The sky had turned gray long before class began. By the time Sierra reached the seminar building, the air felt thick and heavy, the kind that whispered a storm was coming.
She brushed a strand of hair from her face, clutching her notebook close. Inside, the small group had already gathered, laughter soft and easy. She smiled faintly, slipping into her seat by the window as raindrops began to tap lightly against the glass.
Professor Blackwood entered a few minutes later, his usual composure undisturbed even as thunder rolled somewhere far away. "Afternoon," he greeted, setting down a stack of folders. "Let's continue where we left off last week—perspective and narrative empathy."
Sierra listened intently, though part of her attention stayed with the storm. The way his voice blended with the distant sound of rain felt strangely soothing—like everything outside was being washed clean.
He paced slowly as he spoke, stopping near her row to gesture toward the board. "Empathy," he said, "isn't just about feeling what someone else feels. It's about noticing the details that make them real. Observation without judgment."
Sierra's pen hesitated mid-note. Something about his words made her glance up. He was looking at her—calm, unreadable—but there was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before.
Her heart fluttered. She quickly looked down, pretending to write again.
When class ended, the rain had grown heavier. The other students hurried out, holding their bags over their heads. Sierra lingered, standing by the window, watching water streak down the glass in silver lines.
"Waiting for it to slow down?" Professor Blackwood asked from behind her, his tone mild.
She turned. "I forgot my umbrella," she said, a little sheepishly.
He nodded. "Seems half the class did." He paused, glancing toward the rain. "You live near campus, right?"
"Yeah. Just a few blocks."
He hesitated, then reached for his coat. "I have an umbrella. You can walk under it until you reach your street."
"Oh, that's okay—"
"It's not a problem," he said gently. "Better than catching a cold."
Sierra smiled, warmth spreading through her chest despite the cool air. "Thank you."
They stepped outside together, the umbrella shielding them from the downpour. The rain was steady now—soft but relentless, blurring the world around them into shades of gray and silver.
They walked in silence at first. The path was narrow, and she could feel the quiet rhythm of his steps beside her, steady and unhurried.
"It's peaceful," she said finally, glancing up at the rain.
"It is," he agreed. "Storms have a way of slowing everything down."
Sierra laughed softly. "I like that. Maybe that's why I love the rain."
He glanced at her briefly. "You like the rain?"
She nodded. "It makes everything feel more real. Like the world's being honest for once."
He was silent for a moment. "That's a beautiful way to see it."
They reached the corner where her street began. She stopped, turning to him, water dripping from the edge of the umbrella. "Thank you for walking me," she said. "Really."
He nodded once. "Get home safe, Sierra."
She hesitated, then smiled. "You too, Professor."
For a moment, neither moved. The rain fell harder, surrounding them in a soft roar. Then she stepped back, giving him a small wave before hurrying toward her gate.
He watched her go, the umbrella still open above him. Something about her—the sincerity, the lightness—lingered even after she disappeared from sight.
When he finally turned to leave, he found himself thinking of her words again.
"It makes everything feel more real."
And for the first time in years, he realized—he agreed.