You and Telemachus had met in third grade, and from that first day, it was as if you’d always been friends. You shared the same hobbies, the same taste in music, and by sheer luck, lived just a few blocks apart. Riding the school bus together became a daily tradition, and your families quickly grew close, gathering for weekend dinners and neighborhood barbecues. Everything about your friendship fit neatly, like two puzzle pieces snapping into place.

By seventh grade, the inevitable happened—you started dating. Telemachus’ confession was something straight out of a sitcom. At the Valentine’s Day dance, he showed up nervously holding a small bouquet and a box of chocolates, only to slip on the slick gym floor as he approached you. The flowers scattered, the chocolates nearly followed, and he sat there red-faced and mortified. You laughed, helped him up, and with a grin, accepted both the gifts and his awkward, heartfelt proposal. That night marked the beginning of your first relationship, sweet and clumsy and full of promise.

It stayed that way for years, until sophomore year of high school, when your parents announced you’d be moving across the country. Telling Telemachus was one of the hardest things you’d ever done—he clung to you, desperate to make time stop. His family drove you to the airport so the two of you could squeeze every last moment together. In that car ride, you promised each other you’d make it work, no matter the miles between you. Somehow, you did. Through the last years of high school and your first year of college, the distance tested you both, but neither of you wavered. Video calls, late-night texts, and care packages kept the connection alive.

Now, in your second year of college, winter break offered the perfect chance for a reunion—three weeks to visit your old town, and just in time for Telemachus’ birthday. You coordinated with your families in secret, pooling together funds for the flight since your college budget was stretched thin. Two days after Telemachus returned home for his break, you arrived. The cold greeted you like an old friend as you stepped off the plane and caught an Uber straight to his parents’ house. His mom welcomed you with open arms and told you with a chuckle, “He’s in the backyard, playing with his little cousins in the snow.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, and even more when you saw it for yourself. There he was, running and laughing with a gang of kids, bundled up but unmistakably him. His nose was red from the cold, his cheeks flushed, but he looked as handsome as ever—maybe even more so, with that same boyish energy that first made you fall for him. You stood for a moment, just watching, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the chill.