Night had fallen, and the city streets shimmered with a damp glow after the rain. When Manida pushed open her office door, she found Parin quietly organizing a stack of student papers, her side profile calm and focused beneath the amber light.
"Working overtime again?" Manida asked, taking off her glasses and rubbing her temples.
Parin looked up with a faint smile. "Aren't all professors like that? You're no different—you stay late just as often."
Manida didn't argue. She simply walked over and set an umbrella beside her. "I'll take you home. The rain's getting heavier."
Parin blinked in surprise. "Didn't you say you had a meeting with the department head tonight?"
"I canceled it," Manida said, her tone even but resolute — the kind of calm that left no room for refusal.
They stepped out of the library side by side. The air was filled with the scent of wet books and fresh rain on earth. Manida held the umbrella for both of them; the space beneath was so narrow that their breaths mingled in the cool air.
Inside the car, the rhythmic sweep of the wipers filled the silence. Manida kept one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the radio as if to drown out the quiet between them.
"You're unusually quiet," she said suddenly.
Parin turned to look at her, her eyes gentle. "I was just thinking—you seem tired. You were rubbing your temples earlier."
Manida gave a small, fleeting smile. "Being tired is normal. You don't need to worry." Yet as she spoke, her grip on the steering wheel tightened unconsciously, and the car swayed slightly on the slick road.
Parin frowned. "Slow down—it's slippery."
"Relax," Manida replied softly, steadying the wheel again.
For a while, only the rain spoke.
When they neared Parin's apartment, she suddenly said, "Have you noticed? You always push yourself back. You hide your pain, your exhaustion… and pretend it's nothing."
Manida glanced at her, startled by the accuracy of the words.
"You see too much," she murmured, her voice low, edged with quiet resignation.
Parin smiled gently, reaching out to smooth a few strands of hair blown loose by the wind. Her gaze was tender but serious. "That's because I want to be the one who can share the weight with you."
For a moment, the air in the car froze. The patter of rain against the windshield could not mask the quickening rhythm of their hearts.
Manida's throat tightened. She wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, she turned her face away and brought the car to a slow, steady stop.
"You should go," she said, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly.
Parin didn't move. She leaned closer instead, her lips brushing just past Manida's ear, her whisper soft and warm in the dim glow of the headlights.
"Then let's start from today."
Her breath lingered—sweet, dangerous, like the warmth of the rain-soaked night itself.
Manida sat frozen, fingers still clinging to the wheel. Somewhere deep inside, the walls she had built so carefully began to crumble, one by one.