The rain had started just after dinner.
Soft, not stormy. The kind of rain that makes windows blur and streetlights look like melted stars.
Maya sat cross-legged on the living room floor, flipping through notes for her final project. Music played low from her speaker. Her parents were upstairs, and the house smelled like leftover pasta and lemon cleaner.
The doorbell rang.
She frowned, glancing at the time. 8:47 p.m.
When she opened it, Damon stood there, hoodie damp, his usual calm expression betraying a flicker of nerves.
He held her geometry notebook and a Starbucks bag.
"You left this in my car this morning ," he said, lifting the notebook. "Figured you might need it before finals."
She blinked. "You walked through the rain for my geometry notebook?"
He handed it to her. "And also because I'm a softie who knows you like those cinnamon cake pops."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "You wanna come in?"
"Just for a minute."
He kicked off his shoes and followed her inside. She led him up the stairs to her room, where the lights were dimmed and her favorite hoodie hung on the back of her desk chair. The rain tapped gently against the window.
She sat on the edge of her bed. He stayed standing.
"You want to sit or just dramatically hover like a CEO?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Future CEO," he corrected dryly. "Still got time to ruin my life before the title becomes official."
She laughed. "Sounds about right."
He finally sat beside her, not too close. Just… there.
A pause.
Then she said, "I read the post."
He nodded, quiet. "I figured."
"I also read Vic's."
His jaw tightened for a split second. "Yeah?"
"I didn't expect to feel anything. But I did."
She stared at her hands. "I felt sorry for him."
Damon didn't reply right away. When he did, it was soft. "He didn't lie. Not this time."
"That's the messed-up part. I believed him."
"You've always wanted to believe the best in people. It's not weakness, Maya."
She exhaled, her voice suddenly quieter. "I felt more for Vic than I did when I read about Eddie."
Damon turned to look at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"There's nothing left when I think about Eddie," she went on. "No anger. No sadness. Not even relief. Just… air. Like I was holding on to a ghost."
He was silent. Listening. Always listening.
She swallowed. "I don't know what's worse — being heartbroken or feeling nothing at all."
"It's not nothing," Damon said. "It's healing. Sometimes silence is what's left after the storm."
She looked at him. "You always talk like you're 40."
He smirked. "It's the board meetings. They age you."
"Is that what it's like? Already? Board meetings and suits and stockholders?"
"More or less," he said, glancing out the window. "You'd be surprised how many grown men act like toddlers with money."
She gave a tired chuckle. "Bet none of them deliver cinnamon cake pops in the rain."
He smiled but didn't say anything.
She reached into the Starbucks bag, pulled one out, bit into it. Then suddenly, her throat tightened.
"Why did you write it?" she asked, eyes not leaving the floor.
He didn't hesitate. "Because it was true. And because I wanted you to know I wasn't just… standing there in the background. I was watching you survive. Every day. I had to say it."
She set the cake pop aside, staring at nothing.
"You made me sound like someone worth writing about," she said.
"You are."
"No," she said, voice shaking. "I'm a mess. I didn't even know who I was without Eddie until he left."
Damon's voice dropped lower. "You were Maya. You were always Maya. Even when he tried to erase her."
Her chest clenched. "You say that like it's obvious."
"It is," he said. "To everyone but you."
The silence that followed was thick — not awkward, just full.
Then she asked, "Do you think I only leaned on you because you were there?"
Damon didn't flinch. "Maybe at first."
She looked up at him, startled by the honesty.
"But people don't stay leaning on someone unless it feels safe," he said. "And you didn't just lean. You stayed."
She blinked hard, tears threatening.
"I don't want to hurt you," she whispered.
"You won't."
"But I'm still figuring it out. And I don't know what I feel yet. It's all tangled."
He nodded. "I'm not asking for anything, Maya. I'm just here. If that's all it ever is, that's enough."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not used to people meaning what they say," she said.
"I'm not people," he replied.
That broke her.
She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. He adjusted slightly, settling into the moment like he'd been waiting for it.
No pressure.
No expectations.
Just presence.
They sat like that while the rain drummed against the windows, while the night wrapped itself around the house like a secret.
Eventually, she murmured, "You're not a replacement."
He turned his head slightly, enough to brush his cheek against her hair. "I know."
"And I don't want you to be a placeholder either."
"I'm not waiting for a finish line," he said. "I'm just walking beside you."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
How could someone speak like that and not expect anything in return?
How could someone like Damon — future CEO, polished, composed, with the whole world opening up under his name — show up like this, soaked from the rain, just to drop off a notebook and remind her she wasn't invisible?
And why, when he touched her hand, did her pulse stutter?
When he stood up a little while later and said, "I should head out — got an early meeting tomorrow," she didn't want him to go.
But she didn't stop him either.
She just followed him to the door, and as he opened it, she said:
"Thank you."
He looked back at her.
"I don't mean for the notebook," she said. "I mean for not asking me to be sure."
He gave a soft, sideways smile. "I'll be around. Whether you're sure or not."
Then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And Maya stood there in the quiet, heartbeat loud in her ears, asking herself one terrifying question:
What if I'm not confused at all? What if I already know how I feel?