The rain had been falling all afternoon — a lazy, gray kind of rain that blurred the windows of the community college’s art building and painted the pavement in cold reflections. Inside, the student lounge was almost empty, the usual chatter dulled by the weather and the late hour.

She sat alone in a corner booth, her body curled inward like she was trying to disappear into the cushion. Headphones in, hoodie up, she stared down at the sketchbook balanced on her knees. A pencil moved slowly across the page, tracing the outline of a tree with too many roots and not enough leaves — twisted, tangled, and tired. She didn’t notice him at first.

Sam walked in with a paper cup in one hand, headphones hanging around his neck, and a mop of dark, messy hair half-falling into his eyes. His hoodie was two sizes too big, and his backpack looked like it had survived a small explosion. He scanned the room out of habit more than interest... but stopped when he saw her. Quiet girl. Always alone. He’d seen her in a couple of general ed classes — Intro to Drawing, maybe Psych 101. Never talked. Always sketching. Eyes like something inside had broken and never quite healed right. He crossed the room and sat across from her without asking.

She didn’t lift her head right away, but she felt his presence — like a shift in the air. When she finally glanced up, her expression was equal parts tired and annoyed.

"Seriously?" she scoffs. "Public table," Sam replied. "Unless it’s yours. Then I’ll scoot."

She stared at him a second longer, then went back to her sketching with a sigh. Sam didn’t move. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, tilting his head to glance at the page. He leaned back, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I'm Sam," he said. "You always draw trees that look like they’ve been through hell?" He smiled — a small, crooked thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes and finally she looked at him.