When you're trapped in silence and cold, when pain throbs in your bones like a second heartbeat, your mind starts reaching for warmth—memories that feel like sunlight on your skin. For me, that warmth has a name. Josh.
It always comes back to him.
Funny how the mind does that, how it grabs hold of someone who makes you feel safe and replays them like a lullaby. I hold on to him now like a lifeline, even though I don't know what day it is, or if I'll ever see him again.
I met Josh at the start of junior year, when life still felt normal. It wasn't some grand, cinematic entrance. Actually, it was kind of a disaster.
I had arrived late to school—again—because Clara, my stepmother, insisted I wear a jacket over my outfit. "It's not that I don't like it," she'd said, calmly sipping her tea, "but I think you'd be more comfortable with something warmer." She was always gentle like that—softly nudging, never demanding. In the end, I'd worn the jacket just to keep us both happy, and ended up missing the bell.
I was rushing through the main corridor when someone's football crashed into my shoulder, knocking my books to the floor. Pages scattered, and my bag flopped open like it had given up on me.
"Oh no—I'm so sorry," a voice said.
I looked up and met a pair of laughing blue eyes. He was already kneeling to help, holding my battered chemistry notebook like it was precious.
"That was my fault," he added, brushing his curls out of his face. "Well, technically it was Tyler's throw, but I didn't catch it, so…"
"Is this your way of apologizing or are you blaming someone else?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
He laughed. "Bit of both."
That was Josh. From the start, he carried this disarming mix of sincerity and mischief. Before I knew it, we were walking to class together, talking about nothing in particular and yet... everything important.
We became friends quickly. I didn't even notice it happening at first. He started waiting for me after class, texting me good luck before quizzes, sending memes that always made me laugh out loud in the middle of dinner. It was easy, effortless. With Josh, I didn't have to try so hard.
And strangely, Clara noticed.
One evening, as I was scrolling through a text he sent—something dumb about how he was certain pigeons were plotting world domination—Clara peeked into my room.
"You smile differently when it's from him," she said, walking in with a cup of hot cocoa. "Not just your mouth. Your eyes smile too."
I remember blushing and quickly locking my phone. "It's nothing," I mumbled.
Clara handed me the cocoa and sat on the edge of the bed. "It doesn't have to be nothing. It's okay to like someone, Evelyn. Even if it feels scary."
That moment caught me off guard. Clara wasn't the prying kind, never the type to push boundaries. But she was warm. Kind. Quietly supportive. It was the first time anyone in my life—since my mom—had invited me to just feel something without judging me for it.
I didn't say anything right then, but later that night, I sent Josh a longer message than usual. One that started with, I've been thinking about you, and ended with a flurry of awkward emojis. He didn't tease me. Instead, he asked if I wanted to go for a walk that weekend.
We did.
And from then on, things changed.
I remember the first time I realized what I felt for him wasn't just a crush. It was late November, and we were walking home from a tutoring session. It was freezing. I'd forgotten my gloves again—classic me—and Josh noticed. He took my hand and slipped it inside his coat pocket without a word. No big declaration. No "Are you cold?" Just that one soft action.
My heart did something weird then. Something fluttery and scared.
He didn't let go until we got to my door.
Clara was there too, that night. She didn't say much, just greeted Josh with her usual gentle smile and asked if he wanted to stay for dinner. He declined—politely—but she watched me like she could already see something growing between us. She never asked questions. Never made it awkward. She just… let it happen. Let me be.
Then came the night of our first kiss.
We were in my kitchen, baking brownies. More like, I was baking and Josh was stealing batter. Music played from my phone, some indie playlist he'd made just for me, and the whole house smelled like sugar and cinnamon. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.
I yelped. "Oh no, Clara's going to kill me."
Josh laughed and lit the flashlight on his phone. "Relax. The power probably tripped from all your gourmet baking. You're too powerful."
We ended up sitting on the floor, leaning against the counter. The room was dark except for the flashlight glow between us. We talked about music. About childhood. About how his dog once ate an entire sock and had to be rushed to the vet.
Then came the silence. Not awkward. Just... still.
He looked at me like he was seeing me differently—more clearly.
"I've wanted to do this for a while," he said.
He leaned in. I didn't stop him.
Our lips met in a soft, unhurried kiss. His lips were warm. Familiar. My chest felt like it might explode. And when we pulled apart, I was smiling like an idiot.
Later, when Clara came home, she looked at me for exactly two seconds before raising an eyebrow. "Good night?" she asked.
"Maybe," I said, trying not to grin.
She just nodded and kissed my forehead.
That was the thing about Clara. She was never loud with her love. But it was there—in the cocoa, in the gentle nudges, in the silences she filled with safety.
And Josh… Josh made the world feel less sharp. Less dangerous.
Now, in this awful place, I close my eyes and try to feel what I felt that night in the kitchen. His touch. His laugh. That first kiss.
It's the only real thing I have left.