The Winter We Remember

She was dreaming of something golden and warm, sunlight on old stone walls, the faint echo of a laugh she almost recognized, when the alarm shattered it.

A high, insistent beep sliced through the quiet, pulling her back to the cocoon of blankets she’d wrapped around herself like armor against the morning. She groaned, low and muffled, and pressed her face deeper into the pillow, chasing the fading edges of the dream. The sheets smelled like vanilla and sleep; the weight of the comforter felt like the best kind of hug.

But the alarm didn’t care about dreams. It kept going, louder, sharper, until she had no choice but to crack one eye open and glare at the glowing red numbers on her nightstand. They blinked at her like they were personally offended she’d dared to ignore them.

She sighed, the sound half defeat, half surrender, and reached out a lazy hand to silence the traitor.

Forty-five minutes later…

Her eyes snapped open.

She hadn’t hit snooze.

She’d turned the damn thing off completely.

And now she was catastrophically late.

Panic jolted her fully awake. In a flurry of limbs and tangled hair, she launched herself out of bed, checked the time, too late, way too late, and nearly face-planted when she stumbled over the pile of clothes decorating her floor. She sprinted to the bathroom, only to find her brother diving in at the same time, slamming the door shut with the triumphant energy of someone who absolutely deserved to be punched.

Both overslept. Of course.

“Stupid moron!” she barked, pounding on the door. Behind it, her brother sang loudly, horribly, off-key, because he was a menace. “Mom, can’t you at least pretend to care?!”

Her mother only laughed from the hallway, far too entertained. “There’s a guest bathroom downstairs, sweetheart.”

Groaning like a dying Victorian child, Camila thundered down the stairs and slipped into the guest bathroom just before her father reached it. She brushed her teeth at lightning speed, only to smack her head on the tiny cupboard above the sink.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed, clutching her head. When she lifted her gaze to the mirror, her soul withered. A bright, angry, absolutely dramatic pimple stared back at her like a cruel joke from the universe.

“A pimple?! Really?! What else, huh?!”

“Camila?” her father knocked, calm as always. “Can I go in? I have to leave for work.”

She let him in, stormed upstairs, and tore through her wardrobe like a tornado in emotional crisis before settling on light-blue jeans and a black top with lace on the shoulders. She studied her reflection, turning left and right with the severity of someone judging an art gallery piece.

“This… has to do,” she muttered, annoyed but accepting defeat.

With black sneakers on and her backpack thrown over her shoulder, almost catapulting her backward because schoolbooks weighed more than emotional trauma, she rushed outside just in time to see her brother drive away without her.

“He can’t be serious,” she whispered, betrayed.

“Not very nice of him, no,” her father said as he jogged to his car. “Wish I could take you, but I’m already running late. Sorry, sweetheart!” He kissed her head and drove off like a man escaping responsibility.

She marched to the bus stop, muttering curses at the sky, the universe, and whatever terrible horoscope had predicted this chaos. The bus arrived ten minutes late, because of course it did. She waited while a swarm of primary school kids fought for seats like tiny warriors, then slipped into a window seat, shoved her earphones in, and tried to drown out the chaos with music.

Then she made the mistake of glancing at her phone.

The group chat for Mrs. Whitmore’s math class, aptly named “Math Hell” by Marc at the start of the year, was already popping off.

Marc: Guys

Marc: Don’t forget the math exam today

Liam: ih fuck me gently

Marc: Ew bro that’s your girlfriend’s job

Liam: fuck you

Abigail: Could you PLEASE shut up??

Liam: oh abi abi

Liam: you forgot to study didn’t you haha

Abigail: Unlike you, I’ll pass.

Marc: Sadly she’s right dude

Camila closed the chat and stared out the window just as the bus lurched to a sudden stop, nearly launching her into the aisle.

Traffic jam.

In a city this small?

She peeked past the driver and saw a car accident blocking the entire road. The universe really had her on its hit list today.

But then, brilliance.

She could walk. Only ten minutes.

She asked the driver to let her out, and he looked like she’d interrupted a sacred ritual, his morning newspaper.

“Do whatever you want,” he grumbled, pressing the door button.

She hopped out, weaving through the idle cars, and spotted a very familiar blue vehicle. Her brother’s. Karma was a generous queen today. She knocked on his window. He rolled it down.

“This,” she said sweetly, “is what I call karma, dearest brother.”

He rolled his eyes and rolled the window back up, almost amputating her fingertips. She called him six different names and continued her journey.

Ten minutes later, she arrived at the high school, breathless but victorious. She knocked on the classroom door.

“In!” Mrs. Whitmore barked.

She slipped inside, all eyes on her, exam sheets already handed out. “You’re lucky, Camila,” Mrs. Whitmore said, peering over her glasses. “I heard about the accident. Sit.”

Camila did. Math was her comfort zone. Numbers made sense, unlike her morning.

Just as Camila reached the final task on her math test, a small paper ball landed softly on her desk. She unfolded it to find Kim’s familiar, frantic handwriting: Task five help? Pleeeease.

She glanced up. Kim’s wide, pleading eyes met hers from two rows over. Camila scanned the room. Mrs. Whitmore was busy scribbling something on the board, and quickly held up three fingers under the edge of her desk.

Kim’s face lit up with silent gratitude. She mouthed thank you before turning back to her paper. Around them, a quiet ripple of sighs and soft groans spread as other students flipped to the back page and realized the test wasn’t over yet.

Camila, already finished, let her pencil drift across a blank corner of her notebook. Tiny doodles bloomed, swirling vines, little stars, the vague shape of a ruin half-buried in sand. The clock ticked on, slow and stubborn.

When the bell finally rang, she gathered her things and waited for Kim at the door. They walked side by side down the hallway, shoulders brushing, the familiar rhythm of their steps syncing without effort.

The canteen smelled like warm bread and slightly overcooked pizza. They joined the line, chatting about nothing important. Kim groaning about how she still hadn’t started her history essay even though it was due Monday, Camila teasing her that at this rate she’d be writing it during lunch next week too.

By the time they carried their trays to a table near the window, the room buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos.

Camila slid into her seat and let her gaze drift outside.

Beyond the glass, the world looked painted in soft October gold. A flock of starlings wheeled through the sky, dark shapes twisting into ribbons against the pale blue, then scattering like spilled ink before reforming again. Maple leaves, scarlet and amber, drifted lazily past, catching the light and glowing for a heartbeat before fluttering to the ground.

The sun hung low, spilling honey-colored warmth across the courtyard, turning every blade of grass into something almost magical. For a moment, the noise of the cafeteria faded, and it was just her and the quiet beauty outside, like the town itself was whispering breathe.

“Okay,” Kim said, poking at her salad, “this test was straight-up evil. And then a double math block because Mr. Smith’s sick? I need a vacation. Did you actually finish everything?”

“Yeah,” Camila admitted, “but the bonus question almost broke me.”

Kim huffed a laugh. “If you struggled, the rest of us are doomed.”

“Oh, come on.” Camila grinned and popped a piece of broccoli into her mouth. “You’re the one who aced bio last week.”

“You’re the math nerd here, not me.”

They fell into comfortable silence after that, forks moving slowly, the hum of voices washing over them like background music. Camila caught fragments of conversations drifting by; someone planning a Halloween party, another complaining about last night’s ice-hockey practice, whispers about who was dating who. She tried not to eavesdrop. She failed spectacularly.

Eventually, the bell loomed again. They stood, trays in hand, weaving through the crowd toward the return station.

That’s when it happened.

Camila turned too quickly. Her tray collided with someone else’s. The juice carton tipped, orange liquid splashing across both trays in a bright, sticky arc. Cutlery clattered to the floor. Broccoli rolled in tiny green escapes. Her cheeks flamed instantly.

“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered, mortified. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking—”

“Hey,” a low, calm voice interrupted. “It’s okay. No big deal.”

He crouched at the same moment she did. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same fork. She froze. Then she looked up.

Forest-green eyes, deep and still, like the woods after rain, locked onto hers.

Time didn’t just slow; it stopped.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile right away. He simply looked at her, steady and unhurried, as if the entire noisy cafeteria had fallen away and left only the two of them kneeling on the tile.

The green of his eyes held flecks of gold from the window light, and something quiet and warm flickered there, something that made her chest tighten and her breath catch. It wasn’t just pretty. It was knowing, like he’d already seen every flustered thought racing through her head and decided he liked them.

Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she was sure he could hear it.

He finally broke the stare, but only to offer a small, lopsided smile that felt private, meant just for her. Then he stood, strong arms lifting her tray and his own in one easy motion, setting them aside before extending a hand to her.

She took it.

His palm was warm, calloused in the best way, and when he pulled her up, she rose like she weighed nothing. For a heartbeat, they were close, close enough that she caught the faint scent of cedar and fresh ice, and his eyes held hers again, softer this time, almost gentle.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

She managed a tiny nod. “Y—yeah. Thank you.”

He gave her one last look. Longer than necessary, like he was memorizing her face, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the hallway crowd.

Camila stood rooted, fingers still tingling where he’d touched her, the world rushing back in slow waves.

Kim bumped her shoulder gently, voice teasing but soft. “Girl… you just astral-projected to another dimension. I don’t blame you, though.”

Camila blinked, cheeks burning hotter than before. “It was just an accident,” she mumbled.

Kim grinned. “Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

They headed toward the hallway, but Camila’s steps felt lighter, unsteady, like gravity had forgotten her for a second.

An accident.

One she would absolutely, helplessly overthink later.