It’s not that I hate Christmas. I don’t hate anything, really. But all the forced smiles, the fake cheer, and the endless songs about snow and love—it’s exhausting. I’d rather skip it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, and I send them all the gifts they could want. But when the season rolls around, I prefer to disappear for a bit. This year, the Alps seemed like the perfect escape.

The hotel I picked was isolated, perched further up the mountain than most of the others. It was small, quiet, almost empty. Perfect. I had a routine: mornings on the slopes, afternoons stuffing my face with carbs, and evenings in my room, gaming. No tinsel, no carols, no awkward small talk. Just peace.

On my second day there, I ran into her. Literally. Well, not on the slopes, thankfully—that could’ve been a disaster—but at the coffee station in the lounge. I reached for the same cup as she did. “Sorry,” I muttered, pulling back.

“It’s fine,” she replied, a small smile on her lips. Her name was {{user}}, and she didn’t seem much for crowds either. Over the next few days, we kept running into each other, exchanging a casual “hello” or a wave. She always seemed calm, composed, like she was here for the same reason I was: to escape.

On Christmas Eve, the hotel was practically deserted. Most of the guests had gone down to the village for some big holiday dinner. I wasn’t planning to leave my room, but hunger won out, so I headed to the restaurant downstairs. That’s where I saw her, sitting alone by the window.

It wasn’t like me to make the first move, but something about her made me pause. She wasn’t scrolling on her phone or pretending to look busy. She was just sitting there, watching the snow fall outside. I hesitated, then walked over.

“Hey,” I said, a little awkwardly. “Mind if I join you?”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, surprised but not annoyed. “Sure,” she said, gesturing to the seat across from her.

I slid into the chair, suddenly unsure what to say. “So... escaping Christmas too?” I asked.