She knew many things about him. She knew that if he stood in the cold for longer than five minutes, his nose would become cold. She could never kiss him when it was this way, and instead they would lay in his bed laughing about it for several minutes until it became warm again and the time passed. This is how she knew it would be a good day- when the snow would swirl serendipitously through the cold air outside his dorm room window, catching the glass on the lens of his camera, and the wind would crash violently against their faces when he’d walk her back.
The truth was, she went away for a year and came back. She no longer stood tall and sure as she used to, but somehow her confidence was evident in the way she moved and spoke. Yes, her hair was longer and her face had aged with some sort of experience, but she still had that innocent glow her friends would always tell her they looked for. Sometimes, people would even mistake her for younger than she actually was.
And that is how they met.
“So, how is your freshman year going?”
“I’m not a freshman.”
“Oh… I’m sorry. So you’re a new lower? I was a new lower too…last year.”
“Actually, I’m a senior. A four year senior. I was in Spain last year.”
Later, towards the end of their brief relation, he’d tell her he always knew she was older, and that he just wanted to make her laugh, or make her feel vulnerable for just one minute. He never thought she’d fall for him the way she did.
Of course, she did not know what she had gotten herself into.
They were both the same, but not when they were together. They spoke with the same antics, and held the same interests. Yet together, they were only interested in each other. They lost all sense of what was real and true to them, and they both fell into a trap so deep and so passionate that they were unable to escape. She didn’t know him before this, and he didn’t know her, but they both held a certain passionate curiosity for one another.
She fell in love with his movies.
He fell in love with her skin.
She fell in love with his cold nose.
He fell in love with her intensity.
She fell in love with his smell.
He fell in love with her compassion.
And so there they were, lying vehemently and naked on his bed. She curled up next to him and felt her cold, soft skin press up against his warm body. He would reach his arm around her, caressing her stomach until she’d fall asleep. She would place her hand, strategically on his heart, feeling it beat until she could no longer think. At times, they would both wake up and just lie, feeling the warmth and strength and softness of bodies, clashing in tranquility and unison.
But he was so distant at times. And she was so pushy, more often than none. She could never pry it out of him, and he could never make her stop. And somehow, they both knew something was terribly off. They could feel the silence clawing at the empty space between them, a lapse in time that drove them further and further apart.
“Please, tell me you’re alright”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. You’re just…different”
“I’ve just been overworked lately. Are you okay? You seem really worried.”
“Of course I’m worried! I haven’t seen you in weeks, and you’ve barely spoken to me since we’ve gotten back! How can I not worry?”
The look on his face would change after they had this conversation. He would no longer look at her with that same desirable affection he once had, and she would no longer recognize that same spark every time she looked at him.
And when it ended, she would watch for the snow. She would daydream in class and forget all the sadness. She would just look, and wonder if he saw it too. It would swirl again, serendipitously outside, and she imagined a fleck so miniscule hitting the lens of his same, fine camera, as the brusque wind beat against that cold, sad nose of his.
