The lake shimmered like glass beneath the early afternoon sun, soft ripples catching light like flecks of silver. Laughter floated on the breeze—bright, easy, distant. Somewhere closer, the chirping of cicadas mingled with music from a portable speaker propped in the shade.
Ronell stood at the edge of the grass, toes brushing warm sand, her bag slung over one shoulder.
Her sundress fluttered around her knees—soft white cotton with tiny blue flowers that swayed when she walked. She'd even taken the time to braid her bangs to the side, the rest of her golden hair tied back in a loose ribboned ponytail. It felt strange, putting in that much effort. But not unpleasant.
A voice called out.
"Ronell? Wow—you actually came."
One of the girls from class. Her tone was light, surprised. Not cruel, but not warm either.
Ronell smiled and gave a small wave.
Another voice joined in, louder:
"Guess you can come out without your brother, huh?"
That one stung a little more. But she didn't let it show. She adjusted the strap of her bag and walked toward them, chin held steady, heartbeat a little unsure.
They were already settled near the shade—sitting on towels, digging through snack bags, playing card games. Someone tossed her a can of lemonade.
"You'll want this. It's hot today."
Ronell caught it, murmured a thank-you, and sat on the edge of the group. Not quite in the center, not quite outside.
And then—
"You showed up after all."
The boy from the library. Same easy voice, hands in his pockets. His T-shirt was wrinkled, sunglasses perched carelessly in his hair.
Ronell glanced up at him. She wasn't sure what to say. Her lips parted, but the words got tangled with nerves.
"I—"
But someone else called his name before she could finish, and he gave her a quick grin before jogging off.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
The shade of a tree nearby beckoned, and she moved there, spreading out a small towel and taking a seat with the others.
Slowly, the chatter wrapped around her. Someone complimented her braid. Someone else asked if she brought that book she always carries. Another challenged her to a card game.
She smiled.
Not out of politeness this time—but because it didn't feel so hard.
---
The air inside the juice bar was cool, citrus-sweet, and pulsing with soft music. Ceiling fans stirred the scent of crushed mint and mango into the summer afternoon, and sunlight pooled through the wide windows in golden squares that touched every table.
Ronell sat on a wooden bench, knees tucked to the side, a tall glass of strawberry-lime juice sweating in her hands. Condensation traced slow trails down the glass, pooling against her fingers.
Across from her, three of her classmates were mid-laugh, one of them recounting some story about a bike crash and a watermelon—chaotic, messy, strangely hilarious. Ronell didn't catch all of it, but she laughed anyway. It felt natural to join in.
The bench was warm beneath her, worn smooth by years of other afternoons like this one. Her hair, now loose from the earlier braid, clung slightly to the nape of her neck in the heat. A slice of lemon floated in her drink, tilting lazily with each movement of her hand.
"You're quiet," one of the girls teased, nudging her knee lightly. "You always think so hard."
Ronell blinked. Then smiled, a bit sheepish.
"Guess I'm just taking it in."
And she was.
The hum of voices. The soft clink of glasses. The way the boy from earlier casually leaned back in his seat at the end of the table, one arm slung over the backrest, his gaze flicking to her now and then when he thought she wasn't looking.
She looked away, heart ticking a little faster. Not from embarrassment—but something else. Something lighter.
Outside, bikes lined the wall under blooming wisteria, and the road shimmered faintly in the sun's glare. The day was bright, loud in a gentle kind of way, like wind through leaves.
Ronell tucked her hair behind her ear and took another sip.
It still felt strange, this closeness. This ease.
But it wasn't unpleasant.
In fact… it was nice.
---
As the group filtered out of the juice bar, the heat of late afternoon had begun to fade into something gentler. Shadows stretched across the sidewalks, and the breeze carried with it the smell of lavender from someone's garden.
"We're going to catch a movie later," one of the girls said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Wanna come, Ronell?"
They were all standing in a loose circle now, bags slung, hands in pockets, laughter still clinging to the air.
Ronell hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her cup.
"I think I'll head home," she said, her tone soft. "It's been a good day, but… I've had enough people for one afternoon."
A few nodded in understanding. The girl who'd invited her smiled kindly.
"No worries. Another time?"
Ronell gave a polite nod, already turning.
Behind her, the boy from earlier shifted where he stood, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something—but didn't.
"Aw, poor guy," one of the girls whispered, elbowing him with a teasing grin. "You had the perfect shot."
"It's not like that," he muttered, looking off to the side.
"Uh-huh," said one of his friends, louder. "Sure, man."
But Ronell didn't hear them. Or if she did, she gave no sign. She was already walking away, the soft pad of her sandals on the pavement fading into the summer air.
Her braid had come undone by now, and strands of her hair caught the wind as she disappeared down the road—still a part of them, but somehow always just a step apart.
---
The bath had helped. Warm water, lavender soap, music echoing softly from her phone. For a little while, everything slowed down — like the world had agreed to hold still just for her.
Now, in the dim hush of her bedroom, Ronell lay curled in the corner of her bed, her hair damp against the back of her neck. Her playlist drifted on quietly — piano keys, low strings, and windchimes buried in the melody.
But the quiet didn't quiet her thoughts.
The lake. The laughter. The glances. The teasing.Moore.
The conversation from the other day replayed in her head — the soft edge in his voice, the way he'd looked at her like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be a part of something.
She got up.
Barefoot, she padded down the hallway, the wooden floor cool beneath her soles. At Moore's door, she knocked gently.
"Can I come in?"
There was no answer at first — only the weight of silence behind the door. But after a pause, a shift of movement. Not quite permission, but not a denial either.
She entered quietly.
His room was dark, lit only by the soft blue wash of the summer evening sky pouring through the window. Moore was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His arms were resting loosely at his sides, his expression unreadable.
Ronell sat down near the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his space.
"Today was... nice," she said after a moment. "I wasn't sure it would be. But it was."
He didn't respond, but she wasn't expecting him to. Her voice remained soft, a thought shared more than a statement meant to be heard.
"I kept thinking about what you said. About holding me back."
Moore blinked. Slowly. His gaze didn't leave the ceiling.
"You don't."
She glanced toward him, then looked down at her hands.
"Maybe next time… you could come too. Nothing big. Just a small outing. A few people.""Just to see."
Still, he said nothing.
She waited for a beat longer, then stood.
As she reached the door, something caught her eye — just outside the window. Perched on the tree branch across from Moore's room, half-draped in shadow and golden light, sat the black cat.
Its yellow eyes were open. Watching.
It didn't move.
Ronell paused, her hand still on the doorframe. She didn't speak of it. Just looked back, her expression unreadable in the soft light.
Then, quietly, she stepped out.
But as she slipped beneath her covers that night, she couldn't shake the image.
The way its eyes had met hers.Not like an animal. Not like a stranger.Like something waiting.