Emilio Francine De Ramos

The first frost of winter arrived quietly, draping the campus in a layer of silver. Leaves that had stubbornly clung to the branches through autumn were now brittle and brown, scattering across frozen walkways with every gust of wind.

As the world shifted from gold to gray, the same cold crept between Yuwan and me. The warmth of our friendship, once a bonfire, roaring and constant, flickered until it became a distant ember, barely holding on. We went from being inseparable to speaking in brief, stilted exchanges. Familiar silences that had once been comfortable were now sharp, cutting like glass. Every interaction felt like wading through the debris of something that had cracked but never shattered completely.

He stopped texting as often. I stopped replying when he did. Days bled into weeks, each colder than the last. Then it happened.

We were at Silas’ apartment, just the two of us curled into the worn cushions of his couch, sharing the kind of quiet that only feels comfortable between two people who’ve learned how to exist together. The scent of cinnamon candles flickered in the air, blending with the steam from our mugs of hot chocolate. His apartment was a patchwork of secondhand furniture and thrifted art, a lamp missing its shade, mismatched chairs, and a bookshelf filled with plants fighting against the cold. I always liked his place. It felt like him, imperfect but warm, like a space where you could let your guard down without worrying about the cracks showing.

Outside, the first snow of the season drifted lazily under the streetlights, casting everything in a pale, muted glow. The night felt untouched, like it existed just for us. We’d been talking about everything and nothing, how brutal midterms had been, weird things our professors said, childhood snacks we missed, when Silas’s voice broke through the casual rhythm.

He set his mug down on the coffee table with a quiet clink, the sound barely louder than a heartbeat. And just like that, the atmosphere between us shifted, like gravity had tilted, pulling us toward something we couldn’t avoid any longer.

“Emil.” His voice was soft but deliberate. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I felt my chest tighten. Not this. Not now. He didn’t wait, though, and didn’t give me time to brace myself.

“I like you. A lot.” His words came out steady, but there was a raw vulnerability in his eyes, like he was putting something precious in my hands, not knowing if I’d drop it. His shoulders were tight with tension, as if he was waiting to be let down but hoping he wouldn’t be.

“I know you’ve got a lot going on,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know things are complicated, and I don’t want to make it harder for you. But I needed you to know. I care about you, Emil.”

The confession landed between us like a stone tossed into still water, sending quiet ripples through the space we’d built together. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

I liked Silas too, of course I did. He was steady, kind, the kind of person who remembered the little things without being told. But my heart? It wasn’t free. It was still tangled up in someone else. Someone I wasn’t sure I’d ever fully untangle myself from.

“I…” I started to speak, but the words lodged in my throat, sharp and unwieldy.

Silas gave me a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said gently. “I just... I wanted to be honest with you. Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’m here. No pressure.”

I exhaled, a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, but relief tasted bitter on my tongue. If I said yes to Silas, it would feel like using him to bandage a wound that hadn’t healed. And that wouldn’t be fair. Not to him. Not to me.

“Silas,” I whispered, my voice wavering. “I care about you too, more than you probably know.” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to say the words I’d been running from. “But I can’t start something with you right now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He nodded slowly, trying to mask the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face, but I saw it. It made my chest ache.

“Because of Yuwan?” he asked, his voice soft but sure, like he already knew the answer.

The sound of Yuwan’s name felt like a bruise being pressed, tender and unavoidable. I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering the courage to admit the truth.

“Yes…” I whispered. “I-”

“It’s because you’re still in love with him.” The words sat heavy between us, like a confession and a curse all at once. Saying it out loud made it real, a weight I could no longer pretend wasn’t there. I looked down at my hands, gripping the mug too tightly, as if the warmth could keep me from unraveling. Silas didn’t say anything right away. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable, just... sad.

“I get it,” he murmured. “I figured as much.”

He leaned back against the couch, fingers threading nervously through his hair the way he always did when he was unsure of himself. My heart twisted, h-had I ruined what we had?

His eyes softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost trembling, yet carrying something I didn’t expect; hope.

“But maybe… when the time comes, when you’ve healed and you’re ready,” he paused, looking at me as though I was the most important choice he could ever make, “would you let me court you properly? The way you deserve?”

The simplicity of the question made my heart ache. He wasn’t demanding anything from me. He wasn’t trying to force his way into a space I wasn’t ready to give. He was just waiting, patient and steady, in the way only Silas could.

A small, genuine smile tugged at my lips, the first one I’d felt in what seemed like weeks. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Of course.”

Silas smiled too, something soft and real, and at that moment, the knot of emotions in my chest loosened just a little. It wasn’t a perfect resolution. The tangle of Yuwan’s memory still lingered, and my heart was far from ready. But for the first time in a long time, I felt something shift, like maybe, just maybe, there was room for hope again.

The next morning, the sun slipped through my blinds in pale streaks, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor of my dorm room. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the night before settling into my chest like freshly fallen snow—quiet and cold, but not unwelcome.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with another message from Silas.

Silas: You okay? Just checking in.

I smiled faintly, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before I typed back.

Me: I’m okay. Thanks for last night.

I left it at that. He didn’t press for more. He never did.