I would choose you

Secret Santa

Christmas morning came with an unexpected hush.

For the first time in weeks, it had stopped snowing. The sky was still pale and low, but the wind had softened, and everything outside looked faintly golden under a brief glimmer of sun. We opened the windows just enough to let in the clean bite of cold air, the kind that woke you up, made you feel real again.

Someone from the Fine Arts faculty had managed to organize a Christmas tree. Two students from Philosophy, strong and red-cheeked,hauled it in through the narrow dining hall doors while a cluster of others followed behind, dragging boxes of old ornaments and rolls of handmade paper garlands from the storage shed.

By noon, the whole school was moving like a clock.

Some were stringing dried orange slices onto yarn and hanging them from the branches. Others sat in corners painting salt-dough ornaments with shaking hands and mismatched brushes. Abraham climbed onto a chair to hang paper snowflakes from the ceiling beams. Nicole made candle holders out of clay scraps and old jam jars. Hannah folded the napkins into little flowers.

It had been a long time since I’d seen so many people work together without being told to. You could hear laughter and the scratch of scissors on thick paper. For a few hours, even P. didn’t feel like P.

Around five, we all went back to our rooms to get ready.

The dining hall had been transformed. Candles on every table. Pinecones and ribbons tied to every chair. The tree stood tall by the fireplace, glittering with a thousand tiny, imperfect ornaments. Someone had even hung a little paper star at the top, slightly tilted.

The food truck had made it through the pass that morning, and for the first time this week. So for Christmas dinner we had real food: roast turkey with stuffing, pigs in blankets, cranberry sauce, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, parsnips, mince pies, Christmas pudding with cream. The scent of it was almost enough to make me dizzy.

We took our places at the long table.

Nicole wore a soft green knitted dress that made her eyes look impossibly bright. The neckline was high, and the sleeves long, but it clung to her shape like water. I kept stealing glances.

I had chosen a white sweater, simple and elegant, tucked into a long brown wool skirt. I didn't bring any fancier clothes with me.

Maria wore a modest brown dress with buttons up the front and her usual thoughtful expression. Hannah wore a white blouse under a pale pink vest, and a matching pink skirt that brushed her knees. She had tied a silky bow into her curls, and she looked like a postcard. She glowed.

The boys looked freshly scrubbed and almost comically coordinated - white shirts under dark vests and jackets. Arthur wore a navy waistcoat that didn’t quite match his pants, and August had rolled his sleeves just enough to show the bracelets he always wore under them. Abraham was the only one who looked entirely natural in his formal clothes, as if he had been born at a dinner party.

The choir, small and sweet-voiced, sang two carols. One of the girls forgot the words halfway through O Holy Night, and everyone cheered anyway.

Then came dinner.

For a long time, we didn’t speak. Just ate. We passed dishes around like sacred objects. We poured warm cider into cracked cups and clinked forks accidentally and wiped butter from each other’s sleeves. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like it might be enough.

Arthur, mouth full of potatoes, leaned toward me. “Is it just me, or is this the best meal we’ve had since September?”

“Easily,” I said. “No question.”

Nicole was sitting two seats down from me, between Maria and Hannah. I could see the way her hands moved as she cut her meat, slow and precise. She glanced up once and caught me looking. We both smiled.

Hannah was quieter than usual, but I thought it was the food, or maybe the candles. She’d been glowing for days - humming, laughing, smiling more than I’d ever seen her. I had chalked it up to Christmas.

After dinner, we dispersed to fetch our gifts. Everyone was supposed to meet in the boys’ room for the Secret Santa exchange. We said we’d be there in ten minutes.

I took my box - the chessboard for Arthur, carefully wrapped in spare linen and tied with a ribbon I had dyed using tea. It felt heavy in my hands, not just in weight but in meaning. A goodbye to the semester. A thank-you for the laughter. A quiet mark of love, however small.

When I got to the boys’ room, most of them were already there.

Arthur was fiddling with the lights. August was tuning his guitar in the corner. Maria sat on the floor with Abraham, laughing at something in his handwriting on a gift tag. Nicole entered behind me, holding something small in a folded napkin.

But Hannah wasn’t there.

We waited. Five minutes. Then ten.

It wasn’t like her. Hannah was always early. Always the first to knock on doors, the first to cheer, the first to hug everyone just for fun.

I was about to go looking when the door burst open and she came in.

She looked breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she was running before. Her eyes darted around the room like she’d walked into the wrong place and didn’t want to admit it.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I... I lost track of time.”

No one questioned it. Arthur handed her a cup of cider. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat down quietly, next to me, but kept glancing toward the window, as if expecting someone to call her name.

The gift exchange began, and I was the first to go. It had been my idea, after all.

I stood, slightly nervous, and placed the box in Arthur’s lap.

“Merry Christmas,” I said. “I hope it’s not too wonky.”

Arthur opened the wrapping slowly, like a child trying to make the moment last.

When he saw the chessboard, his face lit up. “This is incredible!”

“It’s slightly uneven,” I warned.

“Perfectly uneven,” he said, running his hands over the glaze. “Like my academic performance.”

Everyone laughed. Then he leaned forward and gave me a hug that smelled like cider and winter. “Thank you, Sylvia.”

“You’re welcome,” I whispered.

Hannah clapped, but softly. Her eyes weren’t really watching.

Arthur was still holding the chessboard, his thumb tracing one imperfect square like it was a relic, when Maria reached into the canvas tote beside her.

“Okay, my turn,” she said, and stood up, carrying something large but carefully wrapped in brown paper. She walked across the room and handed it to Hannah with both hands. “I didn’t have time to make anything fancy. But I hope this will do.”

Hannah looked surprised. “For me?”

Maria nodded.

Hannah unwrapped the package slowly. Beneath the paper was a soft, chunky-knit blanket, cream-colored, with wide, loose stitches that looked impossibly cozy.

“I hope it keeps you warm,” Maria said quickly.

Hannah was already hugging it to her chest.

“This is beautiful,” she said, voice thick. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

Maria gave her a small smile and sat back down. For once, she looked genuinely pleased with herself.

Arthur stood next, slipping something from his coat pocket.

“This one’s for Maria,” he said, grinning. “And don’t laugh, it’s the only useful thing I know how to make.”

He handed her a carved wooden triangle with little grooves running along the top edges. At first, it wasn’t clear what it was, but Maria turned it over in her hands and smiled.

“A book holder?”

“I noticed you’re always folding your pages to keep them open,” Arthur said. “Figured you deserved better.”

Maria tilted her head. “This is actually amazing.”

“I also thought it could double as a weapon,” he added.

Laughter circled the room like warm air.

Next came Hannah, pulling a soft bundle from her lap. She passed it to August.

“I made you gloves,” she said. “Fingerless ones. So you can keep playing guitar in the cold.”

August opened the parcel and slid one glove on. It was deep gray, ribbed at the wrist and loose around the fingers.

“These are incredible,” he said. “Thank you, Hannah. Really.” He looked genuinely touched.

Then August stood. He walked over to Nicole and placed a long, narrow box in her hands.

Nicole blinked at him. “You had me?”

He shrugged. “I figured I’d make something small. Not very fancy.”

Inside the box was a comb: carved from dark wood, smooth as river stone. The edges were delicate, the teeth evenly spaced. It looked like something from another century.

Nicole lifted it with care. “This is beautiful.”

August looked down. “Thought it could be useful.”

Nicole smiled. “It’s perfect.”

She reached into the pocket of her green dress, then turned to Abraham.

“I have something for you,” she said. “It’s silly, but...”

She handed him a hand-sewn pouch. Inside was a tie - dark blue, speckled with tiny embroidered stars.

“I’ve never really made clothes before,” Nicole admitted. “But I thought you might like something a little academic. You’re always so...”

“Formal?” Abraham offered.

“Exactly.”

Abraham’s eyes softened. “Thank you. I’ll wear it next semester. Proudly.”

He held the tie to his chest like a medal. Then he turned to me.

“I had you,” he said, reaching behind the bed.

He handed me a rectangular box, wrapped in silver paper.

“I’m not great at crafting,” he added. “But I had this in my collection. It felt like something you’d appreciate.”

Inside was a hardcover edition of The Waves by Virginia Woolf - a rare print with gilded page edges and a navy blue ribbon tucked inside.

I gasped. “Abraham, this is...”

He raised his hand. “No need to gush. Just read it.”

“I will,” I promised. “Thank you. This means more than you know.”

The air in the room felt golden, like the lights had warmed even more since we started.

Then, slowly, August pulled his guitar onto his lap.

“Alright,” he said. “Time for something awful.”

Arthur groaned theatrically. “It's hard to believe but we practiced this only once.”

August strummed the first few notes of Baby It’s Cold Outside, dropping into a faux baritone that sounded like an old-timey crooner.

Arthur took the higher part, adopting an exaggerated falsetto. The room broke into laughter at the very first verse. He even fluttered his lashes at August mid-line, and August hardly managed to stay in tune.

And as Arthur sang “but maybe just a half a drink more,” off-key and grinning, I nodded to Nicole to follow me outside.