I would choose you

I would choose you

The first snow arrived without fanfare. No flurry, no storm, just a quiet rearranging of the world. When I pulled the curtains that morning, the landscape had transformed into something pale and weightless. A dusting of white clung to every surface, softening the hard lines of stone and earth. The trees stood bare now, their branches like spindly fingers, skeletal and black against the dull winter sky. A hush seemed to have settled over everything, as if the campus itself was holding its breath.

Inside the dining hall, it was warm. The institutional warmth: overhead lamps casting yellow glows on long wooden tables, the clatter of cutlery echoing off tall ceilings, mugs of tea steaming between chilly hands. Still, it was enough. We huddled together in our usual corner, near the frost-laced windows, watching snowflakes spiral downward with the quiet reverence of children watching their first snowfall.

I sat between Hannah and Nicole, Maria across from us. The four of us had fallen into a rhythm by now, a shared silence that wasn’t silence at all but rather an understanding. We talked when we wanted, fell quiet when we didn’t. Sometimes the sound of Nicole stirring her tea was all the conversation we needed.

“This tea tastes like boiled sweaters,” Maria said, wrinkling her nose.

Hannah laughed. “That’s because it is. Or close to it. Have you ever seen the storage boxes they keep the teabags in? One’s labeled ‘Assorted:No Label.’ I think it’s just leaves and hope.”

Nicole sipped thoughtfully. “I don’t mind it.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said, smirking. “You drink your tea like it’s a test of character.”

She gave me a look, soft but amused, and turned her gaze back to the window. Her green eyes reflected the snow.

We were mid-conversation about how many scarves were too many scarves for a single person to own (Maria claimed anything above eight was excessive, Nicole quietly admitted to eleven), when a voice interrupted us.

“Mind if I join you?”

It was Violet.

We all paused. Hannah blinked. Nicole’s expression didn’t change, but her posture stiffened slightly. Maria shifted in her seat.

Violet never joined us. In fact, Violet rarely sat with anyone. She was the kind of person who preferred to drift in and out of social spaces, belonging more to the concept of the college than to any of its circles. Cold, poised, unreachable. So her sudden appearance at our table felt a little like watching a swan land in your backyard birdbath.

“Of course,” Hannah said politely, ever the peacemaker.

Violet took the seat beside Maria, carefully smoothing her skirt. She was dressed impeccably as always: wool coat, high collar, cream sweater, lipstick so perfectly applied it looked painted.

“I won’t stay long,” she said, glancing around. “I just needed some advice.”

There was a subtle shift at the table. Our little cocoon had been punctured, the temperature altered.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you all,” Violet went on. “It’s something personal.”

We nodded, none of us quite knowing where this was going.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a letter, carefully folded. “It’s from August.”

My fingers curled slightly around the mug in my hands.

“We’ve been writing to each other. Nothing too serious at first, just thoughts on books, philosophy, that sort of thing.” She unfolded the paper, laying it gently on the table. “But lately... I think he’s caught feelings.”

I raised an eyebrow. Nicole kept her eyes on her tea.

“I wanted to show you something,” Violet continued, and began reading from the letter.

“Your words resonate deeply, Violet. There’s a depth to your thoughts that I find both intriguing and comforting. I look forward to knowing you beyond the pages.”

She stopped there, looked up. “And that’s not the only one. There have been others. He said I remind him of the song" Ocean Eyes." He said he’s learning it on the guitar. That it makes him think of me.”

I bit my tongue. The silence was thick.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Violet said, more softly. “I never meant to lead him on. It was just letters. But now I think he’s kind of in love with me. And, well, I have a fiancé.”

The word fell like a stone.

“You’re engaged?” Maria asked, blinking.

Violet nodded. “Back home. It’s complicated.”

We all looked at each other. I couldn’t tell if we were stunned or simply uncomfortable. It was the first piece of personal information she ever shared with us.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Violet said. “But I also don’t want to lie. He’s such a gentle person. And so sincere. It’s not like I dislike him, I admire him. I just... I never intended for this to become romantic.”

“You should probably tell him,” Maria said gently. “The longer you wait, the worse it gets.”

“I agree,” Hannah said. “He deserves to know.”

Violet nodded slowly, folding the letter again. “I know. I suppose I just wanted someone to hear it first. He is a very nice guy, really, if any one of you wants to take him from me, I will give him into good hands ”

There was a pause. Then she smiled, a little too brightly.

“It’s nice to talk to other girls for once. Thank you.”

And with that, she stood up and left, as abruptly as she’d arrived.

We sat in silence for a few moments, the air around us unusually still.

“Well,” Hannah said finally, “that was something.”

“I can’t tell if she wanted advice,” I murmured, “or just wanted to say someone wrote her a love letter.”

Maria let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Do you think she only told us to brag?”

“Honestly?” I said. “A little.”

Hannah stirred her tea. “Do you think she led him on?”

Nicole finally spoke. “It’s hard to say. From the letter, it seems like he was responding to something. And she did say she wrote first.”

“She definitely initiated it,” Maria added. “And then didn’t stop it.”

“Maybe she liked the attention,” Hannah said. “Who doesn’t?”

“But he’s so private,” I said. “August barely speaks. And now everyone at this table knows he’s learning a love song for a girl who’s engaged.”

We went quiet again.

“I feel bad for him,” Nicole said.

“Do we tell him?” Maria asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “ At least not yet. It’s not our place. If Violet says something, fine. But if we say something first, it’ll just make everything worse.”

Everyone agreed. Still, a strange, uncomfortable feeling lingered.

⸻

After classes ended, I went outside to get some fresh air.

I left the hall and stepped into the cold. The snow had thickened since morning, piling gently over steps and railings. It was powdery, light, still clean and untouched. The sky above was pale and opaque, a single dull sheet stretching over the world.

My boots crunched with every step. The trees loomed like charcoal sketches, elegant and eerie.

I walked with no destination. Just around the quad, across the field, toward the old stone gate that marked the edge of the inner campus.

And that’s where I saw Nicole. Alone, standing beneath one of the iron lamps, its golden light softening her sharp features. She was bundled in a dark coat, golden strands of hair escaping from under her scarf.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

She turned. Her breath clouded in the air. “Not at all.”

We walked in silence for a while, the snow muffling everything around us. It felt like walking through a painting.

“That was unexpected,” she said.

“Violet?”

“Mm.”

“I didn’t think she even knew how to sit with people.”

Nicole smiled faintly. “Apparently, she does. When there’s a story to tell.”

I looked down at the snow. “And of all people - August?”

“I know.”

“He’s quiet. Thoughtful. Kind, I think. And she, well..."

“She’s beautiful,” Nicole offered.

“Yes, but cold. And strange.”

Nicole looked over at me, her expression unreadable.

“If I were a boy,” I said, before I could stop myself, “I would choose you”

Nicole blinked, her eyes brightened. She laughed and said “I was thinking the exact same thing! If I were a boy I would choose you."

The snow fell between us, quiet and steady, like time choosing not to pass.

“What does that say about us?” she asked.I touched her shoulder and smiled.

“That we think alike,” I said. “That we have taste.”

She smiled back at me, and we kept walking.

We talked about other things after that - books, professors, how Maria had once corrected Professor M.’s pronunciation of a Latin quote and had been visibly hated ever since. But that moment - those words - stayed between us, unspoken but glowing.

That night, in bed, I replayed it all.

The snow. The walk. The way Nicole’s eyes had looked when she said my name.

I didn’t know what I felt. Not entirely. But I knew this:

She had felt it too.

Whatever it was, we were both standing in it.