Before We Knew

Between Chill and Clarity

The sky had dimmed earlier than usual.

Ruhi sat near the window in the library, a faint trace of frost clinging to the glass edges. Outside, the trees stood nearly bare, branches silhouetted against a pale, overcast sky. The warmth of her scarf around her neck was just enough to fight off the lingering cold that followed her from outdoors.

She was supposed to be reading, but her eyes hadn’t moved past the same sentence in ten minutes.

Across the table, Sidro hummed as she highlighted a page. "You’ve been stuck there for ages. Are you even reading?"

Ruhi blinked, then offered a small smile. “I am.”

Sidro gave her a look that said not buying it, but let it go. “It’s probably the weather. Makes everything feel slower.”

Ruhi nodded. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was the weight of knowing she had to finish her scholarship essay soon. Or the gentle weight of the past few days—of skating, of laughter, of brief exchanges that stayed longer than she expected.

She took a deep breath, silently reminding herself: stay grounded. There were plans to focus on. Dreams waiting on the other side of decisions. And some things, no matter how comforting, weren’t meant to grow beyond the space they’d been given.

Yet—she couldn’t deny that something had shifted.

---

Junaid's POV:

He stood by the shelves, pretending to browse the titles, though his eyes flicked toward the table by the window.

Ruhi sat with Sidro, and while they weren’t talking much, the quiet seemed easy between them. Junaid admired that about her—the way she didn’t fill silence just to escape it. She leaned into it, let it breathe.

It was rare.

He reached for a book and flipped it open without really reading. His thoughts were elsewhere. Not about the future, or plans, or responsibilities—but about the way the seasons felt slower this year. Or maybe he was just noticing more now.

Maybe it was Ruhi who made him notice.

He wouldn’t act on anything. Not now. Not when everything was just starting to make sense in a quiet, steady way. But he could acknowledge it—to himself at least. A seed of something—not a feeling, not yet. More like... a respect that had started to grow roots.

---

Back at the table, Sidro stood, stretching. “I need a snack. Want anything?”

Ruhi shook her head. “I’m okay.”

When Sidro left, Junaid walked over casually, placing the book he didn’t need on the edge of their table. “Good seat,” he said softly.

Ruhi looked up, surprised at first, then nodded. “I like quiet corners.”

Junaid’s gaze drifted to the frosted window. “Fitting.”

There was a pause—but not an awkward one.

“Your skating was more balanced the last time,” he added. “You’ve been practicing?”

Ruhi’s smile was faint. “A bit.”

“Noticed.”

He didn’t linger. Just gave a small nod and stepped away.

And as Ruhi returned to her book, this time the words m

oved again. The page turned.

Small moments.

Quiet clarity.