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...
Campus is covered in a thick blanket of unspoilt white snow. I love the crunching sound it makes under my feet as I walk from my University dorm towards the library.
There's no-one around as I walk past the square lecture buildings – it's early morning and most people have taken to staying indoors this week; curtains closed and central heating set to full blast. I don't blame them; even I've started to feel the chill.
In the space of a week November has transformed from the warmest to the coldest on record. Weirder still – the harsh weather is still contained within our campus. As I walk through the quiet landscape I can't help but appreciate it though; winter is beautiful, and we've not had a proper one in years.
Finally I enter the isolated library, kick the snow off my boots, and head through the shelves. It's silent inside and my footsteps echo around the prestigious building. The air smells like musty books and old paper.
As I reach my destination I stop still in my tracks.
There's a frantic rummaging around the corner.
Quietly I peer around the shelf.
My Bringer of Snow stands in the centre of the Meteorological section. He's surrounded by piles of open books- each one of them about the weather. He is frowning, his hand held over his heart.
As I shift my weight a floorboard creaks and his eyes look upwards, alert.
"What are you doing here?" he snaps.
He catches me off guard. I was planning on observing, not engaging.
"Erm...studying...." I reply.
I take a tentative step forwards.
I expect a flash of temper from him again, but he remains still – his expression lost. He doesn't move his hand away from his heart. He looks at me and there is pain in his eyes. Neither of us speaks for at least a minute. The air is heavy – tense.
There's something about him in this moment that makes me want to reach out to him, to help him. But I don't know how.
Finally he opens his mouth.
"What do you do when something is frozen?" he says.
I raise my eyebrows, surprised. He's genuinely curious.
"You warm it up."
He takes a step forwards - his silver eyes burning into mine. He's stood so close we're almost touching. I should move away from him but I don't.
He smells like winter; like outdoors and coldness mixed with cinnamon.
It's intoxicating.
I feel my heartbeat quicken.
He puts a hand on my arm and I inhale sharply.
He's as cold as ice.
He looks into my eyes as though he's trying to find my soul inside them.
For a moment confusion mixed with something else...hope?...flickers across his face. I feel something pass between us – a tension, an energy, a heat.
"How?" he whispers. "I don't know how."
Then hurriedly he pulls his hand off me and takes a step backwards. His expression closes, and his jawline hardens.
"You can't help me," he whispers, almost to himself.
Without another word he turns and walks away.
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