Winter did not arrive suddenly.
It came the way silence does—
slowly,
without asking permission.
One morning, the air felt different.
Colder.
Sharper.
I noticed it when I exhaled
and my breath stayed for a second longer than usual.
In class, the windows were closed.
The room felt smaller.
Heavier.
Students complained about the cold.
Teachers ignored them.
Life continued.
She still sat beside me.
But she wore a coat now.
Dark blue.
Too big for her shoulders.
I noticed that too.
"You should button it," I said without thinking.
She looked surprised.
Then she smiled.
"Okay," she replied.
That small moment stayed with me longer than it should have.
Winter changed our routine.
We no longer lingered near the window.
The cherry blossom tree outside was bare now.
No flowers.
No leaves.
Just branches.
I stopped looking at it.
There was nothing to watch.
Our walks home became shorter.
The footpath felt colder.
The city louder.
People walked faster.
We followed.
Sometimes, our shoulders touched as we walked.
Neither of us moved away.
She started carrying gloves.
I didn't.
My hands stayed in my pockets.
One evening, snow fell for the first time.
It didn't last long.
Just enough to surprise everyone.
She stopped walking.
I stopped too.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"Yes," I replied.
Snow melted on the pavement almost immediately.
By the time we reached the corner of her street,
it was gone.
"Winter doesn't stay," she said quietly.
I didn't know what she meant.
I nodded anyway.
Two years had passed since she first sat beside me.
It felt longer.
It felt shorter.
She knew my silences now.
I knew hers.
We could tell when the other was tired
without asking.
But there were things we still hadn't said.
They sat between us.
Unspoken.
One afternoon, she didn't come to class.
Her seat stayed empty.
I kept glancing at it.
Every few minutes.
"She's absent today," someone said behind me.
I nodded.
As if I already knew.
The day felt incomplete.
She returned the next day.
Nothing seemed wrong.
"You weren't here yesterday," I said.
"I had to go somewhere," she replied.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes," she said quickly.
Too quickly.
She looked outside the window.
The branches of the tree shook in the wind.
After that, small changes began appearing.
She checked her phone more often.
She seemed distracted.
Our conversations shortened.
Not by much.
Just enough to notice.
One evening, she stopped walking beside me.
"I have to go another way today," she said.
"Oh," I replied.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she added.
"Yes," I said.
She walked away before I could say anything else.
That happened again.
And again.
Sometimes she walked with me.
Sometimes she didn't.
I didn't ask why.
I was afraid of the answer.
Winter deepened.
The days grew shorter.
Darkness arrived early.
One day, she didn't sit beside me in class.
Someone else had taken the seat.
She sat two rows ahead.
Near the middle.
I stared at the back of her head.
The distance felt unfamiliar.
She turned once.
Our eyes met.
She smiled.
Then she turned back.
It wasn't rejection.
It was something quieter.
After class, she waited for me.
That surprised me.
"I wanted to talk," she said.
We stood on the footpath.
Cold wind passed between us.
"I might be leaving," she said.
The words didn't make sense at first.
"Leaving?" I repeated.
"My family," she continued.
"We might move."
"Oh," I said.
That was all.
She waited.
Maybe for more.
I didn't have it.
"It's not decided yet," she added.
I nodded.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I stared at the ceiling.
The room felt empty.
I thought about all the things I hadn't said.
My name.
My thoughts.
My feelings.
I wondered if I had waited too long.
Days passed.
No decision.
She returned to sitting beside me.
As if nothing had happened.
But winter had already entered us.
One evening, she stopped suddenly while walking.
"Do you ever think about us?" she asked.
The question caught me off guard.
"Yes," I answered honestly.
She looked relieved.
"Me too," she said.
Silence followed.
Not uncomfortable.
But heavy.
Snow fell again that night.
More than before.
The city turned quiet.
We stood under a streetlight.
Snow gathered on her coat.
"I'm scared," she said.
"Of what?" I asked.
"Of leaving," she replied.
"And of staying."
I didn't know how to help.
So I stayed.
Beside her.
When she finally left,
the street felt colder.
The decision came two weeks later.
She told me after school.
"We're moving," she said.
"When?" I asked.
"Soon," she replied.
The word echoed.
Soon meant different things to different people.
Winter continued.
We spent our last days together quietly.
No promises.
No plans.
One evening, we stood farther apart than usual.
Snow fell lightly.
"I'm glad I met you," she said.
"Me too," I replied.
She hesitated.
Then spoke.
"I think I like you," she said.
The world felt still.
"I think I do too," I said.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't loud.
It was late.
She smiled.
Not happily.
Not sadly.
Just honestly.
"Take care," she said.
"You too," I replied.
Winter took her away.
Distance replaced presence.
And everything that followed
moved at its own quiet speed.