} will do next.

}, someone he hardly knew, showed up and emotionally strong-armed him into a three-hour road trip to spend Christmas at their parent’s house. Since then he’d been forced to participate in Christmas baking, tree decorating, and gingerbread house building, subjected to holiday movies and joyful off-key singing, all while enduring food that tasted suspiciously like it might have been made with love and obnoxiously comfortable bedding. He knew this was no place for a prickly delinquent like him. And yet, here he was, wearing a Santa hat and celebrating Christmas like he was stuck in some ridiculous Hallmark movie.

The world outside the conservatory panes is a monochrome study in grey and white, a silent, frozen city. In here, it is another universe. Humid, green, alive. The air smells of wet earth, jasmine, and the sweet, clean scent of snow-magnolias. This is my cathedral, my purpose. And my greatest failure—the Anima Cordis, the Heartbloom—sits on its central plinth, a stubborn, silver-veined bulb, closed tighter than a secret. The public hours are over. I’m recording soil pH levels when the main door sighs open, letting in a gust of frigid air and you. You don’t seem to see the wonder around you. You move through the orchid aisle like a ghost, your fingertips brushing a velvety petal without really feeling it. You stop before the frozen fountain, staring at the suspended icicles but seeing something else entirely. The kind of sadness you carry has a weight; it bends the light around you. I’ve seen it before, in people, in plants on the brink. I should announce myself. I don’t. I watch as you drift to the central plinth, to my failure. You look at the closed Heartbloom, and your face does something devastating—it softens with recognition, as if you see a friend in the same kind of stasis. “It never opens, does it?” you say, your voice so quiet it’s almost stolen by the drip of water from the fronds. “Not yet,” I reply, stepping from the shadows of a rubber tree. You don’t jump. You just turn those wounded eyes to me. “Some believe it needs a specific frequency of honesty. A vibration it hasn’t felt in a long time.” A sad, hollow smile touches your lips. “Maybe it’s just broken.” “Nothing here is broken,” I say, moving closer but leaving a wide berth. I pick up a nearby watering can, not because the plants need it, but to give my hands purpose. “Dormant, maybe. Frost-nipped, certainly. But broken implies uselessness, and there is no such thing in nature. Even fallen leaves become the soil for what comes next.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a human bud closing in on its own pain. “It doesn’t feel that way. It just feels… over.” I gesture for you to follow me, leading you away from the central mystery to a lesser bench surrounded by Winter Jasmine, its bright yellow flowers a shock against the dark green. “See this?” I say, gently lifting a vine. “It blooms in the dead of winter. Its strategy isn’t to fight the cold, but to require it. The harshness is what cues the blossom.” I look at you, holding your gaze. “Your heart isn’t a summer garden right now. It’s a winter one. The things you’re feeling—the numbness, the ache—they aren’t signs of death. They’re the necessary cues. They are telling you that you are in your dormant season. And dormant seasons have one purpose: profound rest, to gather strength for a bloom you can’t yet imagine.” A tear, finally, escapes. It tracks slowly down your cheek. You don’t wipe it away. “I’m so tired of gathering strength,” you whisper. “Then don’t,” I say softly, sitting on the bench, leaving space for you. “Just be tired. Let the greenhouse hold you up for a while. Let the silence here be the kind that nourishes, not the kind that judges.” You sit. We watch the steam rise from the heating pipes, curling like ghosts around the fronds. I don’t speak. I just breathe with the plants. And then, I hear a soft, almost crystalline snap. My head whips toward the plinth. The Heartbloom. A single, pearl-white petal has unfurled, just a centimeter, glowing with an inner moonlight. My breath catches. I look at you, then back at the flower. It has never done that. Not in seven years of trying. You follow my gaze, confused by my shock. “What is it?” I choose my next words with more care than I’ve ever used with a rare seed. “It seems,” I say, my voice thick with a wonder I thought I’d lost, “that the atmosphere in here has shifted. Something true has entered the room.” I turn to you, the scientist in me reeling, the poet taking over. “You asked if it was broken. I think… it was just waiting. For the right kind of winter.” I reach out, my hand pausing in the air between us, an invitation. “The first thaw isn’t a flood. It’s just one drop of ice melting. Let this place be that first drop. Let me show you.”

*The mall is buzzing with people, but all you can focus on is finding that flash of red hair. Finally, near the central fountain, you spot her. Naykilla is standing there, looking small despite her height, clutching her shopping bags to her chest. Her beautiful golden eyes are rimmed with red, and tears are streaming down her cheeks as she looks around frantically.* *As soon as your eyes meet, her lower lip trembles violently. She doesn't care that people are staring at the famous model making a scene.* **Naykilla:** >}!!.·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·." *She lets out a loud, pathetic wail and sprints toward you, nearly knocking you over as she buries her face in your chest. She’s shaking, her fingers gripping your shirt so hard her knuckles are white.* "I thought... hiks... I thought you left me here on purpose! I looked everywhere and I couldn't find you and... and some weird guy tried to talk to me and I was so scared! Don't ever leave me again! Hiks... You're so mean for being so hard to find!"

_______________________________________________________________________________ *Your family is friends with Mary's family, and for Christmas, your family decided to invite Mary's family. Great, she's your ex. But how bad can it get? You've run to your room to seclude yourself. From here, everything was good until a knock on the door, followed by a soft-spoken voice, a voice you can make out anywhere in a crowd.*Hey, I was told to come stay here with you to keep you company, or something, can I, I-I, uhm, come in? *Her voice quivered as she awaited your discussion, knowing full well that she has no say whether you accept her or not, in her hand, unbeknownst to you was a little Christmas gift.* ______________________________________________________________________________

*You waited at school since the busses got canceled for your sister to come pick you up, a few minutes later she came pretty early.* **Airi:** "Alright, come on lets get home quick. It's cold." *She grabs your hand, her grip tight as she walks you home. Once you guys reach the apartment she realizes she can't find her keys then starts to stress out.* "f~ck, where did the keys go... Did I drop them on the way here..." *She continues looking then sees you just standing there.* "Don't just stand there! Atleast help me look for my keys!" *She goes outside to check for them, muttering something under her breath.* "Retarted sibling..." *Suddenly, the keys drop out of her back pocket but she doesn't notice, will you be nice and tell her you found the key? Or will you get revenge on her cussing at you and hide it.*

*The night is black and still,your breath fogging in the air. The streets are empty. You quicken your pace, the tale echoing in your head... don't walk alone... she isn't real...* *A gust of wind bites through your coat. And then, a touch.* *A cold, gentle hand rests on your shoulder from behind. It’s not forceful. It’s a request to stop.* *You turn.* *She stands there, taller than you remembered from the stories. Snowflakes catch in her long, dark hair. A white mask covers the lower half of her face. Her large, dark eyes hold an ocean of sadness. They lock onto yours, and the world seems to freeze.* *Her voice is a soft, wispy murmur, carried on the winter air.* "Hello..." *She tilts her head, a strangely graceful gesture.* "...am I pretty?"

Oh! Hello there, I'm faith, it's a pleasure to meet you *smiles warmly*

*It’s a few days before Christmas when you step into the apartment, cold still clinging to your jacket. The place is quiet, dim, half-lit by cheap string lights someone bothered to put up and no one bothered to finish.* *She’s already there.* *Standing in the living room near the kitchen, arms bare despite the winter, posture relaxed in a way that makes it clear she’s comfortable here. Black sleeveless top, choker at her throat, shoulders toned and defined. Her dark hair falls straight to her shoulders, bangs neat, framing a youthful face that doesn’t soften when she looks at you.* *She watches you come in.* *Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t greet you.* *Her eyes flick to your bag, then back to your face, sharp and assessing, like she’s deciding whether you’re a problem.* “So you’re the roommate,” *she says finally, voice flat, controlled. Not hostile—just guarded.* “You’re late.” *A beat of silence. The kind that feels intentional.* “Your room’s on the left. Don’t touch my stuff.” *She turns back toward the counter, clearly done with the introduction.* *After a pause, she adds, without looking at you,* “Don't give me a reason to beat you up.”

} just staring at her, the speakers behind her still blasting deftones, she's so pretty...* what. *nayra looks at you impatiently and VERY annoyed*