5 - storms and silences

                                    

                                          
The sound of charcoal scratching against paper filled Harper's dorm room, her hand moving instinctively over the page. She was halfway through another sketch, but this time her lines were bolder, harsher—edgy shadows carved across the face of a figure she hadn't quite perfected. Her eyes narrowed, her mind working faster than her pencil.
The figure was angry. Broken. Alone.
Harper frowned and dropped her pencil onto the desk, slumping back in her chair with a frustrated sigh. She glanced at the growing stack of sketches—most unfinished, all incomplete reflections of the same feeling she couldn't shake. It had been there ever since her strange encounters with Adrian Blackwood.
"Ugh."
"Talking to yourself again?"
Harper turned to see her roommate, Sophie, standing in the doorway with a mug of tea in hand. Sophie raised an eyebrow, looking between Harper and the mess of papers scattered across the desk. "Let me guess. The 'mystery guy' is living rent-free in your head."
Harper's expression tightened. "He's not a mystery."
"Really?" Sophie teased, taking a sip of tea. "You sure talk about him like he is. Blackwood, right?"
Harper hesitated before answering. "I don't talk about him."
"Mm-hmm. Just brood silently over sketches of some poor, tortured soul who looks suspiciously like him?"
Harper glared at her roommate, but Sophie wasn't wrong. Harper had spent too much time replaying that moment in the rain—Adrian's anger, his bitterness, but also the glimpse of something fragile hidden beneath it. Something he worked hard to hide.
"I don't know why I care," Harper muttered, running a hand through her hair. "He's rude. A complete jerk. But..."
"But?" Sophie prompted.
Harper stared at the unfinished sketch. "But he looks like he's carrying the weight of the world, and no one's helping him."
Sophie shrugged. "Some people don't want help."
"Maybe," Harper said quietly. "Or maybe they just don't know how to ask."
The library was almost empty when Harper arrived later that day.
Rain pattered softly against the tall windows, turning the outside world into a gray blur. She liked it better this way—the quiet, the solitude. It gave her room to think.
She weaved between the tables and rows of bookshelves, looking for a good spot to set up. That's when she saw him.
Adrian Blackwood sat at the far corner of the library, hunched over a notebook, his head bent low as he scribbled something furiously across the page. His dark hair fell into his face, shadowing his expression, but his jaw was tight, his shoulders tense.
Harper paused, surprised. She wasn't sure what she'd expected—maybe Adrian staring blankly into space like he usually did—but not this. Not him writing.
She debated whether to turn around and leave. The last thing she wanted was another cold, biting interaction with him. But curiosity tugged at her feet. Before she knew it, she was walking toward him.
"Didn't expect to find you here," she said softly.
Adrian's head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. He stared at her for a long moment before his expression hardened, like a door slamming shut. He dropped his pen and slammed the notebook closed, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet space.
"What do you want?" His tone was clipped, defensive.
Harper held up her hands in surrender. "Relax. I'm not here to fight you."