Chapter 9 — The Gate
Friday brought rain.
Not heavy enough to cancel practice, just enough to slick the pavement and make everyone’s hair cling to their foreheads.
I stayed late in the library.
Not because I needed to.
Because going home meant walking beside Noah in silence, and I had started rationing that kind of ache.
When I finally left, the courtyard was nearly empty.
The flagpole rope clicked softly in the wind.
A few cars idled near the curb, headlights cutting pale tunnels through the drizzle.
At the front gate, I saw him.
Noah stood under the awning, one shoulder against the brick, looking like he belonged in whatever light he stepped into.
A girl stood close to him.
Too close.
Her coat was too thin for the weather, so Noah had his jacket draped over her shoulders.
His hand rested at the back of her neck like he’d done it a hundred times.
The girl smiled up at him, lips parted as if she was about to say something private.
Then she rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Noah didn’t pull away.
He didn’t hesitate.
He kissed her back, slow and practiced, as if the world was a room they’d rented together.
I stopped walking.
Rain dotted my lashes.
I blinked hard, as if that could change the scene into something less real.
Noah opened his eyes mid-kiss.
Saw me.
For a second, his mouth stilled.
Not guilt.
Not shame.
Calculation.
He tightened his hand on the girl’s jacket collar, drawing her closer.
A gesture that read like a statement.
Then his gaze cut to me—sharp, final.
He didn’t speak.
His mouth formed one word.
Leave.
I turned before the heat in my eyes could spill.
My shoes squeaked against wet concrete as I walked back toward the building.
The library doors were locked.
The side entrance was locked.
I stood there, rain cooling the back of my neck, and realized I’d made myself homeless for the sake of obeying him.
A security guard spotted me from inside.
He cracked the door open.
“You okay, kid?”
I nodded too fast.
“Yeah. Just—waiting.”
He let me in anyway.
Warm air hit my face.
The fluorescent lights hummed.
I sat on a bench near the lobby and stared at the floor until my breathing steadied.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Noah.
**Don’t make this a thing.**
No punctuation.
No softness.
Just a command wearing plain clothes.
I typed back.
**Okay.**
I didn’t know why I kept doing that.
Maybe because “okay” was smaller than everything I wanted to say.