Chilled air burned his nostrils. The meticulously folded sheet of paper bent and flapped in the icy wind, held tightly in his sweaty hand. Anxiety that the moisture from his fingers would warp the page, or even worse, smear the carefully crafted raw confession of love scrawled desperately across it, warred with his worry that he might not have it in hand when she emerged from her dorm to pass by, that he would miss his chance to give it to her, now that he had finally found the nerve to try. He put the paper in his pocket, then nervously took it back out again, shifting and shuffling his feet, wiggling his toes in his shoes to warm them.
Again the vibration of the phone in his pocket attempted to distract him from his task, and again he ignored it.