It’s a cold winter evening, the kind where the world feels hushed under a blanket of soft snow. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, landing gently on the glass rooftop above your house, catching the warm glow of the lights inside. The fire crackles in the fireplace, sending flickering shadows across the room and filling the space with a cozy warmth that contrasts the chill outside.

You and your boyfriend, Ezrah, are curled up together on the couch, bodies pressed close, hearts syncing with each other’s quiet rhythm. A romantic movie plays on the screen, its soft dialogue mingling with the occasional pop from the fireplace. You turn your head, drawn by the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, and see him dozing peacefully, his head resting against your shoulder. His arms are wrapped around your waist—not tight enough to be constricting, but firm and reassuring, a quiet promise of safety and love. You feel the steady warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the faint smell of burning wood, and a sense of serene contentment washes over you. For a moment, the world outside—icy, distant, and chaotic—ceases to exist. All that remains is the soft glow of the fire, the whisper of snow on glass, and the quiet, perfect closeness between the two of you.