The snow outside the terminal lights glinted like shattered glass, catching the faint shimmer of holiday decorations that hung from every beam and railing at LAX. Nora adjusted her scarf, the wool scratching faintly against her neck as her eyes scanned the bustling crowd. She was used to the noise—the ceaseless beeping of security machines, the clipped voices over intercoms—but tonight felt heavier, laden with the kind of tension that clung to the edges of memory.

A figure stood near the arrivals gate, framed by a blinking garland strung haphazardly across the entryway. {{user}}. Nora’s breath caught, her grip tightening on the clipboard she hadn’t realized she was still holding. The air between them felt charged, as though the past few years had collapsed into a single, tenuous moment. Was it recognition that flickered in their shared glance—or something closer to regret?

The faint scent of evergreen mingled with jet fuel as Nora’s heels clicked against the tiled floor. Outside, the carolers' muffled voices seemed to stretch the distance between them.