The final school bell rang, echoing through the crowded hallways of Westbrook High. Students burst out of their classrooms, filling the corridors with laughter, chatter, and the occasional shove as they hurried to escape the confines of school. Adam had no such rush. He moved through the crowd at his own pace, adjusting the strap of his backpack while keeping his gaze fixed ahead.
He had always preferred the background—never too involved, never too distant. Just another student blending into the sea of faces. He wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, he had a best friend, someone who made the dullest days exciting. That friend was Noah Carter.
But Noah wasn’t his best friend anymore.
Years ago, they had been inseparable—spending their afternoons at the arcade, debating over superheroes, and biking down the old dirt trails behind Adam’s house. Then, somewhere between middle school and high school, everything changed. Noah drifted away, swallowed by a new crowd of people who were cooler, louder, and nothing like Adam. The distance between them stretched until they became nothing more than strangers sharing the same school hallways.
Adam had never asked why. Maybe he was too stubborn, or maybe he was too afraid of the answer.
Now, it had been years since their last real conversation.
As Adam stepped outside, the sky had darkened. Thick storm clouds loomed overhead, swallowing the late afternoon sun. He frowned. The forecast hadn’t mentioned rain, and of course, he had forgotten his umbrella.
Within minutes, the sky broke open.
Heavy raindrops pelted the pavement, soaking Adam’s hoodie within seconds. He cursed under his breath, quickening his pace. He still had a twenty-minute walk home, and it was going to be miserable.
“Adam?”
The familiar voice froze him mid-step.
He turned, blinking through the downpour. Standing just a few feet away, holding a large black umbrella, was Noah.
For a moment, Adam thought he had imagined it. The rain blurred his vision, but there was no mistaking Noah’s sharp features and slightly disheveled brown hair. He had grown taller, more confident-looking, a far cry from the boy Adam once knew.
They stared at each other, the years of silence between them stretching as heavy as the rain.
“You’re gonna get soaked,” Noah said, stepping closer. He extended the umbrella slightly. “Come on.”
Adam hesitated. His first instinct was to refuse, to keep walking, to ignore the part of him that still cared. But the rain was relentless, and standing there like an idiot wasn’t helping. So, with a deep breath, he stepped under the umbrella.
Side by side, they began walking. The rhythmic patter of rain against the umbrella filled the silence between them. It was almost surreal—after years of nothing, here they were, walking home together like it was any other day.
“So,” Noah started, his voice oddly cautious, “how’ve you been?”
Adam shrugged. “Fine.”
Noah let out a small laugh. “Still as talkative as ever, huh?”
Adam glanced at him. “Didn’t realize we were having a heart-to-heart.”
Noah smirked but didn’t push. Instead, he shifted the umbrella slightly to make sure Adam wasn’t getting hit by stray raindrops. Adam noticed, but said nothing.
The silence stretched before Noah spoke again. “You still read as much as you used to?”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “You remember that?”
“Of course,” Noah said, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You used to carry a book everywhere. Even to the arcade. Thought it was the dumbest thing ever, but you never let it go.”
A small, reluctant smile tugged at Adam’s lips. “Yeah, well… I still do.”
Noah hummed. “Figures.” He hesitated, then added, “You still live at the same place?”
Adam nodded. “Yeah.”
Noah exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Haven’t been by in a while.”
Adam finally turned to face him. “Yeah, whose fault is that?”
Noah flinched slightly at the edge in Adam’s tone. He exhaled. “I deserve that.”
They stopped at an empty intersection, waiting for the light to change. Adam crossed his arms, staring straight ahead.
“You disappeared,” Adam finally said, his voice quieter. “One day we were hanging out, and the next… nothing. No explanation. You just walked away.”
Noah’s grip tightened around the umbrella handle. “I know.”
“Then why?” Adam asked. “What did I do?”
Noah looked at him sharply. “You didn’t do anything.”
The light turned green, but neither of them moved. The rain had lessened into a soft drizzle, but the tension between them remained thick.
Noah sighed. “It’s stupid. Back in middle school, I thought I had to change. Fit in. Be someone people liked. And the people I was trying to impress? They weren’t exactly into… comic books and sci-fi.” He let out a dry chuckle. “I was an idiot. And I thought if I was the one to walk away first, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
Adam swallowed hard. He had spent years thinking he had done something wrong. That he had been too boring, too awkward, too much of a nobody to keep Noah around. But now, standing here, hearing the truth—it wasn’t what he expected.
It wasn’t anger that filled him. It was something else.
Sadness.
Regret.
The light turned red again. Still, they didn’t move.
“I missed you, you know,” Noah admitted, voice quieter now. “I just… didn’t know how to fix it.”
Adam stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he exhaled.
“You still play video games?” he asked.
Noah blinked. “What?”
Adam finally turned to him, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You still play, or did you ditch that too?”
Noah laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, I still play. And I’m still better than you.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Debatable.”
Noah grinned, nudging him again. “Guess we’ll have to test that, won’t we?”
The rain had nearly stopped now, leaving behind the fresh scent of damp pavement. The years of silence between them hadn’t disappeared completely, but they had cracked, just a little. And sometimes, that was enough.
As they walked, the conversation shifted to old times—their favorite childhood memories, dumb inside jokes, and ridiculous bets they had made as kids. And just like that, it felt like nothing had changed.
Like maybe, just maybe, some friendships weren’t meant to disappear.
Maybe they were just waiting to be found again.
