The train rattled along the icy tracks, each clack of metal echoing like a distant heartbeat. Annalise pressed her forehead to the frosted window, watching the familiar outline of her hometown emerge through the winter haze. Snow blanketed the streets, softening the edges of buildings she once knew by heart. She hadn't seen this town in ten years, not since she had left in a hurry, carrying guilt and regrets in equal measure.
Her fingers drummed against the armrest of her seat, restless. She thought about the reasons she'd left—her family's quiet suffocating expectations, the feeling that nothing would ever change, the pain of leaving Liam behind. And yet, now she was returning, drawn by a strange mix of nostalgia and necessity. Something about this winter, this season, called her home.
The train slowed to a stop at the small station, the whistle echoing across the valley. Annalise pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and stepped onto the platform. The cold bit into her cheeks, making them glow, and the scent of pine and wood smoke hit her senses. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the familiar smells and sounds of her childhood wash over her. She had missed this more than she realized.
Her boots crunched through the snow as she made her way to the street, suitcase in tow. The town looked almost unchanged. The corner café where she had spent countless afternoons studying was still there, smoke curling from its chimney. The bookstore with its crooked sign and faded paint welcomed her like an old friend. Even the old lampposts, lining the main street like silent sentinels, had the same worn charm.
And then she saw him.
Liam.
He was standing near the café, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, head bent over a cup of coffee. Snowflakes melted against his hair, and for a moment, Annalise's heart stopped. He hadn't changed much—maybe a few more lines on his face, a hint of gray at the temples—but his eyes… his eyes were the same. Warm, steady, piercing in a way that made her feel both exposed and safe at the same time.
Her steps faltered. She hadn't expected to see him, not so soon. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of nerves and something else—something familiar and aching. And then he looked up.
"Annalise?" His voice caught slightly, and for a second, she thought he might turn away, disappear into the crowd, leave her standing there like she'd imagined a hundred times in her mind. But he didn't. He walked toward her, slow and steady, snow crunching beneath his boots.
"It's… been a while," she said, her words catching in the cold air.
"A long while," he replied, stopping just a few feet from her. His breath formed clouds in the air. He studied her face carefully, as if memorizing the changes, the subtle details that had evolved over a decade. "You've… changed."
She smiled faintly, shrugging. "I think everyone does. Don't they?"
He nodded, eyes flicking toward the street, then back to her. "Some changes are good."
The air between them carried the weight of unspoken words. Memories of childhood snowball fights, late-night confidences, shared secrets—they all lingered in that moment, tangible as the winter chill. Annalise felt a tug in her chest, a reminder of what she had left behind and what she might still find.
"I… I didn't expect to see you," she admitted, adjusting her scarf. "Not right away."
Liam's lips curved in a small, almost wry smile. "I didn't expect to see you either. But I guess the universe has other plans."
They walked together down the main street, boots crunching in the snow, exchanging small talk at first: the train, the weather, the town's changes. But beneath the casual words lay a current of tension, unspoken feelings that neither of them knew how to address just yet.
"Do you… do you want some coffee?" Liam asked, glancing toward the café. "For old times' sake?"
Annalise hesitated. The last time she had accepted a cup of coffee from him, it had been the day before she left town without a word. A day full of regret and what-ifs. But now, a decade later, she nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Inside the café, the warmth hit her immediately. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans wrapped around her like a hug from the past. The barista waved at Liam, who waved back before leading her to a corner table. The wood was scratched and worn, just as she remembered, but it carried a charm that made her chest ache with longing.
They ordered their drinks—hot chocolate for her, black coffee for him—and settled into the booth. For a moment, silence stretched comfortably between them. She studied him, noting the small changes: the way he rubbed his hands together for warmth, the quiet strength in his posture, the subtle smile that appeared when he thought no one was watching.
"I've thought about this day a lot," Liam said quietly, staring into his cup. "About what it would be like to see you again."
Annalise's fingers tightened around her mug. "Have you?"
He nodded. "Every year since you left."
Her heart ached. Ten years of unspoken words, missed opportunities, and lingering feelings. And yet, here he was, right in front of her, unchanged in ways that mattered most.
"I… I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice trembling. "For leaving. For not saying anything. For everything."
He reached across the table, brushing a snow-dusted strand of hair from her face. "I don't hold it against you. Not really. You left for reasons you couldn't explain then, and I understand that now."
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wasn't ready to break down in public. Not yet. "It's strange," she admitted. "Being back here. It feels… familiar and foreign at the same time."
He smiled, eyes warm. "That's the thing about home. You leave, you change, but it never really leaves you."
Outside, the snow continued to fall, coating the town in a pristine blanket of white. Inside the café, time seemed to stretch and pause, a moment suspended between past regrets and future possibilities. Annalise felt a cautious hope bloom inside her. Maybe, just maybe, returning wasn't just about facing the past. Maybe it was about finding what she had lost—and what she had never stopped feeling.
By the time they left the café, the sun was dipping behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the snow. Liam walked beside her, silent, but his hand brushed hers occasionally—a subtle, electric touch that made her pulse quicken. Words were unnecessary; the quiet companionship spoke volumes.
As they reached the main square, Annalise stopped, taking a deep breath of the crisp winter air. "It feels… good to be home," she admitted.
Liam smiled, looking down at her with a tenderness that made her heart thrum. "Then let's make sure it feels even better."
For the first time in a decade, Annalise believed that maybe, just maybe, the winter held more than cold and snow. Maybe it held the promise of warmth, love, and second chances.