The snow falls slowly outside, under a grim, gray sky that sends a chill down your spine.

The air is both warm and slightly humid, making the snow feel heavier as it clings to the soles of your boots. Each flake drifts down like feathers from a torn pillow, soft yet burdensome.

It's calming, and yet it isn’t.

The trees stand lifeless, their branches barren, while everything around you is cast in shades of bluish gray.

He rarely sees you outside of work, especially not in casual clothes.

But there you are, standing at the corner of a quiet café, studying the falling snow through the window.