That day, the rain fell without warning.
Not heavy, but enough to make people quicken their steps and the city feel narrower than usual.
Blair walked out of her faculty building with books pressed to her chest, her coat pulled tight, her thoughts still lingering in the class that had just ended.
She didn’t go home right away.
Something slowed her down, as if she were waiting for something she hadn’t even named.
The coffee shop near Brunne’s bookstore looked busier than usual.
Blair stepped inside just to avoid the rain, or at least that was what she told herself.
She ordered a coffee and stood by the window, watching raindrops cling to the glass.
“Blair?”
The voice made her shoulders tense before she could think.
She turned.
Carlo stood a short distance away.
Just as she remembered him, only a little older.
His hair was neater, his expression calmer, but the way he looked at Blair was still the same.
Too familiar.
“I thought I had the wrong person,” Carlo said with a faint smile.
Blair swallowed.
“Hi.”
There was no hug.
No step closer.
They stayed where they were, as if an invisible line stretched between them.
“You’re still here,” Carlo said.
“Amsterdam.”
“Yes,” Blair replied.
“Still.”
The word lingered.
Still.
As if the city were a phase she could leave at any time.
“I sent you a message last week,” Carlo continued.
“I hope it didn’t bother you.”
“It didn’t.”
It was honest, but incomplete.
They talked about small things.
About the weather.
About a city that kept changing yet somehow felt the same.
About life that, for reasons neither of them could fully explain, kept placing them close but never truly intersecting.
“I’m glad you look okay,” Carlo said eventually.
Blair looked down at her coffee.
“I’m learning.”
Carlo nodded.
“You always were.”
The sentence was simple, but Blair felt it like a touch on a place she had guarded for a long time.
They parted without promises.
Without plans.
Carlo left first, leaving Blair with a feeling she couldn’t shape into a single word.
She stepped out of the coffee shop a few minutes later.
And across the street stood Pablo.
He wasn’t waiting, and it wasn’t clearly a coincidence either.
He stood under the building’s canopy, backpack on his shoulders, his gaze fixed on the coffee shop.
His face was neutral, but his eyes were too honest to say nothing at all.
Blair stopped.
Pablo turned.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, Blair wanted to explain.
But she didn’t even know what she was supposed to explain.
Nothing was wrong.
Nothing had been consciously hidden.
Pablo gave a small nod.
“You got caught in the rain,” he said.
“Yeah,” Blair replied.
They walked side by side without touching.
The rain had softened, but the air felt heavier.
“I’m heading to the library,” Pablo said after a few steps.
“I’ve got some things to work on.”
“Oh,” Blair nodded.
“Okay.”
Their tones were safe again.
“Blair,” Pablo stopped.
He looked at her seriously, without demanding anything.
“You don’t have to explain anything.”
Blair met his gaze.
“I know.”
Pablo nodded.
“I just want you to know… I’m learning to keep my distance.”
Blair held her breath.
“Why?”
“Because if I get too close,” Pablo answered honestly, “I start to hope.”
There was no accusation in his voice.
No pressure.
And that was exactly what made Blair’s chest tighten.
Pablo left after that.
He didn’t look back.
He didn’t wait for a response.
That night, Blair sat in her apartment bedroom, the lights dim, rain still tapping against the window.
Her phone lay beside her.
One message from Carlo remained unopened.
There was no message from Pablo.
Blair realized something that unsettled her.
Silence is also a choice.
Not choosing is still a decision.
And for the first time in a long while, Blair asked herself:
is it safe to always choose neutrality, or is that the quietest way to hurt everyone, including herself?