Chapter 1: When Winter Found Me
Winter always knew my name.
The first snow fell the night I realized I still loved him. I stood by the window, counting flakes like promises, pretending the cold didn't reach my bones. Everyone says winter is cruel, but to me it was honest. It brought back everything I tried to bury—his laugh, his quiet way of listening, the warmth of his hand in mine.
I told myself it was just a season. Seasons pass. Feelings don't always listen.
Chapter 2: The Warmth Between Us
He met me where the streetlamp flickered, just like old times. The light made his face softer, kinder, and I hated how easily my heart recognized him.
We walked without talking much. Silence felt safer. Our fingers brushed, then stayed together, sharing warmth as if winter had trapped us on purpose. I memorized that moment—the way his thumb moved over my knuckles, the way my heart slowed when he was close.
For a while, I believed love had won.
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Chapter 3: Cracks in the Snow
Winter nights are long. Truth slips out when the world is quiet.
He stopped mid-step and looked at me like someone saying goodbye in their head. I felt it before he spoke—the distance, the hesitation, the fragile pause.
"I don't know how long I can stay," he said.
Snow fell harder, as if trying to drown his words. I smiled anyway. Loving him had taught me how to pretend strength, even when my chest ached.
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Chapter 4: The Last Warm Kiss
We sat on the cold bench, shoulders touching, hearts already drifting apart. He wrapped his scarf around me, the same way he always did, careful and slow.
When he kissed me, it was different. Not desperate. Not hopeful. It was a goodbye written on my lips. I closed my eyes, afraid that if I opened them, winter would take him away faster.
He whispered my name like a memory.
Then he stood up.
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Chapter 5: After He Left
Winter stayed. He didn't.
Now I walk alone under the same streetlamp. Snow still falls, soft and beautiful, cruel in its familiarity. I carry his warmth like a fading flame, learning to survive the cold without him.
Some love stories don't end happily. They end quietly— like winter nights, like promises swallowed by snow.
And I let him go, loving him still.