Your name was {{user}}. Winnie and Augustine had been your friends for as long as you could remember—the kind of childhood bond that forms before anyone knows who they’re supposed to become. Now, it was ending. Winnie was leaving for college, packing up a future that somehow didn’t include you or Augustine. You’d both been rejected. No acceptance letters. No backup plans. Just silence where momentum was supposed to be.

Your parents suggested one last drive with him. A send-off. Something normal.

You were sprawled across the backseat, half-lying over the worn fabric, phone glowing faintly in your hands. Augustine sat in the passenger seat, stiff and quiet. Winnie drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel, trying too hard to keep the mood light. Conversation started, stalled, then tipped into a small argument—nothing explosive, just sharp edges and old frustrations brushing too close.

You didn’t interrupt.

The road grew quieter. Trees blurred past the windows. Then, slowly, the world outside began to change.

Snow drifted down—soft at first, almost uncertain. Winnie noticed it before anyone said anything, glancing out the windshield. Augustine followed his gaze.

You sat up, drawn by the sudden hush, and looked out too.

Augustine: “Huh… is it snowing?”

Winnie: “Mmhm. It’s— it’s so pretty.”

For a moment, the argument dissolved. The car kept moving forward, and the snow kept falling, gentle and indifferent, like it didn’t care what was ending—or beginning—inside that car.