This year, winter seemed determined to make up for lost time—arriving early, chasing away golden autumn with wind and snow, and claiming the throne for itself. Within days, sharp gusts stripped the trees of their rust-colored crowns, and thick flakes of snow left people unpleasantly surprised in the morning as they had to strain their muscles to clear nearly half a meter of snow before heading to work or school.

After this dramatic entrance, winter loosened its grip after two weeks, and since then only offered occasional snowfalls. But not to be forgotten, it left behind a biting frost that scratched intricate patterns on windows and nipped at the red noses of those who had to leave their warm walls.

Lucy Mitchell was one of those people.

She exhaled a puff of vapor and watched it dissolve into the cold air like ink in water before the wind swept it away. She shivered just thinking about how far below zero it must be. She rubbed her gloved hands—maroon ones—though the cold still pinched her fingers. She pressed the crosswalk button again, impatiently tapping her foot. Finally, the signal took mercy—the cars stopped, the red man turned green. She crossed along with a crowd of anonymous strangers and turned left, heading toward the campus gates of the university where she'd spend nearly two more years and which she was now returning to after a long weekend.

She quickened her pace as another gust of wind tried to steal her hat. She entered the open campus dotted with tall pines and bare rose bushes along the cobblestone path. The path led to a three-story building with pale walls and large windows that reflected the feathered gray clouds cloaking the sky.

She sighed—she’d lost count of how many times she’d done that in the last hour. Nose buried in her scarf and thoughts in the song playing through her headphones, she made her way toward the building, stepping carefully on the icy pavement.

But her peaceful moment was about to be shattered.

"Lucy, my dear!"

She nearly tripped when someone shouted directly into her ear, loud enough to break through her headphones.

There could only be one person.

She pulled out the earbuds and turned to see the freckled face of her friend—Tiffany Campbell.

"You’re turning into a certain annoying guy with glasses," she said, curling her lip.

"I was hoping for a modest ‘hi’," Tiffany huffed.

"Hello, my noble, dearest, and slightly unhinged friend," Lucy replied solemnly, saluting with two fingers.

"Close enough." Tiffany kissed her cheek, and they continued toward the building together.

"Where’d you lose your brother?" Lucy asked, wrapping her headphones around her phone. She’d meant to buy wireless ones forever ago, but kept forgetting.

"He was sleeping like a log, and I couldn’t wake him. I didn’t feel like waiting, so I came alone. He doesn’t start till ten anyway."

"Lucky him," Lucy sighed, her breath fogging the air.

"Don’t you start later too? What are you doing here so early?" They stepped into the building, where frost was banished by the noble knights known as radiators.

"Staying home any longer would’ve ended with either me or Aunt Eva in the ICU," Lucy said as they hung up their coats in the cloakroom.

"What happened this time?"

Lucy finished tying her shoelaces, which unraveled often enough that ice wasn’t even necessary for a fall. She stood and spread her arms.

"Who knows? She overstimulated during the holidays and now she’s taking it out on me," she muttered as they walked down the nearly empty hallway.

Tiffany snorted, tossing her head back. "Woman needs a hobby."

Lucy waved a dismissive hand. "You know how it is. She lets me live with her, so I can’t complain too much."

"After this long, she should be used to it by now."

Lucy waved again, dropping the subject. She pulled a navy tie from her backpack, popped her black shirt’s collar, tied the knot expertly, and dropped it back down.

"Crap, did I bring my marker?" Tiffany gasped, diving into her bag.

Students jokingly called the ties “markers” because they distinguished art students from music students. The former wore navy, the latter dark green, with small pins—paintbrush, music note, etc.—to show specific specializations.

After a tense moment, Tiffany triumphantly put on her navy tie with a silver microphone pin. They continued down the corridor calmly.

The university was still mostly empty—classes were staggered throughout the day to ease hallway traffic. The girls entered an unused rec room where events and performances were usually held. They sat on the small stage at the far end of the room.

Lavoie tossed her bag on the windowsill and stretched with a yawn.

"Ugh, I’m going to faceplant."

"You should’ve done what I did and not gamed until 3 a.m."

"I had to finish that quest!"

"And still failed," Lucy reminded her.

"That was rude." Tiffany straightened, folding her arms in mock offense.

"'Rude' is my middle name."

"I thought it was Maya," Campbell grinned.

Lucy shrugged, leaning against the cool window. Below, more people started to appear along the pathway. Tiff sat beside her, resting her head on her shoulder, though she had to hunch a bit—they were a few centimeters apart in height.

"Take me away from here," she whined like a child denied candy.

"You’re the moody one today, and that’s usually my thing. You and Alan are supposed to be the funny ones, so recalibrate."

Tiffany giggled and checked the time.

"I think I’ll grab a coffee before history… You coming?"

Lucy shook her head.

"I need to finally come up with something for my final project," she sighed. "And I want a bit of peace before a certain someone latches onto me like a burr."

Tiffany jumped off the stage with a wide smile.

"What does that grin mean?" Lucy hissed, eyeing her warily. She set her phone aside in case things got physical.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing!"

"Then why don’t I believe you?"

"Limited trust principle? I’m off to get coffee. See you at the next break!" And she was gone.

Lucy shook her head pityingly and pulled out her A4 sketchbook covered in stickers—from Minions to skulls. She grabbed her favorite pencil from her bag and opened to the first blank page. She sat sideways to the window, knees pulled up.

She drew one long horizontal line.

One thing hadn’t changed—her inspiration, gone a week ago, hadn’t come back. It always vanished right before deadlines. Five weeks could be a long time—or a blink—especially when you had zero ideas. And she had to finish the semester strong to earn a scholarship.

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