The soft pattering of rain and the comfort it brought were nearly drowned out by the tick-tocking of that annoying clock that her roommate insisted on putting above their pantry door. Looking at the clock, she sighed. On any other night like this, she would have been in bed with her cat, either reading or dead asleep. But, no. Instead, she was awake at her tiny kitchen table at 3 a.m., finishing some stupidly long assignment that her jerk of a professor had 'forgotten' to post till the day before it was due. Taking one last sip from her mug, she glanced at the empty coffee pot. "Would it really be THAT bad if I made another pot?" she thought to herself. "There's been no evidence found that drinking more than the recommended amount of coffee leads to an early grave." Sighing again, she placed her head in her hands, resting her elbows on the table. She was no stranger to all-nighters, especially ones that were filled with assignments, but this one was particularly frustrating. She had been severely sick the day her professor had announced this assignment to her class. She would have joined the class over Zoom like she did her other classes during that time if it weren't for that particular professor's aversion to technology. So now she was doing the amount of work that was supposed to span over a month in one night. Her professor usually posted assignments two days after giving them, and he himself has said on many occasions that the only reason anything was posted was due to the help of his teenage son. She was praying that he would accept her request for an extension, or else she'd be screwed. Letting out a yawn, she willed her eyes to stay open. She had to stay awake.

~~~~

The sharp sound of a door slamming against a wall had her head snapping off the table. Looking around grogily, she noticed the sunlight filtering through the small window above the sink. "No," she cried out, "I fell asleep!" Hurriedly looking at the clock, she saw it read 6:50. She had class in a little over an hour. Quickly standing up, she made her way to her room, nearly running into her roommate in the process. "Whoa," Liz exclaimed, "You look awful, Bea! Did you pull another all-nighter?" Scowling at her, Bea replies, "Gee, thanks. And technically, no, I fell asleep around 3."

"Beatrix, that still counts!"

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she walked around Liz. "Don't you even start, Liz. You've pulled plenty of all-nighters yourself."

"Well, at least I know my limits and only do one once a month, not four. You have got to start taking better care of yourself, Bea." Said Liz, with a concerned look on her face. Beatrix had been friends with Liz since their freshman year of high school, and for as long as their friendship had lasted, she had always encouraged Bea to step out of her comfort zone and take proper care of herself. It had always been a back-and-forth kind of thing; Liz would bring it up and ask a bunch of questions. Like, have you been drinking enough water, have you been sleeping, have you been brushing your hair, etc., etc. And Bea would always assure her enough that she would drop it, but ever since they had moved in together for college, it had become a non-stop topic.

Sighing again before running her hands through her messy brown hair, "I know, I know," started Bea, "I just really needed to get at least most of that assignment done, so even if my professor only gives me a small extension, I can get it done. But I'll stop with the all-nighters for a while. I promise."

"Ok." She didn't sound very convinced, and Bea couldn't really blame her. She really had been pushing herself more than she should have, leading to her being exhausted nearly all the time.

"I'm going to take a quick shower before class." She stated before turning towards the bathroom door, not waiting for a reply from Liz. Undressing quickly, she turned the shower on and stepped into it before waiting for the water to warm up. Standing under the stream of too-cold water, she sighed and pressed her forehead against the tiles lining the shower wall.

"It'll all be fine," she told herself, "you've just got to keep going for two more months, and then you can take a break."

With her eyes closed, she can almost pretend that she's standing in the rain, the way she had been all those months ago. Only this time, she can't pretend that the water streaming down her face was the cause of the taste of salt in her mouth.

The walk to campus felt longer than usual. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the way the morning air clung to her skin like a warning she couldn’t quite decipher. Bea tugged her jacket tighter around herself as she crossed the quad, weaving through clusters of students who looked far more awake than she felt. Their chatter blended into a dull hum behind her, like a radio tuned just slightly off‑station. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Professor Hargrove: Extension request denied. Assignment still due today.

She stopped walking. For a moment, she just stared at the screen, the words blurring as her eyes stung. She wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or anger or something else entirely, but her chest tightened in a way that made breathing feel like a chore.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course he did.”

She shoved her phone back into her pocket and kept walking, her steps quicker now, sharper. She could feel the familiar burn of frustration rising in her throat, but beneath it: beneath the academic stress and the sleep deprivation, something else simmered.

She pushed it down.

She always pushed it down.

By the time she reached the lecture hall, most of the seats were already filled. The room buzzed with the low murmur of students flipping through notes or scrolling through their phones. Bea slipped into a seat near the back, dropping her bag onto the floor with a soft thud, blinking hard, as she willed herself to stay present.

“Bea?”

Evan.

She hadn’t spoken to him in months. Not since--

No. Not now.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. Her voice cracked anyway.

“You look… tired,” he said gently.

She huffed a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

He hesitated, studying her with his careful expression. “You okay?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the lecture hall lights dimmed before she could speak. The projector flickered to life at the front of the room, casting a pale glow across the rows of students.

Professor Hargrove stepped up to the podium. “Good morning,” he began, voice as dry as chalk dust. “Before we begin, I want to remind you all that your film analysis assignment is due by midnight tonight. No exceptions.”

Bea’s stomach twisted.

Evan leaned closer, whispering, “Didn’t he post that yesterday?”

She nodded.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it.”

But she wasn’t really listening anymore, because her eyes were glued to the slide on the screen: a still frame from an old black‑and‑white film. A woman standing alone in the rain, her face half‑shadowed, her expression unreadable.

Bea’s breath caught.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her desk.

The image shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a random choice for a lecture on lighting and atmosphere. But something about it: the angle, the darkness behind the woman, the way the rain blurred the edges of the frame made Bea’s pulse spike.

Her vision tunneled.

She could hear the rain again, heavy, relentless downpour from months ago that had soaked her clothes and chilled her bones and drowned out the sound of her own heartbeat.

“Bea?” Evan’s voice sounded distant.

She blinked, and the image on the screen shifted to the next slide.

After class, she practically bolted for the exit, her bag slung over one shoulder, her steps uneven. She just needed air, but Evan caught up to her before she reached the doors.

“Bea, wait.”

She stopped, but she didn’t turn around.

“What happened?” he asked softly. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

“You’re not.”

She closed her eyes. The hallway felt too bright, piercing her skull like a needle. “Evan, please,” she whispered. “Not today.”

“Okay,” he said finally. “But… if this is about what happened--”

“It’s not.” The lie tasted bitter.

“Just… take care of yourself, okay?” he said quietly.

She nodded once and walked away before he could say anything else.

Outside, the sky had darkened again, clouds gathering thick and heavy above the campus buildings. The air smelled like rain. Bea stopped at the edge of the quad, staring up at the shifting grey with the fact of what happened settling fast in her stomach: Something was wrong. And it had been wrong since that night, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

She stood there, letting the sky open above her, letting the water soak into her hair and clothes, letting the familiar chill settle into her bones. For a moment, she could almost pretend she wasn’t afraid.

Almost.