Nia hesitated, eyes flicking down to the fire. “I suppose so.”
Soren waited. The flames crackled, the silence stretched, and eventually Nia sighed—the kind of sound that meant something was about to give.
“When I started in medicine,” she said, “I thought if I could be perfect, no one could hurt me. If I controlled everything—every variable, every outcome—then I’d never have to feel helpless again.” Her mouth tightened. “Then Julia left, and it turned out control doesn’t mean safety either.”
Soren turned toward her. “You loved her.”
“I loved the idea of us,” Nia said. “We looked perfect on paper. Two surgeons, two careers, the same goals. But the reality…” She shook her head, the firelight glancing off her darkhair. “She wanted something else. Or maybe she just wanted someone easier.”
“She wanted someone less,” Soren said quietly.
That drew Nia’s eyes back to hers. “You don’t know her.”
“I don’t have to.” Soren smiled, small but sure. “You’re not easy. That’s not a flaw.”
Nia’s laugh was soft, a little broken. “You make it sound like one of my best features.”
“It is,” Soren said. “You’re the first person I’ve met who scares me in a good way.”
That earned a real smile—a quiet, reluctant thing that reached her eyes before she looked down again. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Yeah,” Soren said. “I get that a lot.”
They fell quiet again. The fire burned lower, the room shrinking to just the circle of warmth around them. Soren could feel the pulse of Nia’s body through the thin air between them. She wanted to touch her, but not for the same reasons as before. This time it wasn’t hunger. It was something slower, heavier, dangerously close to tenderness.
“You don’t always have to hold it together,” Soren said finally.
Nia’s throat worked as she swallowed. “If I don’t, I might not get it back.”
“Maybe that’s okay.”
Soren reached out, her fingers brushing Nia’s hand where it rested on her knee. Nia didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Her skin was warm, her breath shallow. They sat like that, connected by the smallest thread of contact, while the wind pressed gently against the windows.
For the first time since the storm began, Soren didn’t feel trapped. She feltanchored.
The fire popped softly, throwing a brief spark that made Nia flinch and smile at once.
“You’re full of contradictions,” Nia whispered.
“Yeah,” Soren said, voice low. “So are you.”
The candle flickered beside them, flame bending toward the warmth of their joined hands.
The fire had burned down to embers.
Outside, the storm had finally gone still—no wind, no sound, just a world buried under snow. The silence pressed close, thick enough that every small movement felt amplified: the crackle of wood settling, the faint rustle of fabric when Nia shifted beside her.
They hadn’t spoken in several minutes. Soren could still feel the ghost of Nia’s fingers resting against hers, that tiny, trembling link neither of them had broken. The candle on the table burned low, its light trembling across Nia’s face, softening her features, turning her eyes into dark pools of green and gold.
Nia looked up at her finally, gaze lingering a little too long. “You should sleep,” she murmured. Her voice was quieter than the fire.
“So should you.”
Nia smiled faintly, that guarded kind of smile she wore when she didn’t know what to do with her feelings. “You’ll be fixing things again by sunrise.”
Soren tipped her head. “What if I don’t want to fix anything tonight?”
That made Nia’s breath catch—a tiny sound, more exhale than word. The blanket slipped a little off her shoulder, revealingsmooth skin kissed by firelight. She didn’t move to pull it back up.
