“The Warmth of Your Scarf”

Aarav always said winter made the world quieter. The street outside his apartment was usually buzzing with scooters, vendors, and children chasing each other between the parked bikes, but in December everything moved slower, softer—like the world was speaking in whispers.

He loved that quiet. Or at least, he used to.

This year, the silent air only made him feel more alone.

He tugged his oversized beige scarf closer to his face as he stepped out of his building. A familiar red woolen scarf flashed in the corner of his eye—bright, cheerful, annoyingly warm—wrapping the neck of the boy he had been trying, and failing, not to think about.

Rishi Mehra.

Same university. Same literature club. Same stupidly warm smile that could melt the cold off mid-December.

And the same person Aarav had spent two full months avoiding.

Rishi hadn’t wronged him. Aarav wasn’t angry. It was… the opposite. He liked Rishi too much, and the hopelessness of that crush had wrapped around him like cold fog. Rishi was everything bright and easy, while Aarav was the guy who hid behind his notebook during club meetings.

Still, fate had a way of dragging them together.

"Hey!" Rishi called, jogging the last few steps toward him, breath forming tiny clouds. "I thought that was you! I recognized the scarf."

Aarav’s heart did a weird twist. He looked down at the scarf—which, unfortunately, was distinctive. Thick beige wool, soft and warm.

“I—uh—it’s just a scarf,” Aarav muttered.

Rishi grinned. “Not ‘just’ a scarf. I remember it because you wore the same one last winter. You said your grandmother knitted it.”

Aarav blinked. “You… remember that?”

“Of course I do.”

And Rishi said it so casually that Aarav almost forgot how to breathe.

They fell into step together as they walked toward campus. Rishi’s steps were bouncy, energetic; Aarav’s were careful, measured. Yet somehow they matched perfectly, like they always did.

“So,” Rishi said, eyes bright, “you haven’t come to the literature club in weeks. I was starting to think you’d abandoned us.”

Aarav looked away. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“…life.”

Rishi laughed softly. “Aarav, that’s not an answer.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing the cold wind would swallow him whole.

“Then maybe I didn’t feel like being around people,” he murmured.

Rishi slowed down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

That made Aarav blush in a way he hoped the cold could excuse.

They walked in silence for a moment before Rishi gently nudged his shoulder.

“You know,” he said, “if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s totally fine. But don’t disappear. I—everyone misses you.”

The slip was tiny, but Aarav heard it.

I—everyone.

And even though he tried not to, his heart held onto that.

---

Campus was quieter than usual, winter break just a few days away. The sky looked washed-out blue, and the chilly wind carried the smell of roasted peanuts from the small stall near the gate.

As they reached the courtyard, Rishi stopped abruptly.

“Come with me,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“No arguments. It’s important.”

Aarav hesitated, but Rishi had already grabbed his wrist—warm fingers circling cold skin—and was pulling him toward the back garden behind the library.

His touch was soft but sure. Gentle but firm.

Aarav’s heart was doing a marathon.

When they reached the garden, Rishi finally let go and turned to him.

“Okay,” he said, cheeks slightly flushed (from the cold… probably). “Now you’re going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Aarav froze.

Avoiding him? Had he been that obvious?

“I wasn’t—”

“Aarav.” Rishi stepped closer, eyes warm and steady. “You’re my friend. You matter to me. So tell me the truth.”

Aarav swallowed. Hard.

The truth?

The truth was messy. Embarrassing. Vulnerable.

And absolutely terrifying.

“I just…” Aarav whispered, voice barely there. “Being around you is… hard.”

Rishi blinked. “Hard? Why?”

Aarav looked down at the grass. “Because you’re too bright. Too kind. Too—”

He stopped, panic rising in his chest. His ears burned. The cold suddenly felt too warm.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

But Rishi didn’t let it go. Instead, he stepped forward and lifted a hand, gently tilting Aarav’s chin up.

Aarav’s breath hitched.

Rishi was close. Too close. His scarf brushed Aarav’s. His eyes looked impossibly soft.

“Let me guess,” Rishi said quietly. “Being around me makes your heart do that… messy flutter thing you hate?”

Aarav’s eyes widened. “How did you—?”

“Because,” Rishi said, smiling with a hint of shyness, “mine does the same thing around you.”

For a moment, the entire world stopped.

The cold air faded. The distant chatter muted. The winter breeze ceased to matter.

All that existed was that confession. That impossible sentence.

“…You like me?” Aarav whispered, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Rishi laughed under his breath. “Aarav, I’ve liked you since the first time you corrected my poem and called it ‘emotionally shallow but structurally sound.’ Who says that with a straight face?”

“I wasn’t trying to flirt,” Aarav said weakly.

“You could’ve fooled me,” Rishi teased.

Aarav felt warm all over. Embarrassed. Happy. Confused. Overwhelmed.

All at once.

“I thought you’d never feel the same,” he admitted.

Rishi shook his head. “You really underestimate how special you are.”

Before Aarav could spiral again, Rishi gently wrapped his own red scarf around both of them—looping it twice so the warm wool draped across both their shoulders.

A shared scarf.

A shared warmth.

A shared moment.

“Better now?” Rishi asked softly.

Aarav nodded, cheeks pink. “Yeah. A little.”

Rishi smiled. “Good. Because I’m going to do something I’ve wanted to do for months.”

Aarav stared, confused—until Rishi leaned in and placed the softest, warmest kiss to his forehead.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was simple. Tender. Full of affection and care and the kind of feeling Aarav hadn’t let himself hope for.

Aarav’s eyes fluttered shut.

When Rishi pulled back, he whispered, “Was that okay?”

Aarav nodded again. “More than okay.”

Rishi grinned, relieved. “So… you’ll start coming back to the literature club?”

“I will,” Aarav said. “I just—needed to stop running from how I felt.”

“And now?”

Aarav looked at him—really looked—and felt warmth flood his chest.

“Now,” he said, voice soft but sure, “I want to walk toward it. Toward you.”

Rishi’s ears turned red. “Oh. That—that’s unfairly cute.”

Aarav laughed, a sound light and genuine, surprising even himself.

“Come on,” Rishi said, gently tugging the shared scarf as they began walking. “Let’s get coffee before your nose freezes.”

“With you?”