When a mysterious new guy joins my meteorology class, a blizzard comes to campus.
The new guy is sullen, frosty, and everything he touches turn to ice.
As the snow on campus gets worse, I must help him. Because he says his name is Winter.
And if hi...
I gaze longingly out of the window of Theia, our campus cafe, as I pour steaming hot chocolate into Sarah's mug. Inside the cafe it is warm; the crackling fire radiates heat onto the cosy little tables and battered couches.
I should be pleased to be indoors.
But outside looks so...alive.
The air is alight with dancing snowflakes. They're starting to powder the concrete and I imagine the possibilities of tomorrow; of snowmen and snowball fights. Every time someone opens the cafe door, they bring a gust of wind with them. I breathe it in hungrily; it tastes fresh and sweet, a welcome contrast from the damp indoor air.
Sarah takes a sip from her mug as she reads from her iPhone. She's wearing a thick coat and scarf, and violently shivers every few minutes.
"You're a weirdo," she says – not looking up. "Wearing a vest top when the weather's like this. How are you not cold?"
I shrug.
"I guess I don't feel it," I say. "Never have. Plus, the fire is going strong. It's boiling in here!"
She rolls her eyes and I go back to cleaning the bar. After a few minutes she runs a hand through her short, blonde hair – a gesture I have come to associate with confusion.
"Want to know something odd? The Daily News says the snowstorm is limited to our campus," she says, catching my eyes with her green ones. "It's like it's developed some kind of micro-climate or something."
I shrug. Our campus is a couple of miles out from the town. It's not that weird that the weather here could be different to the rest of the city. As she continues to read the article aloud to me the door opens. Mystery guy from our meteorology lecture walks in.
Now we're both standing I notice he's about a head taller than me. Despite the weather the leather jacket is gone – his top half is covered only in a black t-shirt that exposes his arm muscles and clings to his body. His skin is pale and his eyelashes are powdered with tiny snowflakes.
See Sarah? I want to say He doesn't think it's cold either.
Though after his violent mood swing earlier, and the fact that he looks like a human icicle, I guess that is hardly a claim to normal.
He catches my eye as he enters, and I don't know if I'm misinterpreting his expression, but it seems like he wants to talk to me. He makes a tentative movement towards the bar but then he spots Sarah. Annoyance flickers across his face and he spins back around on his heel.
Without a backwards glance he heads back out into the storm.
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