Snowfall & Soft Promises

The city exhaled a silver breath that morning. It clung to the wool of my scarf, a delicate frost mirroring the quiet bloom in my chest.
He hadn't said much, only offered his coat and a shared silence against the biting wind. Most men would have rushed, demanded explanation. But Liam… Liam simply *was*. A steady presence amidst the chaos, like the ancient oaks lining this forgotten street.
I’d been running for so long, chasing ghosts in brightly lit rooms and frantic conversations. Each step had chipped away at something essential – a belief in kindness, perhaps, or the simple pleasure of existing fully in the moment.
The snow settled on my eyelashes, blurring the edges of the world. It felt… cleansing. Like letting go of the sharpest shards.
He turned his head slightly, and for just a heartbeat, our eyes met. Not a plea, not an expectation, simply acknowledgement. A warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the layers of wool around my neck.
Perhaps healing isn't about erasing the past. Perhaps it’s about finding a single, warm hand to hold in the falling snow – and trusting that even fractured things can eventually find their shape again.

Editor: Willow