---
The following Monday didn't start with gossip or whispers.
It started with silence.
Not the dangerous kind, not the waiting-for-a-storm kind—but the kind that wraps itself around you like a soft blanket when everything else has been too loud. Lena noticed it as soon as she stepped into the school building. People had moved on. Some found new drama. Some just got bored.
She didn't care either way.
She stopped in front of her locker, twisted the dial, and pulled the door open. Inside, a folded paper sat on her stack of books.
She frowned, then picked it up.
The handwriting was familiar, scrawled and slightly tilted.
**"They say silence says more than words. But I don't think you've ever been silent in your life. —J"**
Lena smiled.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks, it wasn't forced.
---
Third period, Honors Lit, had become their secret meeting ground—not because they passed notes or whispered, but because of the unspoken understanding that hung between them. They didn't need to explain things to each other.
Jace passed her a second note during Act III of *Macbeth*. This one was short:
**"You drew something the other day. Was it me?"**
Lena arched an eyebrow and replied:
**"Narcissistic much?"**
She passed the paper back without smiling, but Jace grinned anyway, as if he saw it beneath her mask.
---
Lunch came faster than expected. Lena found herself waiting by their usual table under the oak tree outside.
This time, he was late.
She tapped her fingers on the table. She wasn't nervous—exactly—but the seconds crawled.
Finally, Jace walked up with two sodas and a paper bag. "Peace offering," he said, setting it down in front of her.
"What did you do?" Lena asked.
"I got you the last strawberry donut from Taylor's."
"You went off campus?"
Jace shrugged. "Had a free period. Don't make it a big deal."
"It's not."
But it was. And they both knew it.
---
They talked about books. About teachers. About how Mr. Burnham definitely wore a toupee and no one had the heart to tell him it was crooked.
They didn't talk about what was happening between them—not out loud.
But it showed up in the pauses. The glances. The way Jace sometimes looked at her like she was more than just the girl who used to hate him.
And maybe… she didn't hate him anymore.
---
By the time the last bell rang, Lena had memorized the curve of his smirk. The way he always slung his bag over one shoulder, like he might ditch class at any moment. The little crease in his eyebrow when he was thinking.
She walked out with him, slower than usual.
"Are you doing anything this weekend?" she asked.
Jace hesitated. "Why?"
"No reason."
"Liar," he said, smiling. "But I'm free Saturday."
"Cool," Lena said. "I might be painting at the rec center. If you're not terrible company, you could stop by."
"You want me to come watch you paint walls?"
"No," she said. "I want you to help me paint walls."
He laughed. "Now *that's* romantic."
---
Saturday came with wind and sun and that bright feeling that maybe the world wasn't awful all the time.
The rec center was hosting a mural project on one of its exterior walls. Community volunteers were welcome—Lena had signed up weeks ago.
She hadn't expected him to actually show up.
But at 10:07 a.m., Jace Rivera leaned against the chain-link fence, hands in his jacket pockets, watching her.
She looked up from her paint tray and tried not to smile. "You're late."
"I'm fashionable."
"You're paintable."
He smirked. "Is that a threat?"
She flicked a dot of blue paint at him with her brush. "It is now."
---
They painted for hours, filling the lower half of the wall with bursts of color. Lena worked on a swirl of stars. Jace painted messy flame shapes he said were "abstract emotion." He was terrible at it.
"I think yours is melting into mine," Lena said, pointing at a dripping red line.
"Let them melt," Jace said. "Maybe they're in love."
She paused, brush mid-air.
He didn't notice—or pretended not to.
---
At lunch break, they sat on the curb, drinking iced tea and sharing a sandwich.
"You ever think about what happens next?" Lena asked.
"In general?"
"In life. High school. After."
"All the time," he said. "But I try not to."
"Why not?"
"Because if I think too much, I start planning. And if I plan, I start expecting. And if I expect, I get let down."
She stared at her drink. "That's kind of sad."
"It's kind of real."
Lena didn't say anything for a long time. Then: "I used to plan everything."
"And now?"
"Now I just want to make it through this year without drowning."
Jace looked at her. "You're doing more than just surviving, Lena."
She turned away. "It doesn't feel like it."
---
They finished painting as the sun turned golden. Lena stepped back, wiping sweat from her forehead, and surveyed the wall. Their stars and flames bled into each other at the center, forming a strange but vivid pattern.
"It's weird," she said.
"It's honest," Jace replied.
She looked at him. The boy she thought she hated. The one who had wormed his way into her life like a song you pretend you don't like but secretly play on repeat.
"Thanks for coming," she said.
"I'll probably regret it when my shoulder cramps."
She nudged him. "I mean it."
"I know."
He paused, then looked away.
"I've never felt this… comfortable. With someone."
Lena's stomach flipped. "Me neither."
---
That night, she stayed up sketching until 1 a.m.
Not just a boy.
Not just a flame.
But two figures two souls leaning against a mural. Laughing.
Something real.
Something she wasn't ready to say out loud not yet—but was starting to understand.