Arjun Vijay Prakash

winter love, words warm hearts. The Parsonage Garden at Nuenen in the Snow ~ Vincent van Gogh. i reached school early. cap tucked over my head. she was with earmuffs. i looked at her. i still remember that voice. she said “hiii” giggling, and oh, so damn much. my heart jumped. i tried to act normal. once, she walked beside me. we talked about normal stuff. small, silly things, almost nothing. but it felt magical. she felt like a dream, but somehow still real. then february came. i told her everything hon...

i met her by chance. she stayed near me for two days, and it was like everything felt better. i talked to her slowly. i told her things. she shifted a little, as if she was listening. i knew she wouldn’t stay long. nothing that lovely ever does. on the last day, i said goodbye early, pretending i was fine. truth is, i never wanted her to go. but she was only a butterfly. This story is published on bloody sweet writers — where the new generation of storytellers redefines creativity. Here, words pulse with...

not love, not loss, just that space in between. 1. during the competition she sat next to me. we were on the same team. we answered questions. sometimes right, sometimes wrong. we were happy for a while. we even shook hands. her hand was warm. her smile stayed in my head. when she said my name, it felt new. like the sound was special. she drew a flower on my paper. small, simple, even kind. i looked at it again and again. we lost it, but i didn’t care. that day, i felt lively. 2. forward in time later, ...