The rumor of rain

The next few weeks passed in a gentle rhythm — like waves brushing the shore.

Zara, Mila, and Noah fell into an easy friendship. They spent their afternoons at the juice van and their nights watching movies, laughing over cheap takeout, teasing each other endlessly.

For the first time in a long while, Zara felt free.

No glowing bottles, no storm whispers, no worries — just the kind of peace that makes you forget you ever had fears.

⸻

One Friday evening, the trio sat outside the van after closing. The street buzzed softly — chatter, street food smoke, someone’s Bluetooth speaker humming in the distance.

Mila sipped from her drink. “You two are disgusting,” she said, grinning.

“What?” Zara laughed.

“The way you keep smiling at each other. My poor single heart can’t take it.”

Zara rolled her eyes, pretending not to blush. “You could have anyone you want, Mila.”

“Not true,” she said dramatically. “The good ones are either taken or too broke to text back.”

Noah laughed. “Then I guess I’m lucky.”

Zara smiled, her heart doing that flutter thing again. Mila groaned. “See? Disgusting.”

But beneath her teasing, there was warmth. Mila liked seeing Zara happy. After everything she’d been through — losing her mum, struggling with money, the weird storm-night stuff — she deserved this.

Still… Mila couldn’t shake a tiny, quiet unease. Something about Noah. The way he sometimes went quiet mid-conversation, like his mind drifted elsewhere. The way he always changed the topic if anyone mentioned that storm weeks ago.

⸻

Later that night, when Mila left to catch her bus, Zara and Noah lingered by the van.

The air smelled like rain.

Zara leaned on the counter. “You know, it’s weird having things feel normal again.”

Noah tilted his head. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Like I should be happy — and I am — but it’s almost too peaceful.”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe peace is what you’ve been running from.”

She laughed softly. “Maybe.”

There was a pause — a comfortable one. Then he said quietly, “You still have that vial, don’t you?”

Zara froze. “What?”

“The one you found after the storm,” he said lightly, like he was talking about the weather. “You showed me once, remember?”

Her stomach tightened. “I never showed you.”

He blinked — too quickly. “Oh… right. Must’ve been Mila mentioning it.”

But she hadn’t.

Zara felt a strange chill. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Maybe.”

Noah smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

⸻

The next day, Mila came over early. They made pancakes, danced around the kitchen, and filmed goofy videos for their little “Glow Riders” group chat — the name they’d jokingly made for themselves after surviving that lightning storm.

Zara hadn’t laughed like that in months.

But when Mila went to grab something from the van, she noticed Noah’s jacket hanging over the seat. Inside the pocket — a small notebook.

She wasn’t nosy, but curiosity tugged at her. She peeked.

A symbol, drawn over and over again: three circles connected by a line — glowing ink pressed into the paper.

And beneath it, one phrase:

“The energy source must be close. Zara knows more than she thinks.”

Mila’s breath caught.

She snapped the book shut.

When she looked up, Noah was standing in the doorway — smiling.

But not his usual soft, warm smile.

This one was sharper. Calculated

Find something interesting? he asked.