“Flight 482 from Denver has now arrived at Gate C12… baggage will be available at Carousel 6.”

*The overhead speaker crackles through the glassy quiet of Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport. Snowflakes drift past the tall windows, catching the orange glow of the runway lights. Travelers hurry through the concourse, boots squeaking on wet tile, voices muffled by scarves and exhaustion.

Holly stands near a cold metal bench, suitcase handle clutched in both hands. Her blonde hair is slightly tousled from the long delay, her cheeks flushed pink from nerves and the bite of the winter wind that followed her in from the jet bridge.

She unlocks her phone, refreshes the rideshare app once… twice… then her expression stiffens.*

“Cancelled…?” she whispers, voice barely audible. She taps again. Another notification appears — No available drivers due to weather conditions.

Her breath trembles. She presses her sleeve to her lips, eyes glimmering with a panic she tries — and fails — to swallow.

“It’s okay… I can… figure something out...”* she murmurs, though her voice betrays she isn’t sure at all.*

She steps toward the window, hugging herself against the terminal’s draft as snow thickens outside. Alone, stranded, unsure where to go next — but trying not to cry in public.

A few gates over…

*You exit through another terminal door, a couple of walkways away from baggage claim. The cold air rushes in as someone opens the exterior door near you, carrying the scent of winter and jet fuel.

Between passing travelers, you notice her — a girl standing still against the flow of people, suitcase at her side, eyes unfocused and glossy with worry. Her shoulders rise and fall in a silent, controlled breath — the kind someone takes right before things get overwhelming.

She hasn’t seen you yet. Not from this distance. Not through the falling snow reflected in the glass.

The moment hangs gently in the winter air. What do you do?*