A Christmas back home

You're my hero

The train pulled into the station with a soft screech, steam curling up into the crisp December air. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling on the platform like scattered bits of stardust. The town looked just as I had left it—wrapped in a familiar warmth despite the biting cold.

Twinkling Christmas lights adorned the streetlamps, casting a soft golden glow over the pavement, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts wafted through the air from a vendor’s cart nearby.

I pulled my coat tighter around myself, my fingers sweaty, inside the gloves gripping the handle of my suitcase as I stepped off the train. It had been years, but nothing had really changed. The small-town charm, the snow-covered rooftops, the wreaths hanging from every door—everything felt like a scene from a Christmas card. Yet, beneath the picturesque setting, a storm of emotions brewed within me.

Home.

It was a word that felt foreign yet familiar, like an old song whose lyrics I had almost forgotten.

A gust of wind blew past, and I shivered, not just from the cold but from the anticipation of seeing..seeing who? Seeing him again.

We were both young when I first saw you. We closed our eyes, and the flashback started... Just like the Taylor Swift song, it's just the first day back home, and I am under a hurricane of emotions.

Flashback...

You made me yours that day, if not earlier. It was the moment you came home, bleeding from the head, with that red liquid dripping from the side of your face to the top of your shirt. Your mother squealed, and I looked at your swollen face as she sent me off to get a damp cloth. I waited for you to come back from the hospital to find out what had happened. But everything was so hushed that nobody was talking about it—just that it was an accident, and you were saved. And I gladly accepted that fact.

A few days passed, and we were all having lunch. So ceremoniously, you were showing off to Ash how you had beaten the guys. "Guys? What guys?" your mum asked.

"Nothing," you replied, hiding your arm under your sleeve and focusing on your meal.

Ash, our cousin who was the same age as us but so different, sat nearby. While he was easy-going, funny, and always obedient, you were the complete opposite. Oh! So rude!

Ash had a knack for making everyone feel at ease. His jokes, always quick and lighthearted, could diffuse even the tensest situations. He was the kind of person who could charm the sternest teacher into a smile or turn a scolding into laughter. He had this unshakable calm about him, like he understood the world better than the rest of us and didn’t feel the need to fight it. His golden-brown hair always looked slightly tousled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, but it only added to his carefree charm. He was the favorite among the adults, the one who could do no wrong—even when he did. It wasn’t hard to see why; Ash had a way of making life seem a little less heavy, a little more manageable, just by being himself.

Then there was you.

A storm in human form, all sharp edges and unyielding strength. You carried yourself with a confidence that bordered on defiance, your strong jawline set in a way that warned the world to keep its distance. Yet, there was something magnetic about you, something that made people stop and take notice. Your dark eyes burned with intensity, as if they saw more than they let on, and your unruly hair seemed as wild as the spirit it framed. You weren’t the type to smile easily, but when you did, it felt like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Beneath that tough exterior, though, was a quiet kindness—a protective streak that only those closest to you ever got to see.

You were a paradox: rough yet refined, distant yet deeply loyal. And despite your gruff demeanor, there was no denying the way you lit up every room you walked into, commanding attention without even trying.

And I knew this only when I saw your mama crying the next day. Her sobs caught me off guard as I walked into the living room. "What happened?" I inquired, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at me, her eyes red and puffy. "Theo actually had a fight with some boys in the park," she said, her voice trembling.

"Which park?" I asked, a sinking feeling settling in my chest.

"The one down the road. They were saying silly things about some girl that visits every day, actually a group of girls" she explained, her hands wringing nervously.

"Oh God, oh God," I muttered under my breath. My heart raced as realization struck. It was the same park I frequently visited with my friends. A flurry of thoughts swirled in my mind. Were they talking about us? But Theo never mentioned anything to me? Did Theo step in to defend us? Me? The idea filled me with a mix of fear and an odd sense of gratitude.

The silence in the room was suffocating as I pieced together the unspoken details. Theo’s fiery temper, his unwavering sense of justice, and his innate need to protect those he cares about—it all makes sense now. He hadn’t just gotten into a random fight. He’d stood up, as he always did, without a second thought for his own safety. My chest tightened at the thought of what he must have endured.

“Did he share any other details?” I finally asked, my voice cracking.

Her nod was hesitant. “No. But I worry about him.”

I wanted to say something comforting, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I made my way to my house, the weight of it all pressing heavily on me. That park, those boys, and Theo—it was all tangled up now in a way I couldn’t ignore. The storm he carried within him wasn’t just for show; it was his way of shielding the people he loved.

And at that moment, I realized I was one of them.