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Chapter 4 - The Proposal

Some feelings don't shout. They grow. Slowly. Quietly.

Like frost on a windowpane—soft, beautiful, and unnoticed… until it takes over everything.

By this time, she had become a habit.

I had learned the timings of her walks between periods, the sound of her laugh echoing from the chemistry lab, and the way she always twisted her pen cap when she was thinking. I even started waiting near the water cooler at exactly the time she came for her refill, pretending to be thirsty, even if my bottle was already full.

She didn't know.

Or maybe she did.

Girls have this sixth sense when someone's heart starts beating differently around them.

But still—I never said anything. Until that one day.

It was mid-December. The cold was biting, but the sky was unusually clear. The school had wrapped up early because of some teacher training, and most students had already left. I saw her sitting alone near the cycle stand, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone like the rest of the world didn't matter.

I hadn't planned it. There was no script. No flowers. No cheesy line.

Just a feeling that had become too heavy to carry in silence.

My hands were cold. My throat was drier than it had ever been, and my heart was doing that stupid thing where it pounds so loud you're sure the other person can hear it too.

I walked up to her.

She looked up, a little surprised. "Hey… what's up?"

I opened my mouth, and for a second, nothing came out.

Just air. Just nerves. Just fear.

Then somehow, I whispered, "I like you."

Her smile faded—not into sadness, but into something unreadable.

She blinked once. Twice. Then said the two words that hit harder than any winter wind ever could.

"I don't."

No apology. No explanation. Just two syllables.

Cold. Clear. Final.

I stood there for a second, pretending it didn't hurt.

I smiled. Nodded. Said "Okay" like it didn't matter.

Like I hadn't thought about this moment every night for the last three weeks.

She didn't say anything else.

And I walked away.

The air felt sharper than usual that evening. The sky was dark before five. I remember walking home slower than ever, each step feeling like it echoed louder than the last.

That night, sleep didn't come.

Not because of heartbreak—at least, not the kind movies talk about.

It was something else. A kind of quiet loss. Like watching a dream fade while you're still holding onto it with open eyes.

I didn't tell anyone. Not even Adi.

The next morning at school, I saw her walking with her friends, laughing again. As if nothing had changed.

But something had.

Inside me.

The winter nights had started feeling longer.

And lonelier

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