Chapter Three — A Winter Routine

After that, Arone slowly became part of my everyday life.

Not in a dramatic way.

It happened quietly.

Through shared notes.

Through unfinished homework.

Through small arguments that somehow became normal.

Every morning, he arrived before first period and immediately started bothering me.

“You forgot your homework.”

“I did not.”

“It’s inside your history book.”

I froze.

Then quickly opened my bag.

Exactly where he said.

I looked at him suspiciously.

“How do you know these things?”

“You’re predictable.”

“You sound creepy.”

“You sound unprepared.”

I glared at him while he looked completely pleased with himself.

Unfortunately, this became our routine.

Arguing before class.

Complaining during mathematics.

Fighting over desk space.

Then somehow laughing again before lunch.

One cold morning, I walked into class half asleep while rubbing my freezing hands together.

“I hate winter,” I complained dramatically.

“You say that every day,” Arone replied without looking up from his notebook.

“Because every day is colder.”

“You’re just weak.”

I dropped into my chair angrily.

“Some people are naturally sensitive.”

“Some people forget sweaters every week.”

“That happened twice.”

“It happened yesterday too.”

I stared at him.

“You remember too much.”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“Someone has to.”

Before I could answer, he quietly placed a paper cup beside my notebook.

Warm milk tea.

I blinked in surprise.

“What’s this?”

“You looked like you were dying.”

“I was surviving.”

“Barely.”

The cup felt warm against my cold fingers.

“You bought this for me?”

“You’re asking too many questions.”

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Unfortunately, Arone noticed immediately.

“There,” he said while pointing at me. “That smile.”

“What smile?”

“The one you pretend not to have.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“You’re bad at lying.”

I looked away quickly and took a sip of the tea instead.

It tasted sweeter than usual.

That afternoon during study hour, our teacher left the classroom for a meeting, which immediately turned the entire class chaotic.

Someone started throwing paper balls.

A group near the windows argued loudly about football.

Meanwhile, I was trying very hard to finish my history notes peacefully.

A paper suddenly hit my head.

I looked up immediately.

Arone sat beside me looking suspiciously innocent.

“Did you just throw that at me?”

“No.”

“You’re literally holding more paper.”

“That proves nothing.”

I narrowed my eyes before throwing the paper back at him.

Unfortunately, my aim was terrible.

The paper hit our class monitor instead.

The entire classroom burst into laughter.

Meanwhile, I covered my face in horror.

“Oh my God.”

“You’re actually hopeless,” Arone said while laughing beside me.

“This is your fault.”

“You threw it.”

“You started it.”

“I regret nothing.”

Then suddenly, without warning, he laughed properly.

Not the small annoying smirk he usually gave me.

A real laugh.

Bright.

Warm.

Careless.

For one second, I completely forgot what we were even arguing about.

I just stared at him quietly.

Because somehow, seeing Arone laugh felt different.

Softer.

Like I was seeing a side of him nobody else noticed.

He slowly stopped laughing after realizing I was staring again.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you forgot how to speak.”

My face instantly became warm.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet,” he replied calmly, “you still keep staring.”

I looked away immediately while he continued smiling beside me.

And somewhere between winter mornings, shared tea, and stupid arguments…

Arone had quietly become my favorite part of school.

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