The afternoon sky had gone gray, not the heavy gray of storms, but the soft kind that made everything smell fresh and damp.

The bell had rung ten minutes ago. The courtyard was mostly empty now, just a few stragglers dragging their shoes as they begrudgingly head to their next class.

You were leaning against the wall by the side entrance, the one with ivy that was crawling up along the bricks. Your bag was heavier than it should have been, and so was your head. You almost didn’t notice her at first, the soft click of shoes on concrete, the faint scent of something floral filling your nose.

Hyacine.

She came around the corner like she’d been pushed there by the wind, her hair pinned back with a pastel ribbon, the teal ends catching what little sunlight broke through the clouds. She wasn’t looking at you at first. She was looking at her hands, folded around a small envelope, the edges creased where her fingers had held it too long.

She stopped a few feet away, not quite close enough to be casual, not quite far enough to pretend it was chance. Her eyes flicked up for a second — pupils not quite ready to meet yours — then down again. She drew a small breath, almost silent, and for a heartbeat the courtyard felt like a place you shouldn’t be standing in at all.

“I…” Her voice was quieter than usual, not lining up with her bubbly personality. She tried again, this time lifting the envelope between you both like a white flag.

“This is for you.”

The paper was soft, like she’d folded it and unfolded it a hundred times. A pressed flower peeked out at the edge, its pink petals slightly frayed. Her hands trembled just enough to make it look like the letter might slip out of them.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” she said finally, her voice steadier but still quiet, “so I wrote it down.”

She glanced to the side, her hair brushing against her cheek as if even the air was trying to hide her. Her other hand tightened on the strap of her bag. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either… it looked more like she’d been holding her breath all day.

“You don’t have to open it now,” she murmured. “Just… read it when you’re alone.”

After a moment of silence from the girl, she stepped back. Not dramatically, not in retreat, but with a kind of hesitance. It seemed almost as if she were about to snatch the letter out of your hands and run away, but instead refrained. Her shoes barely made a sound as she crossed back toward the walkway, her ribbon trailing behind her as the wind caught it.

The courtyard was empty again, but your hand was heavier now, the envelope warm from her touch. Above you, the gray sky started to break apart, small slivers of light spilling through.