It was raining again.
Not the loud, thunderous kind, but the slow, steady rain that transformed the city lights into soft, fuzzy droplets of gold. I was alone in the back of the bus, headphones on, music playing loudly enough to drown me out of the world. People boarded and alighted, faces I was not interested in remembering, voices I was not interested in hearing.
Then she appeared.
Umbrella dripping with rainwater, hair becoming damp slightly, cheeks flushed from the cold. She searched the occupied seats for a vacant seat, eyes sparkling but soft, until they settled on the vacant one beside me.
I did not move. I did not care.
She sat down anyway.
"Cold day, huh?" she said with a faint smile, brushing off the rain from her sleeves.
I uttered a little "yea" then looked away.
"You're Ethan, right? We're in the same literature class."
I finally turned to her. I Vaguely remembered her sitting by the window in class, always jotting notes, sometimes smiling at something unspecific.
"Yeah," I grunted, eyes returning to the blurred cityscape.
She nodded as if that settled that. But a moment later, she dug into her bag and handed me something.
A packet of small biscuits.
"You look like you missed lunch," she said.
I frowned. "Why would you—"
"Because you look a little pale," she said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. "And… I just thought you could use it."
No one had done that for me in a bit. I wanted to say no, but for some reason, I took it.
She smiled again, not the polite kind, but warm, like she was genuinely glad that I accepted.
That was the first time I saw it, her warmth against my winter.
And I didn't know then… that every smile she gave me was borrowed time.