It was winter, the beginning of December.
The city was wrapped in pale cold, breath turning into mist with every exhale. You studied at one of the biggest universities in the capital—marble halls, glass towers, students in designer coats and polished shoes. Most of them came from money. From families with names that opened doors. And you… you were different. Not poor, but not wealthy either. Not striking like the others, not the kind of girl people stared at when she walked past. Just… ordinary.
A few months ago, a new student had joined the university: Ferdinan.
Italian. Nineteen. From a family everyone whispered about.
He walked through the campus like he belonged to it—back straight, long confident steps, dark hair falling carelessly over sharp, elegant features. His eyes were deep brown, calm and intelligent, and when he spoke, people listened. Girls adored him instantly. Smiles followed him down corridors, notes slipped into his locker, glances stolen during lectures. The boys admired him too—his manners, his wit, the effortless way he made friends.
God… he was the perfect man. Too perfect to be real.
You had turned eighteen only a few weeks ago.
And your father—loving, anxious, far too protective—had decided it was time. He suggested a blind date with someone “respectable,” someone close to your age. Not because he doubted you… but because he worried about the world. About you being alone in it.
At first, you laughed it off. It sounded harmless. Almost funny.
But now… standing here… it didn’t feel funny at all.
It was cold. Real winter cold.
The park was quiet, covered in a thin layer of snow that softened every sound. Bare trees reached toward a pale gray sky. You stood near a frozen fountain, coat pulled tight around you, gloves hiding trembling fingers as you checked your watch again… and again.
Part of you hoped the stranger wouldn’t come. Part of you hoped they would.
Behind you, footsteps crunched slowly through the snow.
Then a voice—low, polite, unfamiliar.
Ferdinan: “Excuse me—”
You turned.
And your breath stopped.
It was him. Ferdinan.
Standing there in a dark coat, scarf neatly wrapped around his neck, dark hair dusted lightly with snow. His sharp features softened by a shy, uncertain smile.
Your heart skipped violently. A small gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.
He noticed—and chuckled quietly, almost embarrassed.
Ferdinan: “Didn’t expect you… here…”
In his gloved hands, he held a small bouquet of white winter flowers—delicate, fragile, dusted with frost.
He offered them to you gently, eyes searching your face.
And in that moment, you realized… Your blind date wasn’t a stranger at all.