After thanking the clerk at the convenience store, Ginevra Volkova stepped back out into the rain, her movements a little stiff as she lifted the puppy into her arms and started down the wet street.
Unexpectedly, the tiny creature didn't cry at all once it was pressed against her. Instead, it burrowed closer, its damp nose nudging into the warmth of her palm with such trust it almost hurt.
The puppy's fur brushed against her wrist, soft and ticklish, and to her own surprise, Ginevra let out a quiet laugh.
She slowed her pace, the umbrella tilting over both of them. Every few steps she looked down again, as if to reassure herself it was still there—this small, round body, plump in that slightly clumsy way of newborn animals, its coat a snowy fluff. Only the top of its head broke the whiteness: a tuft of warm brown fur, like a little smudge of cinnamon.
Rain still whispered down around them.
Ginevra thought for a moment, her gaze lingering on the tiny head. Then she reached up and gently tapped it with one finger.
"I'll call you Little Raindrop," she said softly.
At home, Mr. Volkova was sitting on the sofa pretending to watch television and very obviously waiting up.
He kept glancing toward the hallway from the corner of his eye.
The moment he heard footsteps outside, he snatched up the remote, switched off the TV, and slumped sideways, arranging himself into a theatrical pose of fatherly exhaustion.
Ginevra set the umbrella carefully by the door and flicked on the hallway light.
Her father's large frame was half-sunken into the cushions.
"Don't sleep on the sofa," she said coolly. "You're going to collapse it."
At once he shot upright, clutching his chest.
"Are you worried about the sofa or your poor old father's back?" he protested. "Even in weather like this you should worry I'll catch a chill at night, you know."
Ginevra gave him a single look, somewhere between amused and resigned, then walked past him with the puppy still cradled in her arms.
Her father's eyes widened as he finally noticed the small bundle of white fur.
"So tiny?" he blurted.
"Found it," Ginevra answered simply.
She crouched and set Little Raindrop carefully on the floor.
Her father didn't dare go too near, afraid that one careless step from his big feet would end badly for someone so small.
"Got a name yet?" he asked.
"Little Raindrop."
"Tsk. The neighbour, Smith, has a dog named Constantine," he said, unable to stop himself from criticising. "You sure you don't want something a bit more… impressive?"
Ginevra rolled her eyes.
"His Doberman is scared of mice," she said. "The name's the only scary thing about it."
Well. He had to admit she had a point.
A glorious name didn't mean much if the dog trembled at the sight of a rodent.
He didn't argue further.
Hands on his hips, he watched Little Raindrop struggle to roll over on the hardwood floor, tiny paws flailing. It was impossible to tell what breed it would turn out to be when it grew up, but the little face was undeniably cute.
"Oh, right—Giny, what about that checkered umbrella we had at home?" he asked a moment later, bending to straighten the umbrellas by the door.
Ginevra's hand paused mid-motion.
Her eyelids lowered; she looked away.
"Lost it," she said.
"Shame. That was a fancy one, you know. Cost a pretty penny," he sighed. "If it's gone, it's gone. Doubt we'll ever see it again."
Ginevra didn't answer.
She went to the cupboard instead, took out a clean blanket and spread it over one of the thinner seat cushions, shaping it into a makeshift bed for Little Raindrop.
"Go to your room and rest," she told her father as she arranged it. "I'll sort things out here."
She practically shooed him down the hallway.
He grumbled a little for form's sake, but he went.
The next morning, as the sky was just beginning to pale, Jaynara Stevens woke earlier than she had in… possibly her entire high school life.
She dressed in a rush, grabbed her backpack, and took the long way to school, detouring deliberately so she could pass by the convenience store from the night before.
Inside, a male clerk was restocking shelves.
A few quick questions later, Jayna had her answer:
The puppy had already been adopted.
By a high school student, the clerk said.
Jayna's mood lifted instantly, light blooming in her chest.
She bought a piece of bread and a carton of milk to celebrate, thanked the clerk twice, and practically floated all the way to school.
For the first time ever, she arrived earlier than Ginevra.
She was still inwardly marvelling at that fact when she caught sight of Ginevra coming in through the front doors, backpack slung neatly, posture straight as always.
Jayna's smile exploded across her face like someone had flipped a switch.
She could hardly wait for Ginevra to hang her bag on the hook by her desk before bursting out,
"Ginevra, Ginevra, you know what? The puppy we found last night has already been adopted!"
She hovered by the desk as Ginevra settled in, words tumbling out in a happy stream.
"The clerk said it was a high school student who took it. Isn't that great? See? There really are kind people in the world."
Ginevra listened quietly, and despite herself, the corners of her mouth softened.
She smiled.
It was tiny. Almost not there.
But Jayna saw it.
"You think so too, don't you?" she said, eyes lighting up. "Look, you're smiling."
She nudged Ginevra's arm with a mischievous little jab, delighted by the rare expression.
Ginevra didn't snap at her; she only gave a slight tilt of her head toward the front, a silent stop it and start reading.
"I know, I know," Jayna said breezily. "I just think we did something good, you know? Extra points with the universe and all that. I bet that high schooler must be someone really gentle-hearted inside."
That… counted as a compliment, didn't it?
Ginevra felt her ears grow warm.
On the podium, Lydia Westbrook had been watching the back row out of the corner of her eye.
Something twisted inside her.
How had Ginevra gotten home last night?
And since when had the two of them grown this… close?
"Jaynara, if you keep whispering, I'm writing your name down," Lydia said sharply.
Jayna's smile slipped away at once.
She lifted her head, met Lydia's eyes for a couple of seconds, then dropped her gaze and opened her book, lips pressed together.
Between classes, when the brief freedom of break time arrived and the room filled with chatter, Jayna rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box.
Her aunt had brought it back for her a few days ago, along with a conspiratorial wink and a teasing tone.
"Eat it with someone you really like," she'd said, lashes fluttering playfully. "That way you'll stay together forever."
Stay together forever.
The phrase had lodged in Jayna's mind and refused to leave.
"Ginevra, did you have breakfast?" she asked without thinking, turning to the girl beside her.
She lifted the little box. The packaging was so pretty it almost felt like an ornament rather than food—glossy cardboard, delicate illustrations, like something from a European bakery window.
The only disappointing part was…
There were only two cookies inside.
"pain d'épi...ces?" Jayna muttered, squinting at the French words printed on the front and mangling the pronunciation slightly.
"Gingerbread man," Ginevra corrected softly, the translation slipping from her lips before she could stop it. "A little gingerbread figure."
Jayna's smile flashed back to life.
She looked at Ginevra with all the admiration of someone watching a magician pull endless rabbits from a hat.
"Then I'll share it with you," she said. "Here."
Before Ginevra could respond, Ethan leaned over from the other side, hand already half-raised.
"Jayna, I want some too," he said, putting on a pitiful face. "I barely ate anything this morning. I'm starving."
Jayna frowned, ready with a sharp retort.
But then she took in the ridiculous, pleading look on his face—this tall guy, acting like he'd faint any second if he didn't get a cookie.
"Fine, fine," she sighed, handing one of the two gingerbread men over. "Here. Take it, honestly."
"Hehe. Wow, it's so pretty," Ethan said around a grin, turning the cookie over in his hands.
Jayna rolled her eyes at him, then lowered her gaze to the remaining cookie in her palm.
Only one gingerbread man left.
She had wanted to eat it together with Ginevra—half each, like some silly ritual.
But breaking it in half suddenly felt… wrong.
Too ordinary.
"Here," she said at last, lifting the cookie toward Ginevra. "You try it."
Ginevra glanced at her from under her lashes, eyes dark and clear.
"You have it," she said. "I don't need any."
"I brought it especially for you," Jayna said, smiling.
She held the cookie closer until it hovered right in front of Ginevra's lips.
Ginevra sat there, hands resting on the edge of her desk, gaze fixed unwillingly on the gingerbread man now practically touching her mouth.
She'd known, after spending this much time with Jayna, that the girl's persistence was something to be reckoned with.
If she didn't give in, this would go on forever.
So she frowned a little and reached up, ready to take the cookie with her hand.
"Taste it," Jayna urged, still standing by her chair, eyes bright with anticipation.
She was so obviously waiting for Ginevra to say, It's good, to confirm the choice she'd made—to choose her as the person to share it with.
Because Jayna herself hadn't taken a bite yet.
She watched as Ginevra leaned forward and finally took a bite from one side of the cookie.
In that small, mundane moment, something electric shot through Jayna's mind—sharp and dizzying.
The way Ginevra's lips closed around the gingerbread, the little crumbs that clung to her mouth afterward, made Jayna think suddenly, absurdly, of the strawberry mousse in her fridge at home.
Sweet.
Tempting.
Melt-on-the-tongue soft.
The thought hit her with enough force to make her heart stutter.
And out of nowhere, another idea rose, wild and unreasonable:
She wanted to eat the half of the cookie still in Ginevra's mouth.
"Ginevra," she said, voice softer now.
She licked her lips unconsciously, tasting the faint sugar still stuck to them, and called her name again, as if testing something.
Ginevra paused, the cookie still between her fingers.
She had barely begun to chew when she saw Jayna lean down.
Just a little.
Her smile was faint but unmistakable, curving at the corner of her mouth. She bent lower, turning her face slightly to the side, and her warm breath brushed against the bare skin of Ginevra's cheek.
It tickled.
It was warm.
Before Ginevra could figure out what was happening, Jayna opened her mouth and bit down on the other half of the gingerbread man—directly from her lips.
Their mouths didn't touch.
But they didn't need to.
When Jayna straightened up again, chewing contentedly on her stolen half of the cookie, Ginevra realised her entire body had gone rigid.
She couldn't seem to move.
Jayna swallowed, wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, and looked down.
Ginevra's ears were pink.
Her eyelashes trembled slightly, casting small shadows on her cheeks.
Jayna's heart missed another beat.
Only now did she fully grasp what she'd just done.
"Delicious," she said quietly.
It was, genuinely, delicious.
But she also had the distinct, sinking feeling that she had just volunteered herself for a scolding.
Inside Ginevra, emotions tangled so thickly she could barely separate them.
Embarrassment, anger, something hot and unsettling that wasn't quite either.
She hated how her heart sped up, how her thoughts stuttered and stalled like a misfiring engine.
She lifted her head and glared at Jayna—really glared at her, eyes dark and unblinking—because she honestly didn't know what else to do with everything she was feeling.
How exactly was she supposed to reprimand someone for such a shameless, outrageous stunt…
…when a small, traitorous part of her hadn't really wanted to pull away?
Under that stare, Jayna's bravado cracked.
Guilt prickled under her skin.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to hide both the flush creeping across her cheeks and the stupid, irrepressible smile tugging at her lips.
What did I just do?
She hadn't thought at all.
Her body had just moved.
She'd just leaned in and—
Before she could lower herself into full apology mode—kneeling, massaging Ginevra's legs, metaphorically begging forgiveness—Calista Renner shuffled up to the back row, her expression thunderous.
"What happened to you last night?" Calista demanded, hands on hips, clearly prepared to interrogate.
Jayna latched onto her like a drowning person spotting a life raft.
"Bless you," she whispered under her breath.
She pressed her palms together in a quick little prayer of thanks toward Ginevra, then, before Ginevra could open her mouth and incinerate her with a single sentence, Jayna grabbed Calista's arm and dragged her toward the classroom door.
A strategic retreat.
Her heart was still racing.
On Ginevra's ears, the pink refused to fade.