The porch light buzzed overhead, dim and yellow like it wanted to go out. The rain wasn’t gentle; it hit the street in slanted streaks and soaked through your hoodie in seconds. Your bangs stuck to your forehead in strands, water dripping down your cheeks like you’d already been crying. You weren’t sure which was which anymore.

Your hand had hovered over the doorbell for what felt like forever before you finally pressed it. Once. Twice.

And then it opened.

Jade West stood there in her black tank top and loose flannel pajama pants, hair tied up, eyes shadowed with exhaustion — or annoyance. She looked like she’d just come out of a movie she hated.

You pushed your glasses up, but they were useless — fogged and speckled with water. You took them off, your hand trembling. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I just— I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about you.”

Her face didn’t soften.

“I know you probably don’t want this. I know you don’t… look at me like that. But I— I like you, Jade. I’ve liked you for a while. I know I’m not cool or whatever, and you probably think I’m pathetic—”

“I don’t think,” she cut in flatly, arms crossing over her chest. “I know you’re pathetic.”

You flinched. The water on your skin felt colder.

“Do you seriously think showing up at my house, in the middle of the night, dripping all over the damn porch, is some kind of grand gesture?” Her voice didn’t rise. It was worse than yelling — it was calm. Sharp. Mean. “You’re standing here, looking like a kicked puppy, expecting me to what? Suddenly fall for you?”