The rain that evening came not as a downpour, but as a soft mist — like the sky was exhaling. It coated everything in a dreamy silver hue, and as the world slowed down, Veronica stood at the edge of the bridge that overlooked Blackridge's sleepy lake.
Scott found her there, just like she hoped he would.
He always did — like he was drawn to her silences the same way everyone else was drawn to Penelope's fire.
She didn't look at him when he approached. She just leaned against the railing and said quietly, "It always happens like this."
Scott tilted his head. "What does?"
Veronica's voice trembled, not with tears, but with the exhaustion of unspoken years. "Every boy I've ever liked ends up falling in love with Penelope."
Scott's brow furrowed. "Veronica…"
"Don't," she said, turning to face him. Her eyes shimmered, not from the mist, but from something deeper. "Let me say it. Let me say it before I don't have the guts again."
He stayed quiet.
She took a breath. "In seventh grade, I liked Darren Silvers. We shared a desk in Chemistry. I gave him my last gum. He wrote a poem for Penelope two weeks later."
A sad smile tugged at her lips. "Tenth grade? Noah Kim. We danced once at Winter Formal. I thought he liked me. He kissed Penelope behind the gym that spring."
Her voice cracked. "And Julian… well, you know that story."
Scott's hands gripped the rail. He didn't move. Just let her pour everything out.
"I don't blame her," Veronica whispered. "It's not her fault. She's beautiful in the kind of way that makes people want to be better. I've loved her since we were nine. But somewhere along the way, I started to feel like the rehearsal. The opening act. Like I was just… the girl boys talked to until Penelope walked in."
Her voice dipped to a whisper. "So when I started liking you, I told myself not to. Because I knew what would happen."
Scott turned slowly toward her. "And what did happen?"
Veronica blinked, trying not to cry. "You didn't look away from her. You never looked away. Even when I was there."
Scott stepped closer, his voice low. "That's not true."
She looked up at him, biting her lip. "Isn't it?"
He nodded once. "It was. At first."
That hit harder than it should've. Veronica flinched, already preparing to laugh it off — but Scott kept going.
"I looked at her because she shines. Because it's hard not to. But I saw you."
She blinked.
Scott stepped even closer. "You — with your off-key humming when you think no one's listening. You — who keeps chapstick in every pocket and always shares it with someone before a picture. You — who brings extra tea bags to school just in case someone has a bad day."
Veronica's breath hitched. "Scott…"
"I saw you," he repeated. "And the worst part is, you didn't think anyone should see you. You started acting like you were background noise. But you never were. You were the part I started rewinding just to feel again."
Veronica's eyes flooded. "Why now?"
Scott reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek. "Because I couldn't say it before I believed it."
And then, in the rain and the hush and the everything, he pulled her into him — not with desperation, but with reverence.
She melted into his arms, letting the dam finally break.
"I'm scared," she whispered against his chest.
"So am I," he murmured. "But I'm more scared of waking up next to anyone who isn't you."
She looked up, tears and mist blending on her cheeks. "They always picked Penelope."
Scott leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. "Well… except one."
Her breath caught.
Then he added, "Majesty."
Veronica's laugh was soft and broken, like glass finding its way back into a mosaic.
"You remember that?"
"It was our eighth-grade play. You wore that ridiculous crown and threatened to banish me for not eating soup properly."
"You were supposed to be a noble knight," she said, voice shaking with a smile.
Scott pulled back just enough to cup her face. "You've always been royalty, Veronica. You just stopped believing it."
Then he kissed her.
And it wasn't soft.
It was the kind of kiss that rewrote stories. That took every broken piece of her heart and stitched it together with heat and promise.
When they finally pulled apart, her smile trembled with disbelief.
"I think you just undid every boy who ever broke me."
He grinned. "Good. Because I plan to be the last one you let in."
They stood there for a long time — two souls finally matching tempo. And as the night pulled its curtain across the sky, Veronica felt something she hadn't in years.
Chosen.
Not in comparison to someone else. Not in spite of another girl.
Just her.
---
Elsewhere, Penelope watched the rain from her bedroom window, her fingers still tingling from Marc's last message.
Marc: Don't fall asleep. I want to call you. I want to hear how your day tasted.
And as her heart fluttered, she whispered softly to herself, "Maybe... maybe this is what being loved really feels like."
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