Snowbound Hearts

The college dormitory was eerily silent, its hallways dimly lit and deserted. Outside, a ferocious winter storm howled, blanketing the campus in layers of snow. Most students had left for the holidays, eager to celebrate Christmas with their families. But for Ava and Ethan, the storm had other plans.

Neither of them had intended to spend Christmas night stuck in the dorms—especially not with each other.

Ava wrapped her arms tightly around herself, peering out of the lounge window. She hadn’t noticed Ethan sitting on the couch until he spoke.

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon.” His voice was calm, but Ava could hear the hint of irritation.

She turned, narrowing her eyes. “No kidding. Thanks for the weather report, Ethan.”

Ethan rolled his eyes and slouched back into the couch. “It’s not like I wanted to get snowed in here either.”

They had never gotten along—not since the beginning of the semester. Ava found Ethan’s sarcastic remarks grating, and Ethan thought Ava was uptight and overly critical. The mutual disdain had settled into a silent truce over the months, but being trapped together was reigniting the friction.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to sulk?” Ava muttered, sitting across from him.

Ethan shrugged. “Not really. And it’s not sulking—it’s called trying to stay sane.”

Their bickering could have continued all night, but the sudden loss of power silenced them both. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

“Oh, great,” Ava said, her voice tinged with panic.

Ethan grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight. The beam illuminated the room, casting long shadows on the walls. “Relax. The backup generator will probably kick in.”

But it didn’t.

They huddled in the common area, the faint glow from Ethan’s flashlight the only source of light. Ava sat with her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the soft snowflakes illuminated by the storm outside.

“This is just perfect,” she said bitterly.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Ethan replied dryly.

Ava shot him a look. “Do you always have to be so sarcastic?”

“Do you always have to be so judgmental?” Ethan countered, his voice rising slightly.

“Maybe if you weren’t so insufferable—”

“Maybe if you didn’t act like you were better than everyone—”

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Ethan sighed and leaned back against the wall. “This is pointless.”

Ava stared at him, her expression softening. “You think I act like I’m better than everyone?”

Ethan hesitated before answering. “Sometimes. You always seem so... put together. Like you’ve got everything figured out. It’s kind of hard not to feel like you’re judging me.”

Ava blinked, caught off guard. “I’m not... I don’t mean to come across that way.”

“Then why?” Ethan asked, his tone quieter now.

She looked away, her voice barely audible. “Because if I don’t, people will see how much of a mess I really am.”

Ethan turned to her, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Ava hesitated, but the storm’s isolation seemed to lower her defenses. “I grew up in foster care. I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I’m worth something—trying to be perfect so people won’t leave. It’s exhausting, but it’s the only way I know how to survive.”

Her confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Ethan was silent for a long moment before he spoke.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly.

“You never asked,” Ava replied, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Ethan nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. “You’re right. I didn’t. I just assumed...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’ve got my own issues.”

Ava looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Like what?”

Ethan hesitated, but her openness encouraged him. “My dad’s a big-shot lawyer. He’s always had these... expectations for me. High grades, perfect career path, no room for failure. It’s suffocating. Sometimes, it feels like no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough.”

Ava studied him, her earlier annoyance replaced by empathy. “That sounds... lonely.”

Ethan chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, well, welcome to the club.”

As the night wore on, the tension between them dissolved, replaced by an unexpected camaraderie. They shared more stories—about their fears, their dreams, and the insecurities that shaped them. Ava talked about her dream of becoming a social worker, to help kids like her navigate the system. Ethan admitted his passion for photography, something his father dismissed as a waste of time.

“I always thought you were just this cocky, privileged guy who didn’t care about anything,” Ava said, her tone light but sincere.

Ethan smirked. “And I thought you were this uptight perfectionist who looked down on everyone.”

Ava laughed softly. “Guess we were both wrong.”

“Guess so,” Ethan agreed, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary.

By the time the storm began to die down, the room had grown colder, forcing them to huddle together under a shared blanket. Ava leaned against Ethan, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You know,” she said quietly, “this isn’t how I imagined spending Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Ethan replied, his voice equally soft. “But I’m not sure it’s so bad.”

Ava looked up at him, their faces inches apart. For a moment, the world outside faded away—the storm, the cold, the darkness. All that remained was the warmth between them.

Before either of them could second-guess it, Ethan leaned in, and their lips met in a tentative, gentle kiss.

When they pulled apart, Ava smiled. “Maybe being stuck here isn’t the worst thing after all.”

Ethan grinned. “Merry Christmas, Ava.”

“Merry Christmas, Ethan.”

As the first rays of dawn broke through the storm clouds, the power flickered back on, illuminating the room. But by then, neither of them noticed. They were too lost in each other, their hearts no longer snowbound but free and full of hope.