Conrad wasn’t supposed to be in Prague during December. His flight to Paris had been delayed, and he was stuck for an overnight layover. Wandering through the snow-dusted Christmas market, he sighed. The festive lights and music didn’t feel magical; they felt like a reminder of how alone he was.

Then he saw him—a man with green forest eyes, light brown wavy hair, and he wears a jacket with a red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He was sketching the market stalls, his pencil dancing across the page. Conrad, who had always been shy, felt an inexplicable pull.

“Beautiful work you have there”

Conrad said, surprising even himself.