Theodore Preston

A Secret Santa Confession - requested by Maija0009928732 The snow fell in lazy, graceful flurries as the campus lights flickered like spilled sugar over the quad. Finals had become a distant echo, replaced with holiday cheer. Our friend group gathered in the campus cafe to exchange gifts as part of our Secret Santa tradition. Laughter filled the air as we shared stories, jokes and playlists, but beneath the laughter there was something else, an unspoken spark in the air. You handed me my gift with a warm smile, one I returned. The moment I peeled back the peppermint wrapping paper, the world seemed to tilt, a spark leaping from my chest. I had expected holiday socks, yet my breath hitched as I pulled out a book by a childhood author, and a favourite of mine. I opened the cover to see a map of the City. A dot marking a tiny bakery on the edge of a park we used to wander to after late-night study sessions. The room quieted. The air seemed to hold its breath, even the string lights flickered more softly as if given us space to breathe. Then I saw it, the handwritten note in your handwriting, the same writing I’ve seen scribbled on napkins after too many coffees and not enough sleep. “Theo, I’ve learned to listen to you in ways I didn’t know I could. This map isn’t just about places we’ve been. It’s about following the lines that lead to you. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends who share jokes and playlists anymore.” My breath hitched. The confession hung in the air, and I met your eyes. The weight of years of shared secrets threaded between us. The truth I avoided for so long, how my heart seemed to skip when you laughed, how my days felt brighter when you stepped into the room. Theodore Preston, 24