EPISODE 6: Beneath the Surface
962 Words
The rain came without warning.
It started as a drizzle during afternoon lectures, light and playful. But by the time Rasimie left the lab, the sky had turned dark, the air heavy with thunder. She stood under the awning outside the building, clutching her bag to her chest as students scattered, laughing and shouting, running through the storm.
She didn’t have an umbrella. Of course she didn’t.
Her phone buzzed — a text from her friend reminding her about a group meeting later that evening — but her mind wasn’t on that. She was watching the rain, her thoughts slipping to him again.
Then, as if summoned by her thoughts, she saw him.
Andrew was standing across the walkway, his jacket pulled tight, hair damp, backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder. He looked both calm and soaked — the kind of image that made her heart twist for no logical reason.
He noticed her and smiled faintly. Then, without a word, he crossed the puddled walkway, stopping just in front of her.
“You again,” he said, water dripping from his hair.
“Me again,” she replied, trying to hide her grin.
He held out his umbrella — half-broken, the metal ribs bent, but still doing its job. “You’re not great at weather planning, are you?”
“Apparently not.”
“Come on,” he said. “You’ll catch a cold.”
She hesitated, but he didn’t wait for her to decide. He just tilted the umbrella slightly so there was room for her beneath it. She stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth of him despite the cold air.
They walked slowly through the rain-soaked campus. Students ran past them, shouting and laughing, but it felt like another world — just the two of them beneath the hum of rain and the soft rhythm of their steps.
“You always walk so fast,” he said.
She smiled. “Maybe because I’m always nervous.”
“About what?”
“Everything,” she admitted quietly. “People. Life. The future.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re too young to be that worried.”
“So are you,” she said. “But you always look like you’ve lived through something.”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes shifted — not annoyed, not distant, just… careful.
Finally, he said, “Maybe I have.”
They stopped at the small shed beside the library, where students usually sheltered during storms. The rain was louder here, drumming against the roof like a heartbeat.
Andrew leaned against the wall, his expression thoughtful. “You really want to know?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “If you want to tell me.”
He looked out into the rain. “My dad left when I was thirteen. My mom got sick a few years later. I’ve been working since then — small jobs, night shifts, whatever pays. I guess I just stopped expecting anything from anyone.”
Rasimie’s throat tightened. “That’s… a lot.”
He shrugged, his voice low. “It’s fine. Everyone has their story.”
“But you say that like yours doesn’t matter.”
He glanced at her then, eyes soft but heavy with something she couldn’t name. “Because it doesn’t change anything.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. She wanted to reach out, to tell him it did matter — that he mattered — but the words stuck in her throat. So instead, she took a small step closer, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“You’re wrong,” she said finally. “It changes how I see you.”
He turned, surprised. “How?”
She smiled faintly. “It makes me understand why you’re quiet… why you look like you’re always thinking. You carry things in silence.”
He didn’t reply, but something in his expression shifted — like a wall cracking just enough for light to slip through.
“I’m not good at people,” he said quietly. “I usually mess things up.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m patient,” she said.
That made him laugh — a real, warm laugh that reached his eyes.
For a while, they just stood there, watching the rain fall harder, neither wanting to leave. She didn’t know what to call what she felt — it wasn’t love yet, not exactly, but it was close. It was the pull of something deeper than friendship, softer than desire, but just as consuming.
When the rain finally eased, they walked together to the dorm path. He stopped at the fork in the road — his way to the bus stop, hers to her hostel.
“Rasimie,” he said, and her name sounded different in his voice this time — slower, more deliberate.
“Yeah?”
He hesitated, eyes flickering down like he was fighting something inside him. “You make it hard to stay quiet.”
Her heart stuttered. “Then don’t.”
The silence that followed felt like electricity. Then he smiled — small, tired, genuine — and shook his head. “Goodnight, Rasimie.”
She wanted to say don’t go.
But all that came out was, “Goodnight, Andrew.”
He turned and walked away, and she stood there under the streetlight, watching until he disappeared into the soft glow of the wet campus road.
That night, Rasimie lay in bed, replaying every word, every glance, every laugh. And for the first time in her life, she understood how something as simple as a conversation could leave a mark that refused to fade.
Whatever this was — it wasn’t ordinary.
It was something deeper, quiet and unstoppable.
Something she didn’t have a name for yet… but her heart already did.
- Writer
