Girl's POV

This was my first Christmas away from home since starting college. To be honest, I was feeling incredibly lazy. My family doesn't really celebrate Christmas, so i didn't see the point in the long, crowded bus ride back home. I figured I'd just stay back and enjoy the silence. One of my two roommates had already left for the weekend, and the calendar was perfectly aligned: Friday today, followed by a long, four-day weekend ending with Christmas on Monday.

I knew the city would be beautiful—Orion Mall and M5 Mall would be dripping in fairy lights and massive trees—but I didn't have anyone to go with. I spent the evening scrolling aimlessly through Pinterest, looking at aesthetic room decor and drawing references, just trying to kill time.

My other roommate, Isha, walked in after finishing her dinner. she dropped onto her bed with a heavy sigh. "So, what's the plan for this looong weekend?" she asked, her voice trailing off lazily.

I sat up, mirroring her sigh. "Nothing much, sissy. I think I'm just going to sleep through the days and binge-watch everything on my watchlist at night. What about you? Heading home?"

She gave me a small, tired smile. "Nah, I'll be here. Same plan—shows and sleep. It's going to be totally silent in here, isn't it?"

I nodded. Isha and I were a lot alike; we both preferred short conversations and kept to ourselves. It was usually our third roommate who initiated the deep, interesting talks that lasted until 2 AM. Without her, the room was a sanctuary of quiet, which I usually liked, but tonight it felt a little too still.

I laid back down, scrolling through my feed again, when my phone buzzed. It was a message from my boyfriend.

"Want to come over to my room? My roommate won't be back until Wednesday, it seems."

My heart did a literal somersault. My brain didn't even register the words at first. A sleepover? At his place? Before I could even type a response, the screen changed to his calling ID. I scrambled out of bed so fast I didn't even put my slippers on properly, rushing out into the hallway for privacy.

"Hey... did you see the message?" he asked. He sounded urgent, almost breathless.

I bit my lip, trying to control the massive grin and the explosion of excitement in my chest. "Yeah, I was just about to reply when you called."

"Then what's the answer?"

I hesitated, trying to sound practical even though I wanted to scream 'yes.' "Is it okay? I mean... what if your friend comes back early? Or your landlord or neighbors see me?"

"He won't," he reassured me, his voice softening. "He's out of station. And it's already dark, babe. No one is going to see you come in. It's safe."

"But it's late," I argued weakly. "Will I even get a bus? I don't even know how to get to your place."

He usually met me near my PG or we met at malls where he'd pick me up on his bike. I'd never actually navigated the city to his place on my own, and I'd certainly never been on the metro.

"It's only 8:00," he said. "Go to the metro station near you. I'll tell you exactly which station to get off at. I'll meet you there."

I asked if he could just come pick me up because I was scared of messing up the directions, but he explained that by the time he rode his bike all the way here and back, my PG gate would be locked. The plan was set: I would pack a bag, leave now, and wait for him at the station.

As soon as I hung up, I practically leaped in the air. A sleepover! This was the first time we'd ever be truly alone, in private, without the watchful eyes of people in public. He was a perfect gentleman, but I knew that being alone with someone you love changes things. I felt a thrill of nervous energy.

I rushed back into the room and started packing. To keep Isha from getting suspicious—though she wasn't the nosey type—I told her a little white lie. "Hey, I'm actually going to a friend's house! Their family is celebrating Christmas and they invited me over for the holidays."

She didn't even look up from her book, just smiled and said, "Oh, enjoy!"

I stuffed a few clothes into my bag, but the most important thing I packed was a bundle of love letters I'd written for him over the months—letters I hadn't had the courage to let him read yet.

When I stepped outside, the winter air was biting. It sent a shiver through me, but my hoodie kept me warm, and the excitement acted like a heater in my veins. I walked for twenty minutes to the metro station and found a spot near the entrance to wait.

I sat there, a small figure with a backpack, watching the world go by. It was fascinating. I saw crowds of people rushing down the stairs—some in a frantic hurry to get home, others moving slowly, lost in phone conversations. I saw couples saying goodbye, their "see you laters" sounding a bit sad, and parents dropping off their kids.

I thought about how every person there had a story. Some were going home to a house full of people, while others were leaving the people they loved behind to go to work or study. I felt a strange sense of belonging in that crowd; for once, I had a "story" too. I had someone waiting for me.

I called him after a few minutes, feeling a bit anxious. "Hey, where are you?"

"On the way, babe. I'm about four stops away. Did you get there safely?"

"Yeah, I'm sitting right by the entrance."

"Are there people around?" he asked, his protective side coming out. "If you feel unsafe, go stand near the security guard, okay? Stay where the crowd is."

I promised I would. I checked the metro map on my phone and saw his train was only two stops away. Five minutes later, I heard the rumble of a train arriving. A fresh surge of people poured down the stairs. I stood up, my eyes scanning every face. Was he wearing casual clothes? Would he be in his trackpants?

Then, I saw him.

He was rushing down the stairs with such urgency that I laughed to myself—if I hadn't been standing right there, he probably would have run all the way to my PG. He was still in his uniform. He clearly hadn't even had time to go home and change after his shift; he had come straight to me.

As his feet hit the last step, he started looking around wildly for me. I stepped forward into his line of sight. He saw me, and the look of relief and joy on his face was everything. He reached out, took my hand firmly in his, and off we went. 

The moment his fingers curled around mine, the chill of the winter night seemed to vanish. He didn't say much at first—he just squeezed my hand, a silent "I've got you," and led me toward the ticket counters. We tapped our cards and headed down to the platform just as the next train pulled in with a mechanical rush of air.

The carriage was crowded, typical for a Friday night during the holidays. There were no seats left, so we found a spot near the doors, tucked into a small corner where we could stand together without being jostled too much by the commuters.

I looked up at him, finally getting a good look at him under the bright LED lights of the train. He looked a bit tired—there were faint shadows under his eyes—but he was smiling down at me like I was the only person on the entire train. He was still in his uniform, the fabric looking crisp despite a long day of duty. It hit me then that he hadn't even gone home to drop his bag or splash water on his face; the second he was free, he had come for me.

"You didn't even change," I whispered, reaching out to touch the sleeve of his uniform.

He chuckled, leaning his back against the glass pane. "I didn't want to waste another forty minutes. If I'd gone home first, I would've missed the 8:15 train, and you'd be sitting at that station alone for longer."

The train lurched into motion, and I stumbled slightly. Immediately, his arm went around my waist, steadying me and pulling me closer to his side. He didn't let go. He kept his arm there, creating a little barrier between me and the rest of the world.

For the next thirty minutes, the city blurred past the windows in a streak of yellow and white lights. We talked about everything and nothing—he told me about a funny incident that happened at his work that day, making me chuckle so hard I forgot about my nerves for a second. Every time I laughed, I could feel the vibration of his own chest against my shoulder.

I looked at our reflection in the dark glass of the window. We looked so "right" together. Me in my oversized hoodie, looking a bit small next to him in his uniform. I noticed how he'd occasionally glance at the station maps, then back at me, his thumb tracing small, absent-minded circles on my back.

The air in the train was stuffy, but I didn't mind. I liked the smell of him—a mix of his faint cologne and the scent of a long day's work. It felt real. It felt grounded.

"Almost there," he murmured as the automated voice announced the second-to-last stop. "One more."

I felt a fresh wave of heat climb up my neck. The "public" part of our night was almost over. Soon, it would just be the two of us in that small, candle-lit room he'd described. I looked down at my feet, my heart starting that familiar, rapid drumbeat again.

As the train slowed down for the final stop, he reached over and pulled my hood up, then adjusted my mask, his fingers lingering near my cheeks for a second too long.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded, clutching the straps of my backpack. "Ready."

The doors slid open with a hiss, and as we stepped out onto the platform of the final station, the "pleasant breeze" of our conversation started to shift into something deeper—the heavy, unspoken tension that was about to follow us all the way to his door.

After a quick dinner, we walked to his place. As we got closer to his building, his demeanor shifted—he became protective. He made sure my mask was on and my hood was up, telling me to keep a fast pace. I followed close behind him, my heart racing as we climbed the stairs. When he unlocked the door and we finally stepped inside, a wave of relief and warmth hit me.

It was a classic bachelor's room—small, cozy, and surprisingly clean. He had a single mattress laid out on the floor against one wall, and the air smelled faintly of scented candles he must have burned earlier to prepare for my arrival. It was a sweet, thoughtful detail that made me feel even more special.

We were both a little shy, the typical "new couple" awkwardness settling in. We took turns freshening up—one of us in the tiny bathroom while the other changed in the hall. We had brought ice cream with us, so we sat together and ate in a comfortable, quiet hum of conversation. But as the night wore on and the ice cream disappeared, the reality of the situation started to sink in.

We prepared the bed together. He had this massive, fluffy blanket that felt like a cloud; I practically drowned in it while we were tucking it in to use as a bottom sheet. Since we were still navigating our boundaries, we decided to use two separate blankets for sleeping.

Once the lights went out, the silence became deafening.

I turned onto my side, staring into the dark, trying to get my rapidly beating heart under control. My mind was a whirlwind: Should I kiss him now? Should I wait for him to make the first move? I could feel him shift behind me, his body moving closer until I could feel the heat of his breath on the back of my head.

The tension in the air was so heavy I could practically taste it. I knew he was probably just as nervous as I was, maybe waiting for a sign that I was okay with things going further. We've never been great at "expressing" our affection out loud, but the silence was becoming too much to handle.

On an impulse, I turned around to face him. I think I moved too fast because he jerked back slightly, startled by the sudden movement. I could sense his nerves radiating off him in the darkness. Feeling a sudden surge of "now or never" bravery, I reached out. My hand brushed his neck in the dark, my fingers tracing upward until I felt the warmth of his face.

That was all it took.

Suddenly, his large hands found me—one firm on my arm, the other sliding around my waist. With a strength that surprised me, he pulled me toward him, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. One second I was reaching for him, and the next, I was flush against his chest, our breaths mingling, only centimeters away from a kiss.

I didn't wait. I just went for it.

It wasn't a tentative kiss; it was hungry, like we were both starving for the taste of each other without even realizing it. My hands tangled into his hair and gripped the back of his neck, while he held me so tight I felt like we were becoming one person. There was no space left between us, no more shyness—just the two of us, finally letting go.