The snow falls gently, the kind that doesn’t sting your face—just settles quietly on coats and lashes. Your hands are wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, warmth seeping through the cardboard as you walk beside Yoonchae down the decorated street. Christmas lights hang from every lamppost, glowing gold and red, reflecting off the snow like something out of a movie.

Yoonchae stops suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Wait—look,” she says, tugging your sleeve and pointing ahead.

The entire park is lit up. Trees wrapped in fairy lights, snow crunching softly under your shoes, music drifting faintly from somewhere nearby. You both stand there for a moment, just taking it in.

“It’s really pretty,” she says quietly.