The gift shop glowed softly against the dusky street, its windows dusted with frost and its shelves glittering with gentle light. Through the glass, Elirys could see, Candles flickered inside, tall and short, waxy and carved, lavender-scented and cinnamon-kissed. Elirys stood at the threshold, breath caught in her throat like the hush before a melody. It was the kind of place she might've dreamed of once, in a softer version of her life.
Evan nudged the door open for her, his coat brushing against hers. A bell chimed overhead, delicate and old. The warmth inside wrapped around them instantly ~ spiced air, soft instrumental music playing low from a hidden speaker, and shelves that whispered of forgotten celebrations and carefully chosen moments.
They didn't speak at first. The quiet between them was calm now, familiar. "This place feels like it's always been waiting," Elirys said under her breath.
Evan smiled beside her. "Or maybe we were meant to find it tonight."
They wandered slowly, fingers trailing over glass jars filled with dried flowers, books with gold-foiled titles, handwritten postcards, and hand-poured candles resting like sleeping stars.
At a table near the center, she paused over a display of handmade candles. She picked up a pale blue one, its surface carved with tiny clouds. She brought it to her nose and smiled faintly.
"Smells like the sky," she murmured.
Evan picked up another, deeper in color ~ amber and sandalwood. He held it out to her.
"This one smells like… memory."
She inhaled, then nodded. "Warm. Safe."
She closed her eyes and breathed in. "Warm... like something I almost forgot I loved."
He looked at her a moment longer, the kind of look that asked nothing and said everything.
Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away too quickly this time.
They passed a corner filled with handwritten notes tucked into tiny bottles. Elirys picked one at random, unscrewed the cap, and gently unrolled the paper inside.
"I hope someone loves you like a quiet miracle."
She didn't say anything, just smiled faintly and folded the message back.
They moved on to a corner tucked with miniature snow globes, each holding a frozen world inside. One had a tiny bench beneath a maple tree. She turned it over, and snow flurried gently around the scene.
"I think I'd like to live in one of these," she said, half to herself. "A quiet world. One that stays still for once."
Evan leaned closer. "Would I be in it?"
She looked at him, startled. His tone was casual, but his eyes weren't.
"I don't know," she whispered. "Would you want to be?"
"I think," he said softly, "I already am."
She didn't reply. Just turned back to the shelf with her heart beating in her throat. She reached for a candle shaped like a butterfly's wing and turned away before he could see the shimmer in her eyes.
By the register, Evan set down a small collection: the amber candle, a lavender one she'd touched for too long, and a pocket-sized book filled with pressed maple leaves and forgotten poems.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already paying.
"You don't have to..."
"I want to," he said, not looking at her. "Let me give you something that won't disappear."
Outside, the sun had fallen below the skyline, leaving only streaks of violet and rose above the rooftops. Elirys stood beside him on the icy sidewalk, the warmth of the candles tucked in a paper bag between them. Evan looked down the street and then back at her.
"You hungry?"
She nodded. "Starving."
"There's a rooftop place nearby," he said, voice gentle. "Fairy lights. City skyline, wooden tables, quiet music. I've been saving it for... I don't know. A night that felt like a story."
Elirys laughed, her breath curling in the cold. "And this feels like one?"
Evan's gaze held hers, steady and unwavering.
"No," he said softly. "This feels real. That's better."
She didn't know how to reply, so she didn't. She simply nodded, and he held out his hand ~ not expectant, just open.
And after a long moment, Elirys placed hers in his.
They walked together, the gift shop's glow fading behind them, the hush of winter settling gently around their steps.
And above them, the stars watched quietly, as if they already knew.