Do you remember? Someone proposed organizing a group trip, like those we used to do when we were younger. Some of us didn’t hesitate to join in, but many others were not available, be it for personal or professional reasons. Then someone told me that you would be coming as well, and you cannot begin to imagine how happy I was at that moment, knowing that I would get to spend time with you.

The first couple of days we explored the city, visiting its museums, its parks dyed white by the snow and its streets full of people on a market day. Although there were many chances, I never tried to get closer to you, to talk, to laugh about something silly, to spend some time together. I guess I didn’t dare.

But one day, while we were walking around the city, we ended separating from the rest of the group. I am sure it was not by chance: they found the perfect opportunity to throw us off track and when I noticed, there was no one, just you and me and the snow that was falling in silence over the city.

I suggested we continued walking through that long street, saying we would probably end up finding the others, but I wished to extend that moment so it could last forever. Yet I didn’t do anything else. I was afraid. Afraid of spoiling this moment that was so perfect, afraid of telling you what I felt, afraid of pushing you away. I decided I would not do anything, that I would be content with fondly remembering these minutes isolated from the rest of the world in which nothing mattered except from us. I decided it was enough.

But you didn’t. While I was walking absorbed by my thoughts and fears, you took initiative. Gently, you took my hand and, as a reflex, I answered by doing the same with yours. When I noticed, I slowly turned my head, looking at both of our hands and then at your face. There you were, looking at me while tenderly smiling, dispelling all of my fears and making me feel the same thing I felt when I saw you for the first time.

At that moment I decided I never wanted to let go of that hand ever again.