Snowbound with you

When the Snow listen

The café smelled like cinnamon and warm bread, a sharp contrast to the cold that clung stubbornly to Emma’s coat. She stood just inside the doorway, shaking snow from her hair, her pulse still unsettled from the walk over. The city had been unusually quiet—one of those winter mornings when even traffic seemed to move with restraint, as if the cold had asked it politely to slow down.

She spotted Liam immediately.

He sat near the window, elbows resting on the small wooden table, a mug cradled between his hands. Steam curled upward, fogging the glass beside him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, and for a brief, dangerous moment, Emma allowed herself to simply watch him.

There was a time when seeing him like this—unaware, unguarded—had felt like home.

Now it felt like standing at the edge of something fragile.

She took a breath and walked toward him. The chair scraped softly as she pulled it back. Liam looked up, surprise flickering across his face before something warmer replaced it.

“You came,” he said.

“I said I would.”

“I wasn’t sure you meant it.”

That stung more than she expected. Emma slipped out of her coat and folded it over the back of her chair. “I don’t make promises lightly.”

“No,” he agreed. “That’s kind of the problem.”

She met his gaze, steady. “Let’s not start like this.”

He exhaled, nodding once. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

A server appeared, taking Emma’s order, and the interruption gave them both a moment to reset. When they were alone again, the silence returned—but this time it felt less heavy, more tentative.

“I leave tomorrow evening,” Emma said.

Liam’s fingers tightened around his mug. “I know.”

“I wanted today to be… honest.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’ve been honest in fragments for years.”

“Then let’s try something new,” she said. “Let’s tell the whole truth, even if it’s uncomfortable.”

He studied her for a long moment, as if weighing whether he was ready for that kind of risk. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “You first.”

Emma looked down at her hands. “I’ve been offered a permanent role. Not just another contract.”

Liam’s expression shifted—controlled, but unmistakably impacted. “That’s huge.”

“It is,” she said quietly. “It’s everything I worked for.”

“And it’s not here.”

“No.”

The server returned with her coffee, setting it down gently before retreating again. The clink of porcelain felt too loud.

“So this trip,” Liam said slowly, “wasn’t just about seeing me.”

“No,” Emma admitted. “It was about deciding whether I could keep pretending that my life and my heart don’t want different things.”

He leaned back, eyes fixed on the snow drifting past the window. “And have you decided?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded, jaw tight. “At least you’re honest about that.”

She reached across the table, stopping just short of touching his hand. “Liam, I didn’t come here to ask you to wait forever.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Because I can’t.”

The words hung between them, stark and unavoidable.

“I don’t blame you,” she said softly.

“I don’t want blame,” he replied. “I want clarity.”

Emma looked up, meeting his eyes fully now. “Then here it is. I love you. I never stopped. But I don’t know how to fit that love into a life that keeps demanding more of me.”

Liam swallowed. “I’ve loved you through airports and missed calls and time zones that didn’t care if I was lonely. I just need to know if I’m still part of the future you’re building—or if I’m only a chapter you keep rereading.”

Her chest tightened painfully. “You’re not a chapter.”

“Then don’t treat me like one.”

The snow outside thickened, blurring the edges of the world beyond the glass. Emma felt as if they were sitting inside a snow globe—sealed off, suspended, watched by no one but fate.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “Scared that choosing you means giving up everything I’ve become.”

“And I’m scared,” he said just as quietly, “that not choosing you means losing the only person who’s ever truly seen me.”

Their eyes locked. Something shifted—not resolved, but exposed.

Emma stood abruptly. “Walk with me.”

Liam blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Before I lose my nerve.”

They paid quickly and stepped back into the cold. Snowflakes clung to their lashes, their coats, the space between them. They walked without speaking at first, footsteps crunching in unison.

“Do you remember,” Emma said finally, “the first winter we spent together?”

Liam smiled faintly. “You got lost in a snowstorm and blamed the city map.”

“And you waited for me anyway.”

“Of course I did.”

She stopped walking, turning to face him. “I need to know if you’d still wait—knowing I might never come back the same way.”

Liam didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her as if memorizing her face against the falling snow.

“I would wait,” he said at last. “But only if you promise you’re walking toward me—not away.”

Emma felt tears sting her eyes.

“I don’t know where I’m walking yet,” she said. “But I know I don’t want to walk alone.”

The snow fell harder, as if the world itself leaned in to listen.

And for the first time in a long while, neither of them stepped back.

The city outside glimmered in muted winter light, a pale wash of gray and silver that transformed streets into rivers of frost and reflections. Emma stood by the entrance of the café, the air biting at her cheeks, making her cheeks sting faintly. She drew her scarf tighter, brushing flecks of snow from her hair, her fingers trembling slightly—not from cold, but anticipation.

It was rare for her mornings to feel like this. Usually, she moved through her routine with deliberate precision: breakfast, emails, check-ins, planning her day. Today, each step was heavier, weighted by the uncertainty that had shadowed her since she boarded the train the day before.

She spotted him instantly. Liam. His posture was slightly hunched, elbows resting on the small wooden table, a warm mug between his hands. Steam coiled from the cup in lazy tendrils, rising to meet his soft exhale. He hadn’t noticed her yet, and for a moment, Emma let herself simply take him in: the tilt of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the casual way he ran a hand through his hair. He looked... unguarded. Human. Flawed in the way she loved.

She stepped forward, boots crunching lightly against the café floor. The sound seemed loud in the quiet morning, announcing her arrival before she could say a word. Liam’s head lifted slowly. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a soft, warm smile.

“You came,” he said, voice low and careful.

“I said I would,” she replied, letting her coat slide from her shoulders and folding it neatly over the back of the chair opposite him. Her hands lingered on the chair, gripping the edges for a moment longer than necessary.

“I wasn’t sure you meant it,” he admitted, and there was something in the way he said it that pricked her heart. Not disappointment, exactly, but wariness. A vulnerability that had grown sharper since distance had forced them apart.

Emma swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t make promises lightly.”

“No,” he said, voice quiet, almost teasing in its restraint. “That’s kind of the problem.”

A pause stretched between them, filled with the faint hiss of the espresso machine, the muted clink of cups, the quiet rustle of a newspaper from a nearby table. Emma could feel the weight of the unsaid, a tension that had been building quietly over weeks of delayed messages, missed calls, and the constant push and pull of long-distance.

“Let’s not start like this,” she said finally, soft but firm. She wanted honesty, yes, but not sharp edges. Not arguments before the snow had even begun to settle.

He exhaled slowly, nodding. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” There was a vulnerability there she hadn’t seen in months. A quiet confession without words.

The server arrived just then, placing a latte in front of Emma and retreating with a polite nod. The brief interruption allowed both of them to catch their breath, to reset, even as the undercurrent of tension persisted.

Emma sipped her coffee slowly, savoring the warmth and the subtle bitterness that mirrored the emotions she carried. “I leave tomorrow evening,” she said, the words spilling into the quiet like snowflakes drifting in still air.

Liam’s fingers tightened around his mug, knuckles blanching slightly. “I know,” he said, voice low.

“I wanted today to be honest,” she continued, setting her cup down with a gentle clink. “Completely honest. No pretenses, no half-truths.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound blending with the faint chime of the café door opening. “We’ve been honest in fragments for years,” he said.

“Then let’s try something new,” she suggested. “Let’s tell the whole truth, even if it’s uncomfortable.”

He studied her carefully. There was a pause so long it seemed like the café itself had stopped breathing. Finally, he nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “You first.”

Emma drew in a slow breath, feeling the faint warmth of coffee still lingering in her chest. “I’ve been offered a permanent role,” she confessed. “Not just another contract, not just another temporary assignment. Permanent. Stable. Everything I worked for.”

Liam’s eyebrows lifted, controlled, but unmistakably affected. “That’s huge,” he said quietly, almost as if afraid to disturb the weight of the moment.

“It is,” she said. “And it’s not here. It’s across the country, far from this city, far from you.”

He remained silent for a long moment, staring into his mug as if the warmth it held might offer guidance. “That’s… a lot to consider,” he admitted finally.

“I didn’t come here to ask you to wait forever,” she said, leaning slightly forward. “I came because I had to decide whether my love for you could coexist with the life I’ve built.”

“Good,” he said, almost a whisper. “Because I can’t wait forever either.”

Her chest tightened. “I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t want blame,” he countered. “I want clarity.”

Emma met his gaze fully now, letting the weight of her feelings show. “Then here it is. I love you. I never stopped. But I don’t know how to fit that love into a life that keeps demanding more of me.”

Liam’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I’ve loved you through airports, through missed calls, through time zones that didn’t care if I was lonely. I just need to know if I’m still part of the future you’re building—or if I’m only a chapter you keep rereading.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. “You’re not a chapter,” she said firmly. “You’re… more. You’re everything I can’t seem to define, and maybe I don’t want to. But I need to be honest about the life I’ve created too.”

The snow outside thickened, drifting down in lazy spirals, blurring the city lights, softening edges. Emma felt like they were inside a snow globe, suspended in a delicate world where only truth mattered.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice breaking just slightly. “Scared that choosing you means giving up parts of myself. And scared that not choosing you means losing you forever.”

“And I’m scared,” Liam replied softly, “that not choosing you means missing the only person who’s ever truly seen me.”

Their eyes locked, and in that frozen moment, the distance, the doubts, the months apart—all of it—felt both trivial and infinitely large. The café, the snow, the quiet, even the smells of coffee and bread, all fell away until there was only the truth between them.

Emma stood abruptly. “Walk with me,” she said, voice trembling with urgency.

Liam blinked. “Now?”

“Yes,” she said. “Before I lose my nerve.”

They stepped outside, the cold biting immediately, and snowflakes settled on eyelashes, coats, and scarves. Their footsteps crunched in the half-frozen sidewalks as they moved in silence, each step a test, each glance an unspoken question.

“Do you remember the first winter we spent together?” Emma asked softly after a long pause.

Liam smiled faintly, the memory warming him against the cold. “You got lost in a snowstorm and blamed the city map.”

“And you waited,” she said, the edge of emotion in her voice. “You didn’t leave.”

“Of course I didn’t,” he replied.

She stopped walking and turned to him. “Would you still wait?” she asked, her voice barely above the wind. “Even knowing I might never come back the same way?”

He hesitated, then studied her face as if memorizing it. “I would wait,” he said finally. “But only if you promise you’re walking toward me—not away.”

Emma felt tears sting her eyes. “I don’t know where I’m walking yet,” she admitted. “But I know I don’t want to walk alone.”

The snow continued to fall around them, soft, relentless, and somehow intimate, as if the world itself had paused to watch them.

For the first time in months, neither stepped back. And for the first time in months, they let themselves simply be, suspended in the quiet between storms.