The following Monday arrived with the kind of wind that rearranged hair and thoughts alike.
Emma stood outside Brookvale High, clutching her thermos of tea and watching students hurry through the gate. The sky looked like brushed steel; the air carried that pre-storm stillness that always made her feel like something was about to start.
Inside, the hall buzzed with the usual rhythm, but she felt slightly out of sync, like a song that had skipped half a beat. Maybe it was the caffeine. Maybe it was the way Liam had looked at her after the last experiment—half analytic, half… something else.
She shook off the thought and found her locker.
Sophie appeared beside her, earbuds dangling, expression sharp as ever. “So, rumor has it you and our resident science robot are turning your lab work into performance art.”
Emma laughed. “If by ‘art’ you mean organized chaos, then yes.”
“You know what people are saying?”
“That I’m tutoring him in emotions?”
“More like he’s tutoring you in denial.”
Emma groaned. “Please stop reading the student forum.”
“I don’t. It reads itself to me.”
They walked toward class together, Sophie balancing her coffee cup like a prop from a movie. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “he’s not the type who looks at anyone. So if he looks at you, that’s… data.”
Emma almost choked on her tea. “That’s not how science works.”
“Maybe not his kind of science.”
By the time she reached the lab, her nerves had braided themselves into something that felt like electricity. The room smelled faintly of alcohol wipes and citrus cleaner. Ms. Green was setting up trays of labeled flasks.
“Today,” the teacher said, “you’ll explore sensory overlap—how one sense affects another. Sound, color, and flavor.”
Emma exhaled. “Finally, an experiment made for chaos.”
Liam was already seated, notebook open, eyes following every word Ms. Green wrote on the board. She took the seat next to him, her pulse catching up to the room.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning.”
“You ready for sensory overlap?”
“I was born ready for control variables.”
“Same thing.”
He glanced at her, and for once, didn’t look away immediately.
They started the task. Ms. Green played a series of tones while they sampled solutions—sweet, salty, sour, bitter. Emma noticed how sound changed everything: high notes made sweetness sharper; low ones softened it. She jotted notes furiously.
“This one,” she said, “tastes like yellow.”
Liam frowned. “Color is not a taste.”
“It is if you stop thinking and start feeling.”
“That’s not measurable.”
“That’s why you need me.”
He sighed but wrote it down anyway.
The sound shifted again, a long, low note that vibrated through the room. She took a sip of the next sample and froze. “This one’s strange. It feels… heavy.”
He looked up. “Define heavy.”
“Like gravity, but emotional.”
“That’s metaphor.”
“That’s flavor.”
He said nothing, but his gaze lingered.
When Ms. Green ended the session, Emma felt lightheaded from sugar and possibility. Liam packed his notes with methodical calm.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “You ever think maybe we’re not just studying taste?”
He zipped his bag. “Then what are we studying?”
“Connection.”
“Between what?”
“Everything.”
He didn’t answer, but his hand paused on the zipper for a second too long.
Outside, thunder cracked over the horizon. The storm had finally decided to start.
The rain began before they left the building, a steady curtain that blurred the courtyard into watercolor.
Emma hesitated at the doorway, watching students scatter under umbrellas. The smell of wet asphalt and cafeteria fries mixed in the air. She tugged her jacket closer.
Beside her, Liam adjusted his backpack straps. “You’ll get soaked if you wait.”
“I like the sound,” she said. “Rain makes everything taste different.”
He glanced at her. “That’s synesthesia, not meteorology.”
“It’s life,” she said, stepping into the rain.
For a second, he stayed where he was, then followed.
They crossed the courtyard quickly, puddles splashing against their shoes. Emma’s laughter cut through the noise, light and reckless. Liam, impossibly, smiled.
At the edge of the parking lot, she turned to him. “Do you ever just let yourself get lost?”
“In what?”
“Anything.”
He blinked. “That’s inefficient.”
“Exactly. You should try it.”
He didn’t respond, but his gaze softened. The rain soaked through his sleeves, flattening his hair, and for once, he didn’t seem to mind.
By the time they reached the bus stop, both were dripping. Emma leaned against the shelter post, catching her breath. “We’re officially experiments gone wrong.”
“Data corrupted,” he agreed.
“Then again,” she said, “maybe corruption is how discoveries happen.”
He looked at her for a long moment, rain sliding down his jaw. “You always talk like you’re writing.”
“You always listen like you’re translating.”
“Maybe both are necessary.”
The bus arrived with a hiss, lights glowing against the fog. She stepped on first, swiping her pass, then turned back. “See you tomorrow, data boy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then give me something better to call you.”
He didn’t answer, but the faintest smile curved his lips as the doors closed between them.
That night, the storm deepened. Wind pressed against the apartment windows, humming through the frame. Emma sat at her desk, hair still damp, her notebook open to a blank page.
She wrote at the top: *The Edge of Taste — Hypothesis.*
Below it, she scribbled:
*Maybe flavor isn’t about sweetness or salt.*
*Maybe it’s about how close something gets before it changes you.*
Her phone buzzed. A new comment on her latest stream.
*ByteTheory: You can’t study connection without becoming part of it.*
She stared at the words, pulse quickening. For a moment, she swore she could almost hear his voice behind them.
She typed back: *Maybe that’s the point.*
Across town, Liam sat at his desk, the same stormlight flickering across his face. His screen glowed with her reply, soft and daring.
He didn’t type an answer. Instead, he reached for the small vial of sugar solution from their last lab—one he’d kept by accident—and uncapped it.
The faint scent of vanilla filled the air.
Outside, thunder rolled, shaking the windows.
Inside, neither of them moved, suspended at the edge of something unnamed, something that already tasted like more than science.
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