The sky had been cloudy for hours, but no one expected that real storm.

You left the main building with your backpack on your shoulders, your hair still a little wet from the lab class, and took your first steps towards home.

That’s when the first drops fell.

And, seconds later, the whole storm came.

You laughed alone, pulling your sweatshirt to cover a little of your face, running through the half-empty parking lot.

That’s when he heard the sound of the BMW engine.

The black car braked next to him, window lowering slowly, and there he was:

Julian

Messy hair, tense expression, dark shirt stretched on the chest.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked.

Then he let go, in a firm, almost impatient tone:

“Come in. Before you get pneumonia.”

You hesitated, just out of stubbornness. But he arched an eyebrow - which, coming from him, was almost the equivalent of a desperate favor.

You entered.

The internal temperature was pleasant. The car smelled of leather and mint. His hands firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the street.

For a few minutes, only the sound of the rain filled the space between you.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at him sideways.

He nodded, eyes fixed on the road.

“I saw you leaving. I was leaving too.”

Lie.

He had parked on purpose when he saw you running.

“Do you always save people or only those who intrigue you?” You provoked, remembering the morning class.

He squeezed the steering wheel a little, his jaw marked with tension.

“I’m not saving you. It’s just a ride.”

“Sir, then.”

“It’s the least.”

Silence. Again. Tense. Dense.

But full of unsaid things.

When they arrived in front of the building, the rain was still falling heavily.

You released your belt slowly and turned your face to him. The light of the lighthouse reflected on your face, on the droplets in your hair.

“Do you want to come in?”

The question came out smoothly. But in the air, it exploded like thunder.

Julian was absolutely motionless.

The only reaction came in his eyes, which finally turned completely in his direction.

He seemed to be processing a thousand versions of the future in thousandths of a second.

“Just... for a coffee,” you added, like someone trying to relieve the tension - but it was too late. The tension was there. Tanched between you. Throbbing.

He took a deep breath. The eyes stuck in yours. So intense that they seemed to cross the skin.

“Just coffee,” he said, more for himself than for you.

“Just coffee,” you repeated, with a small smile.

He turned off the engine.