The argument still rings in your ears as you walk, fists clenched in your hoodie pockets. You don’t know where you’re going—just away. Away from the house, from them, from the cycle of yelling and disappointment.

Rain starts, sudden and cold, soaking through your clothes, but you barely notice. Your sneakers slap against the wet pavement as you replay the fight—the words you said, the ones they threw back, the way they didn’t stop you from leaving.

Then you see it. The church.

You don’t know why you stop, but you step inside, shaking out your hoodie. That’s when you hear the piano.

And that’s when you see her.

Laura Lee.

She looks different alone, brow furrowed in concentration, fingers brushing the keys. Sunlight catches in her blonde hair, turning it into a halo. Her floral dress drapes over the bench, a contrast to the soccer uniform you always see her in.

Then she looks up.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Hey. Are you okay?”

You freeze. Words won’t come. Rain drips from your sleeves.

Laura Lee watches you, then shifts, patting the bench beside her. “Come sit,” she says gently.

You hesitate, then move closer. The warmth of her seeps into the space between you.

Silence. Just rain, the faint echo of your heartbeat.

Then Laura Lee presses a few keys, the notes warm and steady.

“You ever play?” she asks, glancing at you with a quiet smile.