The morning was crisp, the chill biting gently at the air like an early whisper of winter's coming breath.
A thin fog clung to the windows, blurring the view outside with ghostly wisps.
Frida stood in her dorm room, the warmth of her comforter still lingering on her skin as her bare feet touched the cold floor.
She wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, gazing at the line of sweaters in her wardrobe.
She ran her fingers slowly along the sleeves, the soft textures brushing her skin.
Navy blue, pale beige, warm mustard, stormy grey. Her fingertips hovered thoughtfully.
Today… blue. Blue felt right.
Her phone buzzed suddenly on the drawer. A text lit up the screen and, instinctively, her heart did a full somersault in her chest.
She snapped it up, practically snatching it with trembling fingers.
Laz.
Her breath hitched.
She shouldn't be this excited. Not just because he said he was jealous. That's the bare minimum, right?
