He asked, "What are you thinking about?"
I squeezed his hand, as if trying to melt the ice on his skin and make our warmth one.
I longed to melt into his heart.
"Victor, do you love me?"
I had lost count of how many times I had asked him that. We rarely argued, unlike those couples madly in love. In four years, we hadn't fought much, and even after a cold war, I was always the one to make up with him.
Every time we reconciled, I would ask.
Victor, do you love me?
His answer was always yes.
In the silent, desolate autumn night, neither of us wanted to speak first.
His features were sharp, with thin lips and eyes as dark as ink. I saw him hesitate for a few seconds.
"Yes."
I hadn't expected Evans to live next door to me.
She loved to visit other dorms, and since someone in our do
