The first snowfall came late that year.
By December's usual rhythm, Seoul should have already worn a blanket of frost, rooftops and sidewalks tucked in beneath the hush of winter's breath. But that year, the skies held their silence, and the clouds passed without promise. Some said the seasons had shifted. Others blamed the weather on climate change, or city heat, or something more mundane.
But when the snow finally arrived—it came not as a storm, but as a whisper.
It fell quietly in the night, unnoticed by most. By morning, the world was painted in white lace—cars covered, trees crystallized, rooftops softened. The sidewalks of Jinju High crunched under boots and sneakers. Breath came out like steam from every laughing mouth. Students gasped at the windows, held up phones to capture the flurry, and for a moment, time slowed.
Outside, winter had finally come.
But inside Saanvi's chest… it wasn't winter she felt.
It was spring.
Warm. Frightening. Blooming.
A quiet, terrifying hope.
---
The night before, she had replayed Jisoo's voice a thousand times in her head.
"I remembered. I just… thought you didn't."
The way he had said it—carefully, like handling something fragile. The way his eyes had searched hers—not begging, not forcing, just… waiting.
Her heart had trembled.
Shivered.
Then slowed.
Steadied.
She hadn't cried.
Not when she walked home under the orange lamplights.
Not when she brushed her teeth or folded her uniform.
Not even when she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the boy who always wore headphones like armor.
But when she unlocked her phone—then, she did.
Because of the message.
It was short. Simple. Yet it felt like it carried the weight of years.
____________•••____________
You are one plus away from choosing love, or letting go again.
____________•••____________
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Her eyes blurred.
Tears welled without permission.
And she didn't understand—
Was it some app glitch?
Some weird update?
Some romantic prank from the universe?
Because across the city, at the exact same time, Jisoo had received the same notification.
And they didn't know it until the next day—until that moment.
---
It was second period math.
The clock ticked like a heartbeat. The heater hummed faintly in the corner. The chalk tapped and scratched as the teacher solved equations no one cared about. Snow flurries danced outside the windows.
And both of them—at the same second—looked down at their phones.
Ping.
Same message.
Same pulse in their chests.
Same breath caught in their throats.
They didn't speak.
But their eyes met.
Just for a second.
And that was enough.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Teachers talked, but their voices floated through fog.
Friends joked and gossiped, but it all felt like static.
Lunchtime came. Saanvi stared at her tray—rice, kimchi, tofu soup—and didn't lift her spoon.
She wasn't hungry. She was… waiting.
For what, she didn't know. A sign? An answer? A decision?
Was the message a countdown?
A riddle?
A test from fate?
Or was it just… a coincidence?
But coincidences didn't make her heart beat like this.
Coincidences didn't look like Jisoo, sitting two tables away, glancing at her the way someone watches the final second of an hourglass—held breath, quiet ache.
He didn't come over.
He didn't speak.
He just waited.
As if he knew—
This wasn't his choice to make.
---
The bell rang.
Classes ended.
The hallways flooded with voices and laughter and the sharp squeak of wet shoes on tile. Scarves were wrapped. Coats zipped. Someone shouted about cram school; someone else challenged a friend to a snowball duel. Life kept moving.
But Saanvi… walked slowly.
One step at a time.
Past lockers.
Past classrooms.
Past people who didn't know her heart was a tight fist, clenched and burning.
She didn't rush.
She wanted to. But she didn't.
Because some steps are sacred.
And this—this felt like walking toward a line she couldn't uncross.
Toward a decision that would split her story in two.
And when she reached the main entrance—
He was there.
Leaning against the railing.
Headphones around his neck this time, not over his ears.
As if he was listening.
Really listening.
Not to music. But to the world. To her.
The snow behind him caught the glow of the streetlamps. He looked like someone standing inside a dream. A soft silhouette carved out of memory and hope.
Saanvi stepped closer.
Neither of them said anything at first.
Then—
Quietly, she asked,
"What if I choose to forget again?"
The words felt brittle.
Like thin ice.
Like a question she wasn't sure she wanted answered.
Jisoo's breath fogged the air.
And when he spoke, his voice was low. Honest.
"Then I won't stop you."
Her throat tightened.
She looked down, heart twisting.
But he added, after a moment:
"But I won't forget. Not this time."
The snow kept falling.
Each flake caught the streetlight like a spark of something ancient—something delicate and unstoppable. Like time.
Saanvi looked up again.
Her voice trembled.
"Do you think… it's possible to love someone just because you used to?"
Jisoo tilted his head.
And then, with the softest, most certain voice she'd ever heard him use, he said:
"No. I think you love someone because when you see them again… it feels like remembering how to breathe."
She blinked.
The world blurred.
It wasn't snow in her eyes.
Not this time.
And in the quiet between them—
That pause wasn't silence.
It was a heartbeat.
Shared.
Then—
Ping.
Another notification.
Both phones.
At the same time.
Again.
They looked down.
____________•••____________
One plus complete.
You may now choose.
____________•••____________
The air felt electric.
As if the world was holding its breath for her answer.
And Saanvi…
She looked at Jisoo.
At the boy who used to skate alone on rooftops.
At the boy who always wore headphones, even when no music was playing.
At the boy who remembered when she didn't.
And she smiled.
Not wide.
Not perfect.
But real.
"Then I choose to stay."
---
In the snowfall that followed, under flickering streetlamps and the slow hum of traffic and distant laughter, they walked side by side.
Not as strangers.
Not as almosts.
But as something else entirely.
Something remembered.
Something rediscovered.
Something that felt, finally, like home.
And as they walked, the snow kept falling.
Soft. Steady. Eternal.
Like a memory that had waited long enough to bloom.