The rain had softened to a steady rhythm around them.
At that moment, her eyes dropped to his lips. And without meaning to, she leaned in slightly, unsure of what she was expecting or hoping for.
But Giovanni didn't close the distance.
Instead, he lifted his hand slowly and reached toward her face. A single strand of damp hair had stuck to her cheek, and with careful fingers, he tucked it behind her ear.
The touch was gentle. Barely there. But it sent a tremor through her.
He didn't say anything right away. Just looked at her with his piercing blue eyes. And then he gave her a small, quiet smile—fleeting, but real.
"Let's go home," he said softly.
Salomé swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a tiny nod.
They turned together, and he took the umbrella from her, tilting it so it kept her carefully covered. Her shoulder brushed against his arm as they walked side by side down the rain-slick street.
The rain had stopped completely by the time they reached their building. The halls felt quieter than usual, as if even the walls were holding their breath.
When they stepped into the apartment, neither said anything.
The door clicked shut, and a silence stretched between them—not awkward, not uncomfortable, but heavy with something unnamed.
Salomé stepped inside first, slipped off her soaked crocs and dropped the umbrella back in its place.
Giovanni followed, quieter than usual, his wet hoodie slung over one shoulder now.
She was halfway down the hall when a thought crossed her mind and made her stop abruptly.
Her shoulders stiffened, and she let out a quiet, frustrated breath. Then, as if preparing for battle, she turned on her heel and marched back toward Giovanni, who had just started toweling off his hair near the entryway.
She didn't look at him directly—her eyes stayed focused somewhere near his shoulder.
"I.." she started, then scowled lightly at herself, reaching into the back pocket of her shorts. "Here."
Giovanni tilted his head slightly. "Hm?"
The sound was soft, but it vibrated just above her head, warm and low. The same rush of emotion from earlier came crashing back, tightening her chest and sending heat to her face.
She froze for half a beat, then blurted out, voice sharper than she intended. "Put your number in."
She shoved the phone toward him, her arm jerky and ungraceful.
Giovanni blinked, surprised. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips but he made sure she didn't see it.
He took the phone from her hand, typed in his number with that maddening calm, and handed it back to her without a word.
She snatched it and turned so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet, hurrying back to her room.
Giovanni stood there for a moment, towel in hand, watching her retreat with an unreadable expression.
Then he turned away too, and chuckled softly under his breath.
In the days that followed, things between them had been okay.
Not better, not worse—just there.
They shared the same space, passed each other in the kitchen or living room, exchanged the occasional quiet greeting.
Whatever tension had crackled that night had settled into something quieter. Something that hummed beneath the surface but didn't ask to be named.
It wasn't avoidance. But it wasn't closeness either.
That morning, Salomé's door was wide open as she knelt beside her bed, carefully folding a jacket into her half-packed suitcase.
The soft hum of her playlist played in the background, barely audible over the sound of footsteps approaching in the hall.
Giovanni paused at her door, and stood there quietly, watching her. His gaze flickered between the suitcase, the travel documents on her desk, and back to her.
She didn't notice him right away—not until she turned slightly to reach for something and caught his figure in her periphery.
Her head lifted sharply and she froze slightly.
"Oh," she said, startled, brushing a hand through her hair. "I didn't— I didn't hear you."
He lifted his brow slightly as if to ask where she was going.
"School trip. France. For a week," she said, standing up quickly.
She gestured vaguely toward the papers on her desk, then looked everywhere but at him.
"I was going to tell you. It just... you know, kind of slipped my mind. Things have been kind of weird. Not weird. Just... quiet." She laughed softly, awkwardly. "Anyway, it's not really a vacation. There's lectures and stuff. Psychology, mental health. Field exposure, cultural observations—things like that."
His expression didn't change much, though something unreadable lingered in his eyes.
Salomé bit the inside of her cheek, then stepped forward, nervously tugging at the hem of her shirt.
"I'll be back before you know it," she added.
Giovanni's mouth twitched.
She hesitated one last moment, then glanced at him. "Okay. That's it. You can say something now."
Giovanni's gaze lingered on the suitcase for a second longer. His voice, when it came, was quiet but steady.
"Text me when you get there."
Then he turned, walked to his room, and closed the door behind him.
Salomé stood there, fingers curled around her shirt hem, still slightly swaying where she stood.
She forced herself not to smile. But it tugged at her anyway.
Giovanni closed his door and leaned against it, the echo of her voice still clinging to the air.
France.
She was leaving—for a week. Not long. But long enough to make the apartment feel different. Quieter in a way he wasn't ready for.
He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand over his face. The way she'd said, 'I'll be back before you know it,' like she needed him to hear it.
He hadn't asked when her flight was or whether he could follow her to the airport. Maybe that was a mistake.
His gaze slid to his phone on the nightstand. Her name was there now, simple and unassuming in his contacts.
Her number sat pretty in his phone all this while and she had no idea.
He picked it up.
Typed: 'Want me to go with you?'
Paused.
Deleted it.
Tried again: 'Safe journey.'
Deleted that too.
Eventually, he just locked the screen and tossed the phone aside.
He'd wait.
If she wanted to text him when she got there, she would.
But God—he hoped she did.