BRRRRING still echoed faintly in my ears as students rushed past us, bags slamming, chairs dragging, and laughter spilling into the hallway like nothing important had just almost changed.
But for me, the world felt different.
We walked out of the classroom without saying another word. Our shoulders brushed once, twice—accidental, but not really. Maybe intentional. Maybe both of us were pretending it wasn't.
The corridor lights flickered awake, casting long shadows on the floor. I could hear his breath beside me, uneven, trying its best to sound steady.
When we reached the stairs, our hands brushed again—soft, brief, like the universe testing us.
He didn't grab my hand, but he didn't move away either.
By the time we stepped outside, the sky was already bruised with sunset—violet and honey melting together, dripping behind the school building.
It was only 5 PM, but winter doesn't care about schedules.
Snowflakes drifted down slowly, catching on our hair, our coats, and our lashes.
The world felt hushed—like everything had been placed under velvet.
I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. The wind sliced through the air, sharp and cold.
Ruhan noticed immediately.
Without a single word, he shrugged off his black coat and gently placed it around my shoulders.
His fingers brushed my collarbone for half a second—warm against freezing skin—and my breath hitched.
"Ruhan…" I murmured, trying to protest.
"Don't." His voice was quiet but sure. "You'll get sick."
His coat smelled like something I couldn't describe—clean, sweet, safe.
Like winter and warmth at the same time.
We walked toward the gate slowly, snow crunching under our shoes.
The street was almost empty—only white flakes falling like pieces of silence, glowing in the streetlight.
He stopped beside the old stone pillar near the gate and turned to face me, breath visible in the cold.
"Pragati," he whispered, voice trembling just enough to feel real. "I meant what I said… it's not finished."
I looked up at him. The snow landed gently in his hair, melting against his skin.
His eyes looked different now—soft, steady, and not running anymore.
"I know," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
The silence wasn't tense anymore.
It was warm. Full. Comfortable.
His hand lifted slightly, hesitating in the space between us like he was asking permission without words.
This time, I closed the distance.
Our fingers intertwined—slowly, deliberately—and he let out a breath that sounded like relief.
No shaking.
No fear.
Just stillness.
"I like being close to you," he said quietly, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes.
I smiled, heartbeat stumbling in my chest. "Then don't step back this time."
He didn't.
Instead, he stepped forward—just enough that our bodies brushed, just enough that I could feel the warmth through the cold air—and gently rested his forehead against mine.
My breath caught, chest flooding with something that felt dangerously like magic.
The snow kept falling.
The world disappeared.
Just his breath. My breath.
Two heartbeats trying to find the same rhythm.
"I don't know how to say anything right now," he whispered, voice barely a breath.
"You don't have to," I whispered back. "Just stay."
And he did.
His hand slid to the back of my head, fingers sinking into my hair with a softness that made my heart ache.
I closed my eyes, leaning into him, letting his warmth melt the cold around us.
For the first time, I didn't feel like I was borrowing space in someone's world. I felt chosen. Held. Seen.
His thumb brushed the edge of my cheek, slow and careful, like he was memorizing the shape of a moment he didn't want to lose.
"Pragati…" he breathed against my forehead—so close the sound trembled in my bones.
I opened my eyes, and he was already looking at me. Not like a friend. Not like someone passing through my life. But like someone who had been waiting at the door of something, he was finally ready to enter.
His voice was rough when he spoke again, layered with something he couldn't hide anymore.
"I'm scared," he whispered, snow melting on his lips. "Not of loving you… but of what happens after."
My heart tightened around every word.
I tightened my fingers around his hand—warm against the winter chill. "You don't have to know the ending yet," I whispered back. "We're allowed to just… exist. Like this. Right now."
His chest rose and fell, slower now, steadier—like he'd found a place to breathe.
And then he said it—not the words I was waiting for—but something that felt dangerously close.
"I don't want to lose you." Each syllable fell like snow onto something fragile inside me.
"You won't," I murmured. "Not unless you let go."
He didn't.
He pulled me closer, arms wrapping around me—careful at first, like he was afraid I might disappear. Then tighter, certainly. The kind of hold that feels like a promise.
I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing him in—soap, snow, warmth, safety. Everything my heart had been learning to spell.
No one spoke. We didn't need to.
The world around us kept moving—cars passing, footsteps echoing, wind slicing through the cold—
but we stayed still, wrapped in a moment that didn't feel like real life
It felt like fate.
And somewhere between the falling snow and our joined hands, I realized something quietly terrifying:
If this wasn't love yet… It was close enough to hurt beautifully.
🤍 Written by Pragati Priya (pen name: Zoey)
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