On my way back, it began to drizzle in the mountains.
The rain pattered softly against the window, and the air carried the faint scent of damp earth.
After showering, I walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair.
My phone displayed several missed calls from Leander.
I hadn't answered, and he hadn't called again.
Sometimes, when I miss a moment, it's gone for good.
Half-asleep, I was startled awake by the ringing of my phone.
"Indra, open the door."
I opened it to find Leander standing there.
His hair and coat were damp from the rain, the woody scent on him tinged with moisture.
Looking down at me, his voice was hoarse. "Ask me anything you want to know, and I'll tell you."
I stared at him blankly. "Why didn't you bring an umbrella?"
Leander froze, raising an eyebrow. "That's what you want to ask?"
Suddenly, I didn't know how to begin.
"There are no rooms available here. Let me stay for the night."
I handed him a towel and showed him my phone's search results. "There are plenty of rooms. Liar."
He shrugged off his coat, taking the towel to dry his hair. "I knew you wouldn't be easy to fool."
"How did you find me?"
"You posted on social media," he said, a lazy smile in his eyes. "I think I'm still on your blocklist."
I laughed self-deprecatingly. "You came all this way in the middle of the night. Do you really like me that much?"
The rain roared outside, and the room fell into a heavy silence.
Leander's voice was serious and clear. "I like you a lot."
My heart skipped a beat.
For a fleeting moment, I heard the words I had longed for years ago.
Closing my eyes, I said, "You don't have to talk about the rest if you don't want to."
Leander stepped closer, gently ruffling my hair as he looked down at me.
"I inherited my mother's bipolar disorder. When my emotions run too high or too low, it's because of my condition."
"When I'm happy, I want to be with you. When I'm not, I want to stay far away."
"I didn't want my moods to affect you, but I ended up hurting you anyway."
I tilted my head up to look at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His expression was desolate, his voice low and rough. "My dad was a scumbag, but he said one thing that was true: no one likes a crazy person."
In my memories, he was always a proud and passionate boy.
For the first time, I saw him vulnerable, insecure.
"I was afraid you'd think I was disgusting."
His voice was soft as he lifted a finger to brush the corner of my eye.
It was only then that I realized I was crying.
Turning away, I avoided his gaze, my eyes landing on a photo that had fallen to the floor.
Leander followed my gaze, walked over, and picked it up.
I took it from him hastily, stammering. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken your picture back then."
He looked down at me, bloodshot eyes filled with suppressed emotion.
I stepped back, but his hand circled my waist, preventing me from retreating.
Droplets of water from his damp hair trickled down to his collarbone, sliding across his chest.
We were so close. His body radiated heat, and his pale face was flushed.
I pressed a hand to his forehead. "You have a fever."
He grabbed my wrist and asked, "Why did you touch me? Don't you find me disgusting?"
I bit my lip, staying silent.
While I hesitated, his lips pressed against mine.
It was scorching, restrained, frantic, yet fleeting.
Leander leaned close to my ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Indra, I need my medication, or things will get worse."
Even as he said that, he didn't take the pills from his box, only some fever medicine.
We didn't do anything.
His feverish body was burning, his heartbeat rapid.
The rain poured outside, the room warm.
He held me as he slept through the night.
For once, I didn't have insomnia.
