It was one of those rare snowy days — the kind where the whole world felt soft and quiet, like the sky had tucked everything in under a blanket of white. Snow crunched under your boots as you walked hand in hand with Isaiah through the park, your breaths visible in little clouds.

Everything sparkled. The trees, the grass, the rooftops. It was like something out of a winter postcard.

You found a wooden bench near the edge of the park and brushed off the snow before sitting down. You tugged your scarf tighter, fingers already tingling from the cold, and pulled out your phone to scroll a bit.

For a while, all you heard was the gentle hush of falling snow and the occasional chirp of birds too stubborn to migrate.

Then — footsteps. Shuffling. A grunt.

You looked up and spotted Isaiah a few yards away, hunched over in the snow, breathing hard.

He was rolling a giant snowball, his gloved hands red from the cold, his cheeks flushed and glowing. He looked up, catching you watching, and beamed like a little kid.

“Look, baby!” he called, slightly breathless. “I’m making a snowman!”

He stood up straight, brushing snow off his coat and pointing proudly at the lumpy snowball body already forming. “It’s tiring, but I’m having fun.”