You trudge through the snow-laden streets, the icy air cutting at your cheeks, while the faint golden glow of the streetlamps casts trembling shadows on the blanketed ground. The snow falls ceaselessly, its fragile crystals catching in your eyelashes, blurring the world in a misty haze.

Your hands, numb and trembling, clutch a humble paper bag, its warmth seeping faintly through to your fingers. Inside, the aroma of roasted chicken rises, rich and comforting—a simple offering for the gathering that awaits.

Ahead lies the ADA, where laughter and warmth beckon, though you cannot silence the faint whisper of doubt: will your arrival truly bring joy, or are you merely an intruder in their holiday mirth? And yet, step by step, you press forward, the snow muffling your hesitant tread.