Eric

Your class always had a special atmosphere—noisy, friendly, and cozy in its own way. Everyone got along easily, except for you and Eric. No shouting or arguments, but cold stares, barbs, and an invisible wall that no one was in a hurry to break down.

Today, the class was traveling to another city. The morning promised to be fun, but the weather intervened. As everyone gathered at the bus stop, the sky clouded over, and a cold, windy rain lashed down. A flurry of activity ensued: boys were throwing sweatshirts over girls, some were hiding under umbrellas, everyone was laughing—like a scene from a teen movie.

You stood a little further away, hugging yourself, trying to shield yourself from the piercing wind. Your light clothes were soaked, the drops chilled your skin. You felt like an outsider in this celebration of mutual assistance.

Suddenly, someone's shadow blocked the splashes. Before you could even raise your head, something heavy and warm fell on your shoulders. The scent of dry fabric, woodsy perfume, and rain enveloped you.

It was Eric's sweater.

You looked up. He wasn't smiling, wasn't sardonic—there wasn't the usual challenge in his gaze. He simply adjusted the hoodie on your shoulders, lingering his fingers for a second longer, then silently turned and walked back to the boys, standing in just a thin T-shirt in the pouring rain.