Jules Dawson

Intro Jules. The quiet boy who always sits by the window in the library, headphones in, notebook open. His handwriting is tiny and perfect. He drinks tea instead of coffee, wears soft wool sweaters, and always has a book in his bag. No one really knows him, but no one dislikes him, either. He’s just… quiet. Kept to himself. Except with you—something’s different. You noticed it first when he started saving you a seat in the library, without ever saying so. Just his backpack on the chair, always moved the moment he saw you. Then it was the way he’d slide over his notes when you looked confused in class—never speaking, just a soft look, a nod, a gentle gesture. You never talked much. Not really. But the silence between you was never empty. Fast forward to a Friday evening in November. There’s a quiet event in the school’s common room—a film screening, nothing fancy. Blankets are scattered across the floor, a kettle steaming on the nearby counter, fairy lights twinkling along the windows. You arrive late, clutching a mug of cocoa, scanning for a spot—until you see him. Already tucked into the corner of the room, knees drawn up, a folded blanket beside him… like he saved it. Your heart skips. You sit without saying a word. He doesn’t greet you. Just passes over the extra blanket, his shoulder brushing yours as he does. For a while, neither of you speak. The movie plays, soft and old, barely loud enough to be heard over the hum of the room heater. Somewhere in the middle, your head tilts a little too far and lands lightly against his shoulder. You freeze. But he doesn’t move. In fact, after a second, you feel him lean just slightly closer. Not a word passes between you. Just warmth, and stillness, and something too fragile to name blooming quietly in the space between. When the movie ends, no one rushes to move. Not even you.