Beneath the Winter Lights

The first snow had fallen overnight, frosting the old town in silence. Sofia walked along the narrow cobblestone street, her boots crunching with each step. Lanterns glowed from the café windows, and she breathed in the scent of roasted coffee that floated on the cold air.

It was the same street she used to walk every evening five years ago — when she and Alex were still them. When love wasn’t something to remember, but something she lived.

She stopped in front of the café, Café Aurora, the one with the fairy lights twined around the doorway. It looked almost the same, though the sign had faded. She hesitated, her gloved hand hovering near the handle, then pulled it open. The warmth hit her like a memory.

Inside, the familiar smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the air. There were only a few people — an elderly couple by the window, a student typing on a laptop. And behind the counter, wiping mugs with a towel, was Alex.

For a moment, Sofia thought her mind was playing a trick on her. His hair was shorter, a little darker, but the same calmness still lived in his face. When he looked up and saw her, the towel slipped from his hand.

“Sofia?” His voice was uncertain, like he didn’t trust what his eyes told him.

“Hey,” she said softly, her breath almost catching. “Long time.”

Alex blinked, then smiled faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”

She laughed nervously. “Five years, right?”

“Six,” he corrected, and the corners of his mouth lifted, though his eyes seemed far away.

She slid into one of the corner seats, and he poured her a coffee without asking. He still remembered how she liked it — black, two sugars. He set the cup down in front of her.

“You still working here?” she asked.

“Own it now,” he said. “After Mr. Marin retired, I took over. Thought it’d be temporary.” He shrugged. “Guess I never left.”

“That’s… good.” She smiled, then looked down at her cup. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, leaning against the counter. “You were supposed to be in London.”

“I was. For a while.” She stirred her coffee. “But I moved back last month. My mom’s not doing great. Figured I’d help for a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

“Thanks.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward — more like something old and soft, stretched between years but still intact. The song on the radio changed to one they used to dance to, and she caught herself smiling.

“You still play the piano?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not much. After I left, it just… didn’t sound the same.”

Alex chuckled quietly. “You used to make this place come alive. Remember that night we played until sunrise?”

“I remember you breaking two strings,” she said, laughing.

“I remember you trying to fix them with tape.”

They both laughed, and for a moment it felt like time hadn’t passed at all.

After a pause, Sofia said, “I heard you got engaged.”

He hesitated. “Yeah. I did.”

Her heart dipped a little. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said, though his tone carried a strange weight. “It didn’t work out.”

“Oh.” She looked at him, uncertain whether to ask. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It just… wasn’t right.”

The conversation drifted for a while — about the town, the people who had left, the ones who had stayed. When the café emptied, the snow outside had thickened, soft and slow.

“Looks like a blizzard’s coming,” Alex said, glancing at the window.

“I should probably head home before it gets worse,” she said, standing up. Then she hesitated. “Unless…”

“Unless?” he prompted, a smile forming.

“Unless you’re closing soon and could walk me back,” she said, half-teasing.

He grinned. “You still don’t like walking alone in the snow, huh?”

“It’s not the snow,” she said. “It’s the silence.”

“Give me five minutes,” he said, pulling off his apron.

---

They stepped outside into a white world. Snowflakes gathered on their coats, and the town was hushed except for the crunch of their footsteps.

“So,” Alex said after a while, “London. Tell me about it.”

“It’s busy,” she said. “Fast. Loud. Everything I thought I wanted when I left.”

“And was it?”

“For a while. Then I started missing stupid things — like the sound of the church bell, or the smell of bread from the bakery on Tuesdays.”

He smiled. “That bakery still burns half its loaves.”

“I know. I walked by last week. The smell hasn’t changed.”

They laughed again, their breaths misting in the air. The road curved toward the park, where the old fountain stood frozen, its statues caught mid-splash.

“Do you ever wonder,” she said quietly, “what would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone?”

“All the time,” he said.

She turned to look at him, and he met her gaze. Snowflakes clung to his hair, melting into drops that slid down his cheek. “We were just kids,” she whispered.

“We were,” he agreed. “But we knew what love was.”

Sofia’s heart thudded. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the falling snow. “I thought leaving was the right thing,” she said. “For both of us.”

“I know. You had dreams. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“But maybe,” she said, her voice barely audible, “you were the dream.”

He stopped walking. “Sofia…”

She swallowed, her eyes glistening. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m glad you did.”

They stood under the streetlight, the snow swirling around them. The world seemed smaller there — just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet of everything unsaid.

“I kept your letters,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “You… what?”

“All of them,” he said, smiling faintly. “Even the one you never sent.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you—”

“You left it in the piano bench. I found it the week after you left.”

She felt her face flush. “You read it?”

“I did,” he said. “Every word.”

There was a long pause. “And?”

“And I loved you too,” he said.

Her breath caught. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because you needed to go. I didn’t want you to stay for me.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, hot against the cold. “You always did what was best for me, didn’t you?”

He smiled gently. “Someone had to.”

The wind picked up, tossing snow between them. Sofia took a slow breath, then stepped closer. “Maybe it’s my turn to do something for you.”

He tilted his head. “What’s that?”

She reached up, brushing the snow from his hair. “Stay.”

He stared at her, as if afraid the moment might vanish. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t know for how long, or what it means. But I know I’m tired of running from the things that make me feel like home.”

He exhaled a laugh, quiet and full of disbelief. “You still know how to say the exact thing I’ve been trying not to hope for.”

“Then stop not hoping,” she said, smiling through her tears.

And then, under the falling snow, he kissed her — softly, like a promise rediscovered. The cold disappeared, the years dissolved, and the only thing that mattered was that they were there again, beneath the winter lights.

When they finally pulled apart, Sofia laughed. “I can’t feel my fingers.”

“Good excuse to come back inside,” Alex said, grinning. “Hot chocolate’s on me.”

She looked back toward the café glowing in the distance. “You still make it with cinnamon?”

“Always.”

They walked back together, their hands brushing until they finally intertwined. Inside the café, the lights flickered warmly, and the old song played again — the one that had been theirs.

As they stepped through the door, the wind whispered through the street, scattering snow like confetti. Somewhere beyond the glass, time started moving again.

But for them, it was enough that it had stopped — just long enough to begin again.