---
**– Part 1**
*"The space between questions."*
The next morning arrived slower than most—muted gray skies, streets wet from a night's worth of drizzle, and the kind of cold that didn't bite, just lingered. Lena Carter stared at her closet for ten whole minutes before finally grabbing her hoodie, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, and heading downstairs.
Her mom was already gone for work—no surprise there—but she'd left a note on the fridge in her careful cursive handwriting.
> "Lena, there's leftover pasta in the fridge. And please remember to bring your umbrella.
> Love you always. – Mom."
Lena folded the note and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans without thinking. She wasn't sure why she kept them—habit, maybe. Or maybe it was just comforting to carry some piece of her mom around during the day, even if they barely saw each other between shifts and life.
By the time she made it to school, the sky had cleared, but the air still clung to yesterday's cold. She walked past the gates, earbuds in, the bass of her music drowning out the usual school noise. She'd only just made it up the front steps when she saw **him**.
Jace Rivera.
Leaning against the pillar by the entrance, arms crossed, hood up, bag slung low on one shoulder like it was barely staying on. He saw her almost immediately, and something in his posture changed. Not dramatically—just a little less guarded.
She pulled one earbud out. "Stalking me now?"
"You wish," he replied, and Lena noticed the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth. "You left this in the library yesterday."
He held up a notebook—hers. The one she'd scribbled in while pretending to study.
Lena reached for it. "Thanks."
Their fingers brushed for half a second, and the moment stretched longer than it should have. Jace looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he nodded and stepped aside to let her pass.
"You're coming to the thing later, right?" he asked.
Lena frowned. "What thing?"
"The Fall Showcase," he said, as if it were obvious. "You know—art, music, drama kids doing their thing. Principal Sato forcing people to be supportive?"
She blinked. "Why would I go to that?"
"Because Mira's reading one of her poems."
"I didn't know that."
"Well, now you do," he said, already turning. "And you should go."
"Wait—are *you* performing?"
He hesitated, glanced back at her. "Maybe."
Lena narrowed her eyes. "That wasn't a yes."
"It wasn't a no either," he said over his shoulder, disappearing into the hall.
She stood there for a moment, uncertain.
---
Fifth period dragged.
It was one of those days where the class felt like it existed in a vacuum—no clocks, no movement, just the endless scratch of pencils and Mr. Dalton's monotone drone about economic models and invisible hands.
Lena tapped her pen against her notebook, not really listening. Her mind kept going back to that conversation. The way Jace hadn't said yes or no. The way he'd looked at her.
There had been a time, not that long ago, when Jace Rivera had been nothing but a smart-mouthed annoyance. A guy who lived to push her buttons, interrupt group work, and generally make her life a tiny bit worse one sarcastic comment at a time.
And yet now…
Now he returned sketchbooks. Now he looked tired in ways she recognized. Now he didn't feel like a problem—he felt like a question. And Lena had always been terrible at leaving questions unanswered.
She circled the time of the Fall Showcase in her planner.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
---
By the time the final bell rang and the hallway emptied, Lena found herself standing outside the auditorium doors.
The showcase hadn't started yet. The place was still buzzing with last-minute prep—strings being tuned, sound checks being run, drama kids reciting monologues under their breath in the corners. It was chaotic. Real.
She spotted Mira across the room, dressed in all black, her hair braided back and tucked under a beanie. She looked terrifyingly focused.
"Mira!" Lena called.
Her best friend spun, startled. "You came!"
"You didn't *tell* me you were performing."
"I wasn't sure if I'd go through with it," Mira said, fidgeting with her mic notecard. "But then I figured… why not humiliate myself publicly?"
Lena smiled. "You'll be great."
"What about you? You here for moral support or because someone told you Jace might perform?"
"I—what? No."
"Uh-huh," Mira said, arching an eyebrow. "Sure."
Before Lena could defend herself, someone called Mira's name from backstage, and she was whisked away in a flurry of cables and nerves.
Lena slipped into a seat near the back.
The lights dimmed a few minutes later, and the show began.
There were cello solos, original songs by awkwardly charming juniors, a dance troupe that looked like they were seconds from falling off rhythm but somehow never did. Every performance felt a little raw, a little too close to being real. Lena liked that.
And then came Mira.
She walked to the mic with purpose, eyes scanning the crowd until they found Lena. For a moment, the nervousness melted.
Then she began.
> "This is for the ones who stay up late
> replaying everything they said too loud,
> everything they never said at all.
> For the ones who are too much in silence
> and not enough in noise.
> You are not invisible.
> You are here.
> And you matter."
When she finished, the room went still. Then applause broke like thunder. Mira gave a tiny bow and practically sprinted off the stage.
Lena clapped until her hands stung.
And then, without warning, a familiar figure appeared on stage.
**Jace.**
Lena's breath caught.
He wore black, as always. Hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows. He didn't say anything. Just walked to the center, dropped to one knee, and flipped open a sketchbook on a stand.
A projector lit up behind him.
Drawing by drawing, it began to unfold. A story in charcoal and shadow.
A boy. Alone. Watching the world through windows. A storm in his chest. A mother asleep in a recliner. A school desk. A hall fight. A detention slip. A girl in a hoodie with fire in her eyes.
Lena's breath hitched.
The next image showed the boy again—slumped on a curb beside someone else. The world around him dark, but there was light from the streetlamp. And the girl. Always the girl.
Then the images slowed. Jace stood.
"This is for the ones who don't know where they belong," he said into the mic. "And the ones who think they've already messed up too many times to try again."
He walked offstage without another word.
The applause that followed wasn't loud. It wasn't the kind you gave when someone wowed you with fireworks. It was the kind that filled your chest with something heavy and soft at the same time.
Lena sat frozen in her seat.
Her heart pounded.
She didn't wait for the show to end.
---
She found him backstage, crouched near the exit, wrapping cords into loops like it gave him something to do with his hands.
"That was yours," she said, voice steadier than she felt.
He looked up. "Guilty."
"I didn't know you could—" she stopped. "That you *would*."
"Neither did I," Jace said. "Felt like the right time."
She took a step closer. "Was that sketch of me?"
Jace's hands stilled.
"Yeah," he said. "Hope that's not weird."
"It's weird," she said.
Jace winced.
"But I liked it."
He looked up slowly, surprise flickering across his face.
"Actually," she added, "I think I loved it."
Jace didn't say anything.
So Lena did.
"I see you, you know. Not just the guy who jokes too much. Not just the one who shows up late and pretends not to care. I see the rest. And I'm not going anywhere either."
Something unspoken passed between them. Then, slowly, carefully, Jace reached for her hand.
She let him.
For once, there was nothing left to say.
---
---
**– Part 2**
*"What the Silence Says"*
The hallway outside the auditorium was nearly empty by the time Lena and Jace walked out. Most of the crowd had filtered toward the parking lot, buzzing about performances, texting friends, and throwing on jackets against the early fall chill.
But not them.
They weren't in a rush to go anywhere.
They walked in silence down the long corridor, their steps echoing lightly against the tile. The fluorescent lights above hummed with a faint mechanical buzz, the only sound between them for a while.
Jace glanced over. "You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
She gave him a side-eye. "You should try it sometime."
He smirked. "Touché."
They reached the back exit doors—the ones near the art rooms—and paused beneath the pale glow of the overhead lamp. Lena crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, and studied him.
"So... all that," she said softly. "The drawings. The message. The silence."
"Yeah?"
"You really meant it."
He nodded. "Every bit."
She didn't respond at first. Just looked at him. Not the version of him she'd once filed under *school jerk* or *walking headache*. But the one standing in front of her now—a little tired, a little raw, and trying anyway.
"Why me?" she asked, the words soft but serious. "Why put *me* in your story?"
Jace looked away for a second, then back at her. His jaw flexed like he was choosing each word carefully.
"Because you see people," he said. "Even when you pretend not to. You call out their crap, sure, but... you don't ignore them. I've felt invisible for so long, Lena. You were the first person who looked at me like I wasn't broken."
Lena blinked. She hadn't expected that kind of honesty—not from him, not tonight.
"I didn't know you felt that way."
"Didn't want anyone to."
"Yeah, well... I get it," she murmured. "More than you know."
Jace tilted his head. "You wanna talk about it?"
"Do you?"
He laughed under his breath. "Maybe someday. When I'm braver."
"You were brave tonight."
He didn't reply, just leaned back against the opposite wall and let the silence return.
Not awkward silence. Something gentler. A stillness that felt earned.
"Come on," Lena finally said. "I'll walk you to the station."
Jace pushed off the wall and fell into step beside her. Their shoulders didn't quite touch, but the space between them felt intentional—shared, not avoided.
Outside, the night was cooler, the streetlamps flickering gold over damp pavement. They walked the familiar route in silence, past the bakery that closed early, past the mural wall with the faded colors, past the cracked bench they'd once argued on two months ago.
When they reached the crosswalk by the train station, Lena stopped.
"This is you," she said.
Jace shoved his hands into his pockets, rocked on his heels. "You coming to school early tomorrow?"
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Might need a second opinion on something."
"You mean like homework?"
"No. More like... life choices."
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds serious."
He grinned. "Not if I have you helping me make them."
The light changed. Jace took one step into the street, then paused.
"You sure you're okay?"
Lena hesitated. Then nodded. "I will be."
He lingered, like he wanted to say something more. But then a car passed behind them and the moment folded.
"Goodnight, Carter."
"Night, Rivera."
She watched until he was gone.
And for once, she didn't feel so alone.
---
**The Next Morning**
Lena stood outside the school gate fifteen minutes earlier than usual. The sky was still soft and blue-gray, clouds hanging low like they hadn't fully woken up yet.
She sipped from a thermos of bitter coffee, half-wishing she'd stayed in bed—but something about last night had cracked something open inside her. She wasn't sure what to do with it yet. Only that she wanted to see where it led.
Jace arrived exactly three minutes later.
"Wow," he said, eyes flicking to her cup. "You drink that stuff willingly?"
"Don't knock the fuel of high-functioning insomniacs."
He chuckled and gestured for her to follow.
They cut across the quad toward the back of the library building—where the windows overlooked the old art wing and the view stretched all the way to the football field. Jace pulled out a key from his hoodie pocket and unlocked one of the side doors.
Lena raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you have *keys*?"
"Since Ms. Greene trusts me with the media cabinet," he said, wiggling his brows. "I'm basically faculty now."
She rolled her eyes, but followed him in.
Inside, the media room was dim, quiet, and filled with stacks of tripods, lights, and half-broken speakers. Jace moved past them to a table near the back and pulled a large sketchpad from his bag.
He handed it to her.
Lena opened it slowly.
Page by page, she flipped through: sketches of the school courtyard, people laughing on benches, Mira reading from a notebook, the way sunlight hit the hallway during fourth period. But it wasn't just scenery—it was mood. Emotion caught in linework. Little moments captured like secrets.
And then she reached the last page.
It was her.
Leaning against a locker, hoodie sleeves too long, earbuds in. Not looking at the viewer—just existing. Quietly. Confidently. Entirely unaware she was being seen.
Lena swallowed.
"You draw everyone like this?" she asked.
"Just the people who make me feel something."
She looked up.
Jace's expression was unreadable. Serious, maybe. Or vulnerable.
She handed the sketchpad back, careful not to smudge anything.
"That's... really good," she said softly.
"Thanks."
"You ever gonna show these to someone? Like really show them?"
"Maybe someday," he said. "But this—today—this was just for you."
Lena blinked, caught off guard.
"You always do that," she said.
"Do what?"
"Say something that makes it really hard to keep pretending I don't like you."
Jace laughed quietly. "Then stop pretending."
She smirked. "You're assuming I ever *started* liking you."
"Oh, come on," he said, leaning closer. "You had a crush on me the second I called you 'Carter' in tenth grade."
She pushed his shoulder lightly. "That was hatred, not a crush."
"Same thing. Just needs a few detentions and a shared project to bloom."
They laughed. The kind of laugh that made the room feel smaller. Warmer.
And then it faded into something quieter.
More serious.
Jace looked down. "I don't know what this is yet, but... I want to figure it out."
"Same."
"I mean, I'm gonna mess up," he added. "That's like, a guarantee."
"So will I."
He looked at her again. This time there was no smirk. No teasing.
Just honesty.
"I like you, Lena."
Her breath hitched, just slightly. But she didn't look away.
"I like you too, Jace."
For a second, neither moved.
Then the bell rang.
They both jumped a little, laughing again.
"Guess the world's not gonna pause for us," she said.
"Wouldn't want it to," he replied.
They left the media room side by side.
And though the hallway was full of students, lockers slamming and voices rising—it felt like they were still alone.
Like the quiet they'd found hadn't gone anywhere.
---