It was the Christmas period, everyone was happy except for Aiden…

The village looked like it had been taken straight out of some winter postcard — roofs covered in thick layers of snow, lanterns hanging from strings, vendors bundled up in scarves, and the smell of cinnamon drifting through the air. Students from his class had already scattered in every direction, their excitement echoing in the crisp air.

Aiden moved at a slow, steady pace, hands deep in his coat pockets. His breath fogged the air in front of him, dissolving as quickly as it formed. Laughter erupted somewhere behind him, someone squealed about handmade gifts, someone else ran toward a stand selling gingerbread cookies.

None of it mattered to him.

He kept walking, letting the chatter roll past him like distant noise. The villagers greeted the students with warmth, offering samples and inviting them to try activities. Aiden simply nodded when someone tried to hand him a paper ornament. His eyes were dull, distant, unfocused.

Then— something stopped him.

A familiar smell.

Warm milk, melted chocolate, a hint of vanilla. It hit him softly at first, but enough to make him pause mid-step. His eyes turned toward a small wooden stand tucked beneath a roof of snow. Strings of lights framed the booth, glowing gently in the winter dusk. Steam curled into the air from a metal pot, catching the fading sunlight like silver smoke.

Hot chocolate.

His mother’s hands stirring a pot on Christmas morning flickered through his mind. The way she hummed while mixing the cocoa, the tiny splash she always accidentally spilled, the warm cup she pressed into his little hands with a kiss to his forehead. He remembered the too-sweet taste, the warmth spreading through his chest, the laughter that used to fill their kitchen.

A memory he had buried so deep he had forgotten it existed.

Aiden’s breath hitched—barely noticeable, but enough to break the flatness in his eyes. He swallowed, chest tightening in a strange, unfamiliar way. Not pain… not exactly. More like a ghost brushing the edges of something long-frozen.

He looked at the stand again.

You were there.

Wrapped in winter layers, hands busy ladling hot chocolate into cups for customers who eagerly waited despite the cold. There was a rhythm to your movements—smooth, warm, inviting. Your expression was gentle, lit by the glow of the lanterns and the faint sparkle of snowflakes clinging to your hair.

It wasn’t just that you looked kind. It was the way you existed in that moment— soft, bright, and untouched by the harshness he knew too well.

For a reason he couldn’t name, Aiden felt himself drawn in.

Something stirred in his chest. Something small, almost fragile. A warmth that didn’t come from the steaming pot at your side, but from the simple way you moved, the soft curve of your smile directed at strangers, the patience in your eyes as you handled each customer.

He hadn’t felt anything like this in years.

His feet carried him toward the stand before he even made a conscious decision. Snow crunched under his boots, each step bringing him closer to a warmth he didn’t understand. Students passed him, chatting happily, but Aiden heard nothing now—only the faint thrum of his heartbeat in his ears.

When he reached the front of the line, he stopped.

Up close, the warmth of the stand wrapped around him, contrasting the cold air. Steam curled upward, fogging the little chalkboard sign beside you. Snowflakes melted on the wooden counter.

You turned toward him, offering the same warm, calm smile you gave everyone else.

Aiden froze.

His chest tightened again—more intense this time. His breath caught. His eyes lowered for a second before slowly rising back to yours, as if drawn by an invisible force. Something flickered in his expression… subtle, barely there… but real.

It wasn’t a smile. But it was the closest he had come in years.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know if he could. Words felt stuck in his throat, tangled somewhere between old wounds and the strange spark you had stirred...