Page 65 of How We Began

“What? No bloody way! You owe me an all-nighter for dragging me to the library.”

When we finally got down the nightmare stairs and out the door, it was snowing quite hard, the whole of campus was covered in a white blanket. Everyone was running to get out of the mammoth white flurries, but we just grinned at each other and grabbed hands, walking slowly in the snowy downpour, snowflakes landing on our tongues and eyelashes.

It was pretty frickin’ romantic and something I won’t forget.

(11.45 p.m.)

“Tell me something,’ he asked. It was quiet, the snow had created a blanket of silence all around campus.

I lifted my head from where I was using his chest as a Ben scented pillow. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me your favourite thing in the whole world.”

His arms were holding me tight as we lie in bed with the curtains open, watching the snow fall. Which it was. A lot.

I thought on his question for a moment. No one wants to be the cheesy one that says, ‘you’re my favourite thing, so I settled on. “The blue sky on a summer day. Not near the sun where it is pale and weak but the opposite side of the horizon where it is dark like cornflowers and never-ending.”

Like your eyes, I wanted to add, but held it back.

Silence.

“Tell me yours.”

“Thunder and rainstorms on a hot summer day. There’s nothing better than standing in the warm rain.”

Silence.

“Give me one more day,” he asked.

I couldn’t say no.

15th January

Today is a snow day. Whoop, Whoop!

Okay, we live on campus, so we could’ve made it across. But where’s the fun in that? Instead, we hiked (laughing at our inappropriate footwear) to a local pub, where they had crackling fires and deep leather sofas.

“Favourite book?” Ben asked, watching me over the top of his glass.

“You already know that.”

“No, I don’t. I just know that it has a bit set in Lyme Regis.”

I thought back to when we’d talked out in the pub garden that night at the start of term, the night he’d found me and Meredith at the pub and I’d been slagging him off, mainly because I was petrified of how he made me feel.

I guess nothing much has changed. The depth of my feelings towards him still scares me the most.

“Persuasion, by Jane Austen.” I took a deep sip of my pint and wiped away my beer moustache.

“Ugh, Austen. Why?”

“How dare you say ‘Ugh’, to Austen! You bloody Philistine.”

Definite ‘Never Getting Back Together’ break-up material if ever I’ve heard it

“Seriously, why is it your favourite though? Like what bit of it?” he prodded some more.

Frowning I thought through my answer. “‘Persuasion’ has been my favourite novel for as long as I can remember, yet, honestly, Ben, I find it deeply traumatic to read. And that’s been getting worse with age. Something about it is darkly tragic.