Fairy Tales We Wrote
It’s been snowing for days. The wind roars outside the window, naked tree branches scratching against the frosted glass. Inside, the fireplace crackles softly, casting a golden glow across the room. The cafe is closed early—it’s Christmas night.
The room smells of freshly baked cakes, paneer, and coffee, the comforting scents mingling with the warmth of the fire. Paintings and Hogwarts house flags decorate the walls, lending the place the air of a cozy common room. On the cabinet sits a storybook, its golden letters catching the firelight: Fairy Tales We Wrote. Smiling faces fill the pages—under auroras, on white beaches, and in the wild forests of the Andamans. It tells the tale of two dreamers who built a home, a life, and a cafe together.
She sits near the fireplace, her silhouette framed by the flickering light. Her hair falls across her face, and she brushes it away, lost in thought. She hums a tune, soft and wandering, like a butterfly drifting over dandelion fields.
“Why did you stay?” she asks, her voice breaking the quiet.
I look at her, startled. “There was one reason,” I say with a grin, trying to lighten the moment. “You stole my heart, and I didn’t want to die without blood pumping.”
She smirks, but her gaze lingers on the fire. “Not always funny.” Her tone softens. “I’m serious. Why did you stay? We fell apart back then. You could have walked away.”
Her voice trembles, and my grin fades. I lean forward, clasping my hands. “There were so many reasons to leave, but I needed only one reason to stay. And I had it—I loved you. I still do. Since that winter evening in 2019, when you told me how I made your day sunny. I promised you the sun would always shine for you.”
“You remember that?” she asks, turning to look at me.
“I remember everything.” I smile a little. “Every word, every moment. You’re my jasmine under moonlight, the cream of my coffee, the ink of my storybook.”
“Flattering as always, monsieur,” she says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But how did you know? How could you be sure I was the one?”
“Some people are just meant for each other,” I say. “Sometimes they meet at the wrong time. But life doesn’t leave beautiful love stories unfinished. It finds a way. It whispers in your ear. And it whispered to me: you’re the one. The one worth waiting for, worth staying for.”
Her gaze returns to the fire. For a moment, she is quiet, her expression soft, peaceful. “But you know,” I add, leaning back, “there was one more reason I stayed.”
“What’s that?” Her eyes light up with curiosity.
“You told me to get chubby so you could cuddle me. I figured I’d stay until I got there. Sadly, not yet.”
Her laughter fills the room, bright and melodic, the sweetest sound in the world. “You and your chubby teddy will battle for the cuddles, then. The winner gets me.”
The clock strikes twelve. Christmas.
She stands and holds out her hand. “Dance with me.”
Her favorite song, The Ocean Rose, plays from an old speaker. We sway to the melody, the warmth of the fire wrapping around us. Her laughter echoes, her head resting against my chest.
“You know,” she whispers, “I dreamt of this once. This moment, these fairy tales. I’m glad we wrote them together.”
“We did it,” I reply. “We made it.”
Her smile falters. “Will you stay with me? Forever? As you promised?”
I cup her face, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Always.”
Her lips part to say something, but the fire flickers. The room dims. The smell of cakes and coffee fades. Her figure begins to shimmer like a mirage.
“Stay with me,” she pleads, her voice distant and hollow.
“I’m trying,” I whisper, reaching for her. But she’s gone.
The world is cold. I’m no longer in the cafe. Snow blankets the mountaintop where I sit alone, the wind howling around me. The storybook lies in my lap, its golden letters faintly glowing: Fairy Tales We Wrote. The memories inside are all I have left.
“Always,” I whisper, closing my eyes.
The snow falls heavier, covering the storybook, until all that remains is white.