That night, Aria couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face — the hurt in his voice when he said, "You made me believe I could trust someone again."
She got up, grabbed a jacket, and packed a small bag of food and drinks. She didn't care that it was almost midnight. She just needed to see him again.
When she got to his house, the lights were dim. She knocked softly at first, then louder.
Ethan opened the door slightly, surprise flickering in his tired eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and guarded.
"I brought you something to eat," she said, lifting the small bag.
"I don't want it," he replied and started to close the door.
"I'm not leaving," she said firmly.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Aria, just go home."
But she didn't move. She just stood there quietly.
Then the rain began — soft at first, then pouring hard like the sky was breaking. Still, she didn't move.
Ethan watched her from the window. Her hair was drenched, clothes clinging to her skin, but she didn't even try to shield herself. She just stood there in the rain, waiting.
Something inside him snapped. He grabbed his umbrella and jacket, ran outside, and stopped in front of her.
"You're insane," he muttered, placing the umbrella over her head.
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, his touch gentle but trembling.
Then he took her hand — cold and shaking — and led her inside.
"Sit down," he said, kneeling in front of her.
Before she could speak, he bent down and began taking off her soaked shoes himself. She stared at him, speechless.
He fetched a blanket, covered her, and handed her a clean T-shirt of his.
"Why would you just stand there like that?" he asked, frustration mixing with concern. "Are you crazy?"
She looked down. Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry for everything I did to you at school. Please… forgive me. We can be friends. I promise I won't trouble you again."
He didn't reply. He just looked at her — really looked at her — as if trying to understand if she meant it.
She hesitated, then opened the bag. "Here. I brought you something to eat. I heard you haven't been eating."
"I don't want to eat," he said quietly.
"If you don't," she said, her eyes lifting to his, "then I'm going back out there. Back into the rain."
He blinked, a small breath of disbelief escaping his lips. "Are you threatening me?"
"No," she whispered. "I'm just telling you what will happen if you don't."
He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed and took the food from her hands. When he opened it, he froze.
"Pasta," he muttered under his breath — his favorite meal.
He ate quietly, and she watched him, a small smile tugging at her lips.
When he was done, she leaned back against the couch, exhaustion washing over her. Before she knew it, she fell asleep.
Ethan looked at her for a while, the corners of his mouth softening into a smile he couldn't hold back.
He gently carried her to his room, laid her on his bed, and covered her with a blanket.
He stood there for a moment, watching her sleep — peaceful, fragile, and so different from the girl who once mocked him in front of everyone. Then he turned and went to the couch.
Around 4 a.m., Aria stirred. She blinked and saw him sleeping there, curled up on the couch, the dim light from the window painting his face in silver.
She smiled faintly, got up quietly, and draped her blanket over him.
Without meaning to, she lay down beside the couch, resting her head near his arm.
And that's how morning found them — two broken souls, asleep in the quiet warmth of forgiveness neither of them understood yet.