphor."

"I'm a poet," Lydia said with a wink. "But seriously. What's going on with you and Malvin?"

Brianna said nothing for a long time.

Then finally, "Nothing. Yet."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Yet, huh?"

Brianna didn't answer.

Because she didn't know.

Not really.

---

That evening, Malvin messaged her for the first time.

> Malvin: Rooftop?

Brianna: Thought you liked being alone.

Malvin: I did.

Malvin: Then you showed up.

She stared at the screen, her heart thudding against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

> Brianna: I'll be there.

The sky was heavy with clouds when Brianna climbed the steps to the rooftop.

She didn't know why she was nervous.

Maybe because she hadn't seen Malvin all day. Maybe because she still felt the echo of the last night they spent up there - raw words, shared silence, borrowed truth.

When she pushed open the door, the wind greeted her first - soft, damp, and cool. The rain hadn't started yet, but the air felt thick with promise.

He was already there.

Back against the low concrete wall, hood up, headphones around his neck.

This time, he looked up when he saw her - and smiled. Just barely.

She walked over and sat beside him, cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees.

"I thought it might rain," she said.

"I like rain," he replied.

"Of course you do."

"Why's that?"

"Because it's quiet. Unpredictable. And you think it makes you harder to read."

He gave her a sideways glance. "You're starting to sound like you know me."

"I don't," she said. "Not yet."

A beat passed. Then he asked, "Do you want to?"

Brianna looked out over the dark horizon. The first drops of rain began to fall - slow, steady, cold.

"Yes," she whispered.

Malvin turned toward her, slow and careful.

And just like the night around them, something inside both of them shifted. The space between their shoulders closed. His hand brushed against hers. Then settled there. Warm. Still.

They didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The rain began to fall harder, soaking their clothes, their hair, the silence.

But neither of them moved.

Brianna turned her face toward him, eyes soft, lips parted like a thought half-spoken.

And Malvin leaned in - slowly, as if waiting for her to pull away.

She didn't.

Their lips met - unsure at first, then fuller. Hungrier. Like they'd been waiting for this without knowing.

His hand cupped her jaw, and hers curled into the collar of his hoodie, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, not rushed - but real. Warm breath. Cold rain. Twisting emotion neither of them could name.

By the time they pulled apart, their foreheads were resting together, soaked and shivering.

"I don't usually..." Brianna started.

"I know," he said. "Me neither."

They sat there, drenched and wordless, hearts louder than the storm.

Something had shifted.

And neither of them could pretend otherwise anymore.