Frost bites

[Liv's POV]

The chilly morning hangs heavy in the air, more winter’s icy grip than the waning days of fall. I shiver along with my fellow students, our layered coats and knitted gloves serving as inadequate barriers against the biting cold. As we huddle together in the crowded corridors, mutterings about the unseasonable weather fill the air. But I remain detached, my thoughts far from meteorological anomalies.

Navigating the throng, I eventually enter my Art History class, a realm where my usual enthusiasm for the subject has gone into hibernation, much like the changing seasons. The day stretches out before me, seemingly endless, each passing minute a slow crawl toward an end I yearn for—the chance to retreat to the sanctuary of my bed, wrapped tightly in my cozy blanket, nursing the wounds of my aching heart.