Almost Noticed

Chapter 3: Red Pen and Rain

Hannaia never minded the rain—unless it had the audacity to arrive while she was outside with her clinical logbook completely unprotected. Which, of course, it did.

She had just finished her afternoon shift at the simulation lab and was halfway across the university courtyard when the first few drops began to fall. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a sudden downpour.

“Great,” she muttered, clutching her logbook to her chest as she made a run for cover.

But the wind had other plans. A sharp gust caught the pages and sent them flying from her hands.

“No, no, no!” she shouted, chasing after it.

Her ID flailed at her neck, her shoes squeaked with every step, and students around her either laughed or rushed for cover. The soaked logbook tumbled near the base of the acacia tree—and stopped only because a foot stepped on it gently.

She looked up.

Zac.

“Need a hand?” he asked, reaching down and picking up the red-stained logbook.

Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and droplets traced the curve of his jaw. He held the soggy mess of a logbook with both hands, trying not to laugh.

“You again?” she said, half-breathless.

“You again,” he echoed, smiling.

She took the logbook, her fingers brushing his. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“No problem. You’re the girl with the espresso-addicted coffee order, right?”

Hannaia blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Iced mocha with a shot. It’s not that weird.”

He stepped aside so she could stand under the tree with him. They both dripped quietly for a moment, the sound of rain filling the pause.

“Here,” he said, taking off his hoodie and handing it to her. “You’re shivering.”

She hesitated. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’m an engineer. I build with cold concrete.”

She rolled her eyes but took the hoodie.

For the first time, they stood still together. Not rushing. Not passing. Just there.

“Grabe ‘tong ulan,” Hannaia muttered. “Akala ko maglalakad lang ako pauwi.”

“College is full of surprises,” Zac said. “Rain, pop quizzes, broken printers. Life’s mini disasters.”

“Don’t forget spilled coffee and sudden duty calls,” she added.

They both laughed. It felt easy, natural, like they’d done this a dozen times already.

When the rain finally softened, Hannaia looked down at the soaked logbook and sighed. “I’m gonna have to rewrite all of this.”

“I’ll help,” Zac offered without thinking.

She blinked. “You’d rewrite clinical notes?”

“I’ll rewrite anything if it means you’re not doing it alone.”

She looked at him, genuinely surprised. “You’re weird.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here.”

She smiled. “Fair point.”

The rain faded to a drizzle. People began returning to the walkways, umbrellas popping open like mushrooms.

But under that tree, Hannaia and Zac stayed a little longer.

Not because they had to. But because for the first time that day, everything felt just a little bit lighter.

And maybe, just maybe, so did they.