Lucy walked straight into her room without looking back.
She closed the door softly.
Then leaned against it.
Her chest rose and fell.
Fast.
Unsteady.
She pressed her wet hand against her forehead.
"…What is wrong with me?" she muttered.
Her clothes were still damp.
Her hair dripping.
But she didn't move.
A knock came on the door.
"Lucy?" her mother's voice.
Lucy straightened quickly. "Yes, Mom."
"Come out and eat something warm."
"I'm coming."
She changed quickly into dry clothes and stepped out.
The house smelled of hot soup.
Normal.
Comforting.
Ruben looked up from the chair. "You look like you fought the rain itself."
Lucy gave a small look. "Something like that."
He smirked. "And who was that guy?"
Lucy paused.
"…Just someone," she said.
Ruben raised a brow. "Just someone brought you home in the rain?"
Lucy sat down. "Eat your food."
He chuckled. "That means there's a story."
"There isn't."
Her mother placed a bowl in front of her.
"Eat," she said gently.
Lucy nodded. "Thank you."
They ate in silence for a moment.
Then—
"He seems like a good man," her mother said casually.
Lucy almost choked. "Mom."
"What?" she said. "He was polite."
Lucy shook her head. "You don't even know him."
"That's why I invited him," her mother replied simply.
Lucy stopped eating. "You did what?"
"For Sunday," she said. "He agreed."
Lucy stared at her.
"You can't just invite people like that."
Her mother gave her a look. "He helped you."
"I didn't ask him to," Lucy said quickly.
Ruben leaned back, amused. "Still… he carried you like in a movie."
Lucy shot him a sharp look. "Ruben."
He raised his hands. "Okay, okay."
Lucy sighed and looked down at her food.
Her appetite was gone.
"…I don't trust him," she said quietly.
Her mother softened her tone. "Not everyone who helps you has bad intentions."
Lucy didn't respond.
Because she didn't know what to believe.
Later that night—
Lucy lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
The rain had stopped.
But her mind hadn't.
The way he looked at her.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Like nothing she said mattered.
She turned to her side.
Pulled the blanket closer.
"…Why does he keep showing up?" she whispered.
Across the city—
Inside a quiet car—
Jurbe sat in the driver's seat.
The engine off.
The street silent.
He rested his arm lightly on the steering wheel.
Thinking.
"She doesn't break easily," he murmured.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Then his phone rang.
He picked it up.
"Yes."
A voice spoke from the other end.
"It's confirmed. The logs were altered."
Jurbe's expression didn't change.
"And the girl?" the voice asked.
A pause.
"She stays," he said calmly.
The call ended.
He leaned back slightly.
Eyes distant.
Sunday was coming.
Back in her room
Lucy finally closed her eyes.
But even in sleep
Her thoughts didn't rest.
Something had already started.
And neither of them could stop it now.