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**Part 1**
The week rolled forward like a slow tide—one class to the next, one hallway to another, faces blending into a routine Lena knew too well. Yet something had changed.
It wasn't anything she could name outright. Just… a weight had lifted.
Or maybe it had shifted.
Since Sunday afternoon, since the mural and the bench and the way Jace had looked at her—really looked—there'd been a strange peace humming beneath her skin. It wasn't happiness, not exactly. But it was a quiet thing. A steadiness. Like walking into a room you didn't realize had always been yours.
But still, she didn't know where they stood.
Worse, she wasn't sure if she *wanted* to know. Because what if defining it ruined it?
So she went about her Monday carefully. Cautiously.
She avoided unnecessary eye contact in Lit class, even though she could feel Jace watching her from the back row. She let Maddie talk about the dumb fight she'd overheard in gym, nodding and laughing where appropriate, all while a piece of her remained somewhere else—tethered to a park bench and the sound of rain in the leaves.
And then came lunch.
---
Lena sat outside today. The courtyard was mostly empty thanks to the drizzling clouds above, but the overhangs kept it dry enough. She preferred it that way—quieter, colder, less people pretending to be fine for an hour before math.
She had just bitten into a carrot stick when a shadow crossed her lap.
"Rain and rabbits. You sure know how to live."
She looked up. Jace, grinning.
She gestured to the spot next to her. "You want one?"
"Only if I get to complain about it."
He sat, pulling his hood up like it might protect him from her unimpressed stare.
"So what's the mood?" he asked. "Existential dread? Mild angst?"
Lena chewed thoughtfully. "Somewhere between 'don't talk to me' and 'why does cafeteria cheese smell like that.'"
He laughed—a short, real sound that caught her off guard. "I missed this."
She raised a brow. "What, me mocking the state of our public school lunch program?"
"No," he said. "You. Just… this version of you. Honest. Sharp. Real."
Lena turned her eyes to the rain. She hated how much that sentence stayed with her.
They ate quietly after that—him with a sandwich from home, her with her usual sad combo of carrot sticks, crackers, and a protein bar. It was an unspoken deal between them now: eat near each other, talk when it felt right, and pretend neither of them were scared of what it might mean.
Eventually, Jace spoke again. "Are we pretending something didn't happen?"
Lena froze mid-chew. "What do you mean?"
"Sunday," he said. "You and me. The mural. That… moment."
She hesitated. "I don't know if it was a moment."
"You *do*, though," he said quietly.
The drizzle picked up. Somewhere behind them, the bell rang for fifth period. But neither of them moved.
"I just don't know what to call it," she said, finally. "And I don't want to ruin it by naming it too soon."
Jace nodded. "Okay. Then let's not name it. Not yet."
"Then what *are* we doing?"
He smiled softly. "Being in the same place. At the same time. And letting that be enough."
---
Later that day, in the art room, Lena stayed late. She told Ms. Benton she needed to prep canvases for the advanced studio class—even though it wasn't entirely true. She just needed to think. Alone. With paint and the hum of old ventilation fans.
But she wasn't alone for long.
The door opened with a soft creak. She looked up, expecting Jace.
It was someone else.
"Hey," said Will Martinez.
Will. Her lab partner from last semester. Nice, quiet, always smelled vaguely like vanilla and metal. He was holding a small box of brushes.
"Oh. Hey," Lena said. "What's up?"
"Ms. Benton said you might still be here. I'm helping her organize supplies."
"Cool," she said, turning back to her canvas.
He hesitated. "You're really good, you know."
She blinked. "At what?"
"Art," he said. "Your stuff has… soul."
Lena tried not to flinch. "Thanks."
He took a slow step closer. "Are you doing the spring exhibition?"
She shrugged. "Maybe."
"You should. I think your work deserves to be seen."
She didn't answer. Compliments felt like glass—pretty but breakable.
Will cleared his throat. "Anyway. I'll just grab these and go."
She watched him leave, and something tugged at her gut. Not because she liked him that way—but because of how easily people could walk in and say things they didn't realize were landmines.
Her art wasn't soul. It *was* her. That was the difference.
---
She left the art room twenty minutes later, hood up, headphones on, walking toward the main exit—when she heard footsteps behind her.
Jace again.
"How do you keep finding me?" she asked.
"Magic," he said. "And a healthy amount of stubbornness."
They walked side by side toward the front of the school.
"I saw you with Will," Jace said.
Lena glanced over. "What about it?"
"Nothing. Just… didn't know you guys were close."
"We're not," she said quickly. "He was helping Ms. Benton."
Jace nodded, but his expression was unreadable.
"You jealous?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He didn't smile. "Would it matter if I was?"
"I don't know," she said. "Would it?"
They stopped walking. The air between them tensed.
Jace shoved his hands in his pockets. "Maybe we *should* talk about what this is. Or what it isn't."
Lena's throat went tight. "Maybe. But not now."
He looked at her for a long second—eyes searching hers, like trying to read something not written in words.
"Okay," he said at last. "But don't wait too long. Some things fade if you keep them in the dark."
And just like that, he turned and walked toward the street, leaving her with the drizzle and a thousand unspoken thoughts.
---
That night, Lena sat on her bed with the sketchbook open again.
She added something new to the mural sketch—Jace's back turned, walking away into a swirl of dark clouds.
Not because she wanted him to. But because sometimes, the fear of being left felt more real than the chance of being chosen.
She didn't cry. Not yet.
But she stared at that sketch for a long time.
Long enough to wonder whether being brave and being honest were the same thing.
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