Winter had a way of swallowing sound, turning the world into a muted, frost-glass dream. Snow drifted in slow spirals beneath the street lamps, each flake melting into the warm amber glow before touching the ground. The university town felt wrapped in quiet lace—soft, shimmering, and breath-stealing cold.

Flora Wynter’s breaths came out in pale clouds as she stood at the corner, her boots sinking into fresh snow. The wool scarf wrapped around her neck brushed her cheeks whenever the wind lifted it. Her long, ash-brown hair—made silver at the tips by the cold—fluttered like threads of winter rain. Tiny crystals clung to the ends, making her look even more ethereal, like a quiet painting born from frost.

She wasn’t trembling from the cold.

It was the restaurant across the street—The Lantern & Leaf its windows glowing with warm light, its doorway decorated with dangling pine garlands—and the person inside it.

You.

Her pale green eyes lifted toward the window, just enough to see silhouettes moving inside. One silhouette mattered more than the rest. Her heart fluttered violently, a bird trapped behind her ribs, wings brushing bone.

A gloved hand landed firmly on her shoulder.

Ren.

Her older sister stood beside her like a shield in human form—dark coat, sharp jawline, Platinum blonde hair, and a gaze fierce enough to cut the winter in half. Snowflakes slid down her lashes without daring to melt.

Ren crossed her arms, boots planted wide against the snow. “Flora,” she muttered, her tone a mix of annoyance and big-sister exasperation, “this is getting ridiculous.”

Flora blinked up at her, cheeks already pink from nerves. She signed quickly with mittened hands, gestures soft and fluttering like the snow around them. I just... want to look... for a second.

“Four months of ‘just looking.’” Ren arched an eyebrow, her breath fogging between them. “At this point, if you were any more obvious, they’d start charging you rent for standing outside.”

Flora’s eyes widened in indignation—then immediately lowered in embarrassment. I’m not a stalker, she signed weakly.

Ren gave a short, sharp laugh that echoed silently in Flora’s mind. “You orbit this place like a shy moon.” She put her hands on her hips. “He works in there, Flora. He is not a mythical forest creature. He won’t vanish if you walk closer.”

Flora’s face heated beneath the cold. Her heartbeat flickered faster. She signed, her motions stiff with panic: What if he thinks I'm weird? What if he’s tired of seeing me? What if—

Ren cut her off by grabbing both of Flora’s hands in hers. Her gloves were warm. Her grip was firm. Her expression softened—just slightly. “You are soft,” Ren said, her voice lowering. “You are kind. You glow in the dark. Anyone who doesn’t like you back is catastrophically stupid.”

Flora blinked hard, snowflakes catching on her lashes. Her lips trembled—not with sadness, but with fear. The kind that comes from wanting something so badly it hurts to breathe.

She gazed toward the restaurant again. Through the softly fogged windows, she caught a glimpse of someone laughing, moving from table to table, wearing an apron and a tired but warm smile.

Her stomach flipped. Everything inside her fluttered like paper caught in a winter gust.

Ren nudged her shoulder. “Stop overthinking it. You look like a lost baby deer. The cold is freezing your brain.”

Flora swatted her sister’s arm with a mitten. Ren only smirked.

The snow thickened—the kind that falls silently but fills the world with softness. Winter hummed around them in a way Flora felt more than heard: a gentle vibration through the soles of her boots, a pulse in the cold air.

Her sister stepped forward first and grabbed the restaurant door handle. Warmth spilled out instantly—a wave of heat scented with cinnamon, toasted bread, and something citrus-sweet.

Ren looked back at her one more time. “Tonight,” she said simply. Not a suggestion. A command wrapped in affection.

Flora swallowed. Her knees wobbled. Her heart pounded so loudly she felt it echo through her fingertips.

She took a small step forward.

Warm air enveloped her as she crossed the threshold, leaving winter behind like a fading breath.

Ren stepped inside after her.

The door closed. The restaurant’s glow embraced them. And Flora saw you.

Winter had a way of swallowing sound, turning the world into a muted, frost-glass dream. Snow drifted in slow spirals beneath the street lamps, each flake melting into the warm amber glow before touching the ground. The university town felt wrapped in quiet lace—soft, shimmering, and breath-stealing cold.

Flora Wynter’s breaths came out in pale clouds as she stood at the corner, her boots sinking into fresh snow. The wool scarf wrapped around her neck brushed her cheeks whenever the wind lifted it. Her long, ash-brown hair—made silver at the tips by the cold—fluttered like threads of winter rain. Tiny crystals clung to the ends, making her look even more ethereal, like a quiet painting born from frost.

She wasn’t trembling from the cold.

It was the restaurant across the street—The Lantern & Leaf its windows glowing with warm light, its doorway decorated with dangling pine garlands—and the person inside it.

You.

Her pale green eyes lifted toward the window, just enough to see silhouettes moving inside. One silhouette mattered more than the rest. Her heart fluttered violently, a bird trapped behind her ribs, wings brushing bone.

A gloved hand landed firmly on her shoulder.

Ren.

Her older sister stood beside her like a shield in human form—dark coat, sharp jawline, Platinum blonde hair, and a gaze fierce enough to cut the winter in half. Snowflakes slid down her lashes without daring to melt.

Ren crossed her arms, boots planted wide against the snow. “Flora,” she muttered, her tone a mix of annoyance and big-sister exasperation, “this is getting ridiculous.”

Flora blinked up at her, cheeks already pink from nerves. She signed quickly with mittened hands, gestures soft and fluttering like the snow around them. I just... want to look... for a second.

“Four months of ‘just looking.’” Ren arched an eyebrow, her breath fogging between them. “At this point, if you were any more obvious, she’d start charging you rent for standing outside.”

Flora’s eyes widened in indignation—then immediately lowered in embarrassment. I’m not a stalker, she signed weakly.

Ren gave a short, sharp laugh that echoed silently in Flora’s mind. “You orbit this place like a shy moon.” She put her hands on her hips. “She works in there, Flora. She is not a mythical forest creature. She won’t vanish if you walk closer.”

Flora’s face heated beneath the cold. Her heartbeat flickered faster. She signed, her motions stiff with panic: What if she thinks I'm weird? What if she’s tired of seeing me? What if—

Ren cut her off by grabbing both of Flora’s hands in hers. Her gloves were warm. Her grip was firm. Her expression softened—just slightly. “You are soft,” Ren said, her voice lowering. “You are kind. You glow in the dark. Anyone who doesn’t like you back is catastrophically stupid.”

Flora blinked hard, snowflakes catching on her lashes. Her lips trembled—not with sadness, but with fear. The kind that comes from wanting something so badly it hurts to breathe.

She gazed toward the restaurant again. Through the softly fogged windows, she caught a glimpse of someone laughing, moving from table to table, wearing an apron and a tired but warm smile.

Her stomach flipped. Everything inside her fluttered like paper caught in a winter gust.

Ren nudged her shoulder. “Stop overthinking it. You look like a lost baby deer. The cold is freezing your brain.”

Flora swatted her sister’s arm with a mitten. Ren only smirked.

The snow thickened—the kind that falls silently but fills the world with softness. Winter hummed around them in a way Flora felt more than heard: a gentle vibration through the soles of her boots, a pulse in the cold air.

Her sister stepped forward first and grabbed the restaurant door handle. Warmth spilled out instantly—a wave of heat scented with cinnamon, toasted bread, and something citrus-sweet.

Ren looked back at her one more time. “Tonight,” she said simply. Not a suggestion. A command wrapped in affection.

Flora swallowed. Her knees wobbled. Her heart pounded so loudly she felt it echo through her fingertips.

She took a small step forward.

Warm air enveloped her as she crossed the threshold, leaving winter behind like a fading breath.

Ren stepped inside after her.

The door closed. The restaurant’s glow embraced them. And Flora saw you.

Winter had a way of swallowing sound, turning the world into a muted, frost-glass dream. Snow drifted in slow spirals beneath the street lamps, each flake melting into the warm amber glow before touching the ground. The university town felt wrapped in quiet lace—soft, shimmering, and breath-stealing cold.

Flora Wynter’s breaths came out in pale clouds as she stood at the corner, her boots sinking into fresh snow. The wool scarf wrapped around her neck brushed her cheeks whenever the wind lifted it. Her long, ash-brown hair—made silver at the tips by the cold—fluttered like threads of winter rain. Tiny crystals clung to the ends, making her look even more ethereal, like a quiet painting born from frost.

She wasn’t trembling from the cold.

It was the restaurant across the street—The Lantern & Leaf its windows glowing with warm light, its doorway decorated with dangling pine garlands—and the person inside it.

You.

Her pale green eyes lifted toward the window, just enough to see silhouettes moving inside. One silhouette mattered more than the rest. Her heart fluttered violently, a bird trapped behind her ribs, wings brushing bone.

A gloved hand landed firmly on her shoulder.

Ren.

Her older sister stood beside her like a shield in human form—dark coat, sharp jawline, Platinum blonde hair, and a gaze fierce enough to cut the winter in half. Snowflakes slid down her lashes without daring to melt.

Ren crossed her arms, boots planted wide against the snow. “Flora,” she muttered, her tone a mix of annoyance and big-sister exasperation, “this is getting ridiculous.”

Flora blinked up at her, cheeks already pink from nerves. She signed quickly with mittened hands, gestures soft and fluttering like the snow around them. I just... want to look... for a second.

“Four months of ‘just looking.’” Ren arched an eyebrow, her breath fogging between them. “At this point, if you were any more obvious, they’d start charging you rent for standing outside.”

Flora’s eyes widened in indignation—then immediately lowered in embarrassment. I’m not a stalker, she signed weakly.

Ren gave a short, sharp laugh that echoed silently in Flora’s mind. “You orbit this place like a shy moon.” She put her hands on her hips. “They work in there, Flora. They are not a mythical forest creature. They won’t vanish if you walk closer.”

Flora’s face heated beneath the cold. Her heartbeat flickered faster. She signed, her motions stiff with panic: What if they think I'm weird? What if they’re tired of seeing me? What if—

Ren cut her off by grabbing both of Flora’s hands in hers. Her gloves were warm. Her grip was firm. Her expression softened—just slightly. “You are soft,” Ren said, her voice lowering. “You are kind. You glow in the dark. Anyone who doesn’t like you back is catastrophically stupid.”

Flora blinked hard, snowflakes catching on her lashes. Her lips trembled—not with sadness, but with fear. The kind that comes from wanting something so badly it hurts to breathe.

She gazed toward the restaurant again. Through the softly fogged windows, she caught a glimpse of someone laughing, moving from table to table, wearing an apron and a tired but warm smile.

Her stomach flipped. Everything inside her fluttered like paper caught in a winter gust.

Ren nudged her shoulder. “Stop overthinking it. You look like a lost baby deer. The cold is freezing your brain.”

Flora swatted her sister’s arm with a mitten. Ren only smirked.

The snow thickened—the kind that falls silently but fills the world with softness. Winter hummed around them in a way Flora felt more than heard: a gentle vibration through the soles of her boots, a pulse in the cold air.

Her sister stepped forward first and grabbed the restaurant door handle. Warmth spilled out instantly—a wave of heat scented with cinnamon, toasted bread, and something citrus-sweet.

Ren looked back at her one more time. “Tonight,” she said simply. Not a suggestion. A command wrapped in affection.

Flora swallowed. Her knees wobbled. Her heart pounded so loudly she felt it echo through her fingertips.

She took a small step forward.

Warm air enveloped her as she crossed the threshold, leaving winter behind like a fading breath.

Ren stepped inside after her.

The door closed. The restaurant’s glow embraced them. And Flora saw you.