My first morning in Rotterdam didn't start with the chirping of birds or soft sunlight like in the movies, but with an enthusiastic banging on my bedroom door. "Auntie Celly! Wake up! It's snowing!"
Arthur's shout—or maybe it was Noah, I still couldn't tell their voices apart—made me jolt up from under the thick blanket. The clock on the wall showed seven in the morning. In Jakarta, at this hour, I'd usually just be getting home from an after-party or still curled up under a silk blanket with a pounding hangover.
But today, my head was clear. Cold, but clear.
I dragged my feet to the window. Sure enough. Outside, the red brick roofs of the neighboring houses were already covered in a thin white layer. The first snow of November. The view felt foreign but oddly comforting, as if the worl
