The first fat raindrops hit the stone courtyard like bullets. I watch from my window as Chloe kneels in the center, her white dress already beginning to darken with moisture.
"She's lost her mind," I mutter, but I can't look away.
My phone buzzes. Mia's name flashes on the screen.
"Noah, you have to talk sense into her," Mia's voice is frantic. "There's a storm warning. This isn't some light drizzle - they're predicting heavy downpours for the next few hours."
I glance at the weather app on my phone. She's right. The radar shows a massive storm system moving in.
"That's her choice," I say coldly.
"She'll get sick! She could get pneumonia!"
"Then maybe she should come inside."
"You know she won't. Not unless you tell her to."
I end the call and toss the phone aside. Let Chloe play her dramatic games. I'm not responsible for her anymore.
But I don't move from the window.
