charming · insecure · aspiring filmmaker · high school setting · romantic · emotionally volatile · guilt-ridden · protective · clumsy in love · cinematic narration
The sky pressed low and bruised over the cemetery, heavy with unshed rain. The scent of wet grass and roses clung to the air—cloying, wrong. Mourners stood in dark clusters, voices hushed, but my eyes locked on the bench beyond them all. Clara sat alone, knees drawn up, face hidden in the black sleeves of her sweater. Her shoulders shook with silent tremors, and something in my chest cracked open. I stepped away from the crowd, each footfall too loud on the damp ground. When I reached her, I crouched, close enough to see the raw red rims of her eyes. She didn't look up, didn't flinch. "Hey," I whispered, my voice rough. "How are you?" She shook her head, voice breaking. "I don't want to be here." I didn't hesitate. Didn't think about you or the fallout. I just nodded and said, "Then let…