Hello once more. Thank you all again for the wonderful comments you have sent me. I am so happy with how well-received this has been. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

Note: This chapter is set up slightly differently. It's a little longer and less broken up because almost the entire chapter takes place within a few hours instead of over the course of weeks. Chances are, this is the only chapter that will be formated in this way. Also, I would like to explain the first section of this chapter. I know it seems like it doesn't fully fit, but I just really want to express how cold it is and how the cold affects Aelita.

IMPORTANT NOTE: (2-7-09) I have edited this story to include lyrics (with titles) from various Ingrid Michaelson songs. Ingrid has been an amazing influence to this story and to my life in general. She is a amazing artist who deserves so much more attention than she has now. Do yourself a favor: if you like meaningful music with amazing lyrics and genuine emotion, listen to her songs (youtube has all of them, I think). For this story, I would suggest Corner of Your Heart as I consider it to be the underlying theme song.


They say that things just cannot grow beneath the winter snow, or so I have been told. –Winter Song (with Sara Bareilles)

The cold makes things smell differently.

My boyfriend would tell me it's because of diffusion. It's harder for molecules to travel in frigid air. The odors don't always reach the nose. They become lost in temperature.

But I believe some things shouldn't be defined solely by science.


She says you're a masochist for falling for me. So roll up your sleeves. –Masochist

I am masochistic. It's the only way to describe myself. It's the only explanation for why I continue to hurt myself like this.

If anyone asks, I'm just looking for a book in the library. But really, I'm waiting for you to exit the classroom so I can casually bump into you. (Acting like a stalker, this is probably a sign that I have lost my mind. Even I have realized this by now.)

You finally leave after what feels like an hour of waiting. I'm trailing behind you like the world's least needed spy.


When Christmas carols fill every space, and I think of your hands upon my face. –When the Leaves

I've been waiting for this moment to talk to you. I've planned it, gone over what I want to say so many times in my head. Everything was working flawlessly.

Expecting to have a conversation alone with you, I cheerfully walk down the stairs. Before reaching the bottom, I see you talking to your girlfriend. My steps halt for a moment as the sight registers in my brain. Then regaining sense, I continue down the stairs and walk out of the library without a second glance.

But I feel as though I'm still standing on the stairs, frozen to the spot and staring at you. In all the stories, the boy turns when the girl walks down the staircase. He sees her and everything is supposed to fall into place.

You never turned around. (This is the version of Cinderella that you never hear.)


On Christmas evenings like this, I wonder if it's me you'll miss. –When the Leaves

Disheartened, I walk to the cafeteria. There is comfort in food, especially in chocolate chip cookies. I'm counting on comfort as I lament the fact that I had been so expectant and had had my hopes dashed in an instant.

Today is not my day. (Then again, since when have things ever gone my way?) The cafeteria is closed. So disappointed and hungry, I return to the library.

If I were smarter, I'd have thought to get the books I needed for winter break when I was lurking in the bookcases.

And of course, you are leaving the library as I enter. The door handle is hard and cold against the palm of my hand as I debate over whether or not to follow you. But at the last moment, I shake my head and enter the library once more.

I suppose this was not meant to be. (My life is full of missed chances.)


Hey, I'll move out of the way for you. Hey, I'll move out of the way for her, too. –Let Go

I try, just so you know. In case you were curious, I really do try to treat your girlfriend nicely. She's still in the library after you left and I wish her a Merry Christmas with more cheer in my voice than I feel.

She doesn't return my sentiment. I don't blame her. I leave the library with silence trailing behind me.


I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind of love that quiets the world. –Snowfall Kind of Love

My hat keeps sliding down my forehead into my eyes. As I push it back, my hand blocks my vision for just a second.

The snowy campus is back in sight and who should I see walking to the dorms from the cafeteria? It's you. (It's funny that it's so hard to force moments to happen, but so easy for moments to arrive when you least expect them.)

I call ahead to get your attention, I try so hard to be witty. You wait for me to catch up and we walk together towards the dorms. We are joking and laughing and creating our own warmth this cold December.


Do you feel what I feel? Well? Do you feel this way, too? –Around You

We stand idly outside the dorms, I'm reluctant to give up this moment. But despite my great efforts, the conversation is trailing to an end. Merry Christmas to you, Merry Christmas to you, too.

I hug you as I would hug any friend. I kiss you on the cheek as I would kiss any friend. (But I know that this kiss means more to me than a kiss to anyone else.) Your arms are loose at my waist and when you let go, I can still feel their pressure on my body. Your cheek is cold and thin next to my lips. I don't want to pull away.

But then you laugh, say you were reminded of our awkwardly fateful scene earlier in the semester. Are you nervous? I am. I deflect with a joke, my arms around you and wiggling my eyebrows. You pull away too fast and I worry that I've crossed a line.

Then we part, walk backwards to our respective dorms, still looking at each other. There are few seconds of silence that fall between us and I know that it's now or never.

I want to ask you something, I warn you that it's awkward. You remind me that we won't be seeing each other for a few weeks, so any awkwardness will dissipate by the time we return.

We're walking towards each other and you are looking at me expectantly. I wait until I am only inches away from you, staring you right in the eye. Are you at all attracted to me?

The question hangs in the air, killing my confidence. You look confused and I rapidly try to explain. A connection? Not necessarily a physical attraction? You know?

You don't understand and you apologize, but now that you have your girlfriend, you don't look at other girls that way. I truly think that is so sweet. I try to reassure you that it's fine and I understand.

I just sometimes get an awkward feeling between the two of us. And I thought, I don't know, just from stuff that happened, that maybe you liked me. (Oh, I am just so eloquent.) I guess I thought you were looking at me sometimes or something. Stuff like that. I don't know. You know what I mean? (I realize I make absolutely no sense.)

You're looking at me like I've grown two heads and you ask me to explain. I feel like a sword is hanging over me and this can't possibly get more difficult. My mouth is slightly parted, my face is blank, and all I can do is shrug.

You don't know exactly what I am trying to ask and you don't know how to answer. But you say it's because I'm a girl and girls never make sense. (Leave it to you to make a joke.)

And then your face grows so serious. Your arm jerks as though you almost wanted to touch my arm but thought better of it at the last second. Your voice is just as sincere as the expression on your face as you apologize for if you ever did anything to make me think that you might like me.

My heart hurts. It's cliché to say, but it hurts. I just smile with a shake of my head. I tell you that I'm not disappointed, I'm relieved. (I hate myself for lying through my teeth.) Things were just awkward. You tell me that you are an awkward person, you make things awkward.

We overuse that word. We slaughter the dictionary. I must find a thesaurus.

As I am groping around in my empty mind for something else to say, I realize you're rubbing your bright red ears. I apologize for keeping you outside for too long. (Thank you for staying outside for me.)

I walk away, saying Merry Christmas for the umpteenth time. You respond with "Merry celebration of Jesus's birth!" Because really, what else would I expect you to say?


This is my winter song. December never felt so wrong. –Winter Song (with Sara Bareilles)

And in the thirty seconds it takes for me to reach the door, all I can think about was the conversation replaying in my head in triple-speed. And how the whole time we spoke, I could hear people packing their cars. And how a girl from my floor walked by. And how I wasn't nearly as nervous as I thought I'd be. (For all my fantasies of how that conversation would go, I never pictured it in a public setting. It was supposed to be private, quiet, and my heart was supposed to pound out of control.) And how your eyes were a dark shade of blue and looked more serious during that conversation than I had ever seen them. And how the skies were gray, and there was no breeze at all. The coldness just seemed to stand still.

I noticed a thousand other little things, but there are just too many to name.

And I go back to my dorm to finish packing because honestly, there is nothing more I can do.

As smart as thought I was, I must lack intelligence because I willingly made things awkward. And I must be masochistic because, deep down, I knew you were going to say what you said, and I knew it was going to hurt.


For those of you who have enjoyed this so far, I have good news. There will be a chapter four! I was originally going to end after this chapter, but I really feel as though this story hasn't ended yet. So there will be at least one more chapter before I am finished. Anyway, please review.