"She hesitated, her body stiff and unsure next to his. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, a stark contrast to the chill that always seemed to cling to him. He found himself wanting to soak it in, to bask in her light.'Thank you,' she whispered, her gaze flitting nervously to his face and then away. 'I'm Clara.'He didn't offer his name. Names were...intimate. And he wasn't sure he was ready for that. Not yet. 'You shouldn't be out alone on a night like this,' he said, his voice rougher than he intended. Clara hugged the book tighter. 'I like the rain,' she said softly. 'It's... peaceful.'Peaceful. A concept so foreign to him, he almost scoffed. But something in her voice, in the gentle curve of her lips, stopped him. He saw a flicker of something else in her eyes, a sadness that mirrored his own.' What's a girl like you doing reading "Wuthering Heights"?' he asked, the question sharper than he intended. Clara's eyes widened slightly. 'I... I like stories about passion,' she said quietly. 'Even the dark ones.'"
