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The café was quieter than usual, though Cecilia barely noticed. She sat at her usual table by the fogged-up window, her hands wrapped around a porcelain cup of jasmine tea. The faint floral aroma curled upward with the steam, a fleeting comfort against the chill biting at the edges of her coat. Outside, frost painted delicate spiderweb filigrees across the glass, blurring the view of passersby bundled in scarves and heavy coats. Their laughter and muffled voices filtered faintly through the panes, but they felt miles away.
Her fingers drifted absently to the brass bow pinned in her hair, tracing its cool, intricate surface. The motion had become second nature in recent weeks, an unconscious ritual she performed whenever her thoughts strayed—though she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge why.
It had been a gift from Gigi.
“It suits you Cece, don’t you think so?”
Gigi’s voice was so vivid in her mind, it felt like she had spoken just now, her words slicing clean through the quiet hum of the café. Cecilia could almost see her—her two-tone hair pulled into its playful bunches, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips as she held up the bow triumphantly like a child presenting a hard-won prize.
“Because you’re always so proper,” Gigi had teased, her pink eyes sparkling with mischief, “but deep down, I know you’re just as dramatic as me.”
She had laughed then, the sound filling the space around them, bright and uncontainable like sunlight breaking through a canopy of leaves. Cecilia hadn’t been able to stop herself from smiling back, even as she had rolled her eyes and muttered about Gigi’s terrible taste.
Her lips tightened now, the memory fading into the ache that lingered in her chest. Slowly, she raised her cup of tea, the bitter coldness seeping into her hands. She took a tentative sip. The floral notes, once delicate and soothing, felt flat on her tongue—lifeless. Like everything else these days.
It’s impressive, really—how fast you moved on. Seems just like yesterday you loved me.
The thought came unbidden, sharp as glass and just as cutting. She winced, her fingers tightening on the fragile porcelain of her cup.
She couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze lifted, drifting around the café, skimming over familiar faces and strangers alike. The barista behind the counter was engrossed in conversation with a customer, their laughter a faint murmur. A group of students huddled over a laptop in the corner booth, their heads bent close together.
And yet, Cecilia searched for a face she knew wouldn’t be there.
She could picture it too clearly: Gigi bursting through the door, cheeks flushed from the cold, her scarf wrapped haphazardly around her neck. She’d wave exuberantly, drawing glances from other patrons, utterly unbothered by the attention.
But it was more than Gigi’s image that haunted her. It was the way she made every room brighter, as if her presence alone could chase away shadows. Cecilia longed for that light now, even though she had no right to it anymore.
The bell above the door chimed, a cheerful note that sliced through her thoughts. Cecilia’s breath hitched. Her head snapped up before she could stop herself, heart pounding in the sudden silence of her mind.
A figure stepped in, snowflakes clinging to their coat and hair.
But it wasn’t Gigi.
Just a stranger, brushing snow from their shoulders, their boots leaving wet patches on the floor.
Cecilia exhaled sharply, the breath shaky and uneven as her gaze dropped back to her tea. She tried to ignore the flicker of embarrassment that came with the realization, but it clung to her like the bitter cold.
Of course, it’s not her.
She let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, barely more than a whisper. She traced the rim of her cup, her fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. What were you expecting? That she’d waltz in like nothing happened? That she’d look at you the way she used to? That she’d forgive you for… everything?
The last thought lingered, heavy and unspoken. Cecilia blinked, her vision blurring for a moment as her eyes dropped to the worn wooden table.
No. That wasn’t fair. Gigi had been the one to leave, but Cecilia had handed her every reason to do so. Her quiet disapproval, her tendency to pull away when Gigi reached for her hand, her stubborn refusal to share the deeper parts of herself—each moment had been another thread unraveling between them.
The bell chimed again.
Cecilia didn’t look up this time. She refused to let herself hope, to let her heart leap into her throat only to fall, crashing back into that hollow space inside her. Instead, she sat perfectly still, the cool porcelain in her hands grounding her as the world moved on around her.
But her thoughts lingered, circling the same question that had haunted her for months. Do you ever think of me?
Their apartment—no, her apartment now—had never been quiet when Gigi lived there. Gigi had a way of filling space, not just with her physical presence but with her energy, her voice, her laughter that spilled through the rooms like sunlight breaking through heavy curtains. Even when she wasn’t speaking, there had been an unmistakable aliveness to her presence, a warmth that lingered in the air like the afterglow of a storm.
Now, the quiet felt oppressive.
Cecilia stood in the living room, her gaze sweeping over the unnervingly pristine space. The corner where Gigi’s keyboard had once sat was bare now, its absence a gaping void that Cecilia couldn’t seem to stop looking at. It had always been a chaotic scene when Gigi was around—piles of sheet music spilling onto the floor, snack wrappers half-hidden beneath scattered books. Gigi had claimed it was a “creative mess,” a phrase that had earned her an exasperated sigh more times than Cecilia could count.
But secretly, Cecilia had loved it.
Now, the space was immaculate. Clean. Lifeless.
Her eyes drifted to the piano that stood gleaming in the opposite corner of the room. It was hers—had always been hers—but it, too, felt wrong in the silence. The polished surface reflected the pale afternoon light streaming through the curtains, its keys untouched for weeks. Cecilia had avoided it, as if playing might summon the ghost of Gigi’s voice, off-key and mischievous, belting out impromptu lyrics just to see Cecilia’s nose scrunch in mock annoyance.
“Come on, Cece, lighten up! It’s not a recital,” Gigi would laugh, throwing her head back, her twin-toned hair bouncing as she sprawled across the couch with her feet dangling over the edge. “Music is supposed to be fun, not serious.”
And Cecilia, despite her protests, would find herself smiling—really smiling—for the first time that day.
The memory tightened like a fist around her chest. Her hand moved instinctively, ghosting over the piano keys. The familiar coolness of the ivory met her fingertips, and she pressed down lightly, letting a single note ring out into the room.
The sound was hollow, empty, like the cavernous silence that had swallowed the apartment whole. Without Gigi’s voice harmonizing—or clashing—it felt incomplete.
Cecilia pressed another note, then another, the beginnings of a melody she knew too well. It was Gigi’s favorite—one they used to play together, Cecilia on the piano, Gigi on her keyboard, her fingers tripping over the keys more often than not. The mistakes had never bothered her, though; she’d simply laugh, shrug, and start again.
Alone, the melody felt wrong. Cecilia’s hand stilled, and she let out a shuddering breath, her fingers trembling as they hovered above the keys.
With a sharp motion, she shut the piano lid, the sound echoing through the stillness like a final chord. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at her reflection in the polished wood.
“Do I ever cross your mind, Gigi?” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.
The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the silence pressed in around her. Cecilia’s gaze flickered to the empty corner again, and her chest ached with the weight of all the unspoken words, the things she hadn’t said when she still had the chance.
She stepped away from the piano, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the stillness of the room demanded care. Her eyes lingered on the faint scuff marks on the floor where Gigi’s keyboard stand used to be, the only evidence left of her presence. Cecilia knelt down, brushing her fingers over the marks as if they might somehow bring her back.
“Because I see you everywhere,” she continued softly, the words catching in her throat. “In every note I play, every step I take. Do I haunt you the way you haunt me?”
The silence stretched on, heavy and unyielding. Cecilia closed her eyes, letting the memories wash over her. Gigi’s laughter, her warmth, the way she had filled the apartment with life and color and sound—it all felt so vivid, so painfully close, like she could reach out and touch it.
But when Cecilia opened her eyes, the room was as still and lifeless as before. She rose to her feet, brushing her hands against her skirt, and turned away. The faint light from the window caught the brass bow in her hair, a small, fragile reminder of what had been.
The marketplace bustled with life, a symphony of sounds and colors that swirled around Cecilia in a blur. The shouts of vendors hawking their wares mixed with the laughter of children weaving through the stalls, their mittens clutching steaming cups of cocoa. The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of roasted chestnuts, spiced cider, and the faint metallic tang of freshly fallen snow.
Cecilia adjusted the strap of her violin case over her shoulder, its familiar weight grounding her as she weaved through the throng. Her boots crunched against the thin layer of frost that clung stubbornly to the cobblestones, and her eyes darted from one booth to the next, taking in the vivid displays of handwoven scarves, glossy fruits, and glimmering trinkets.
She hadn’t meant to come here—not really. It had been weeks since she last ventured into the market, and for good reason. This was one of Gigi’s favorite places, a labyrinth of bustling energy that suited her perfectly. Gigi had loved the chaos, the noise, the sheer life of it all. Cecilia, who preferred quiet spaces and slow, deliberate moments, had often felt out of place here. But with Gigi by her side, the marketplace had taken on a kind of magic, as if Gigi’s excitement could transform even the most mundane errands into an adventure.
And yet, here she was.
Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her past stalls selling shimmering beads and polished brass charms, past the old baker who always sprinkled extra sugar on the pastries Gigi adored. Cecilia’s heart ached as she realized she was retracing steps she hadn’t consciously chosen, following a path etched into her memory like the refrain of a half-forgotten song.
She stopped abruptly in front of a small booth tucked between two larger stalls. The vendor—a wiry man with a weathered face and kind eyes—was busy stirring a pot of candied chestnuts, the sweet, nutty aroma wafting into the cold air.
“Ah, miss!” he called out as he noticed her, his face breaking into a smile. “Been a while since I’ve seen you.” His eyes flicked behind her, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. “She’s not with you today?”
The words hit like a punch to the stomach, sharp and unexpected. Cecilia’s throat tightened, and she forced a smile, though it felt as fragile as the frost clinging to the edges of the booth’s awning.
“No,” she managed, her voice tight and carefully controlled. “Not today.”
The words hung in the air, deceptively simple, but they echoed in her mind with the weight of everything unsaid. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.
The vendor paused, his smile faltering as he studied her face. There was something in his expression—a flicker of understanding, perhaps—but he said nothing, simply nodding and scooping a handful of chestnuts into a paper bag.
“They’re fresh,” he said gently, his tone softer now. “Just made them this morning.”
Cecilia nodded, fumbling for her wallet with fingers that felt stiff and clumsy. She handed over the coins without meeting his eyes, tucking the warm bag into the pocket of her coat.
The sweetness was cloying against the sharpness of her memories. She could still hear Gigi’s laughter, the way she’d tug Cecilia toward this very booth every time they visited the market.
“You can’t just smell them and walk away!” Gigi had protested once, her eyes wide with mock indignation as she shoved a chestnut toward Cecilia’s mouth. “It’s a crime against happiness, Cece.”
Cecilia had rolled her eyes but relented, biting into the candied nut and smiling despite herself as the rich, sugary flavor spread across her tongue. Gigi had grinned triumphantly, tossing another chestnut into her own mouth as if she’d won some grand victory.
Now, Cecilia could hardly stand the thought of eating one. The bag felt heavier with every step as she moved through the crowd, her pace quickening as the noise and colors pressed in around her. She felt as if she were suffocating, the vibrancy of the market mocking the hollow ache in her chest.
By the time she reached the edge of the marketplace, her cheeks were flushed from the cold, or perhaps from the emotion she was fighting so hard to suppress. Her breath came in sharp bursts, curling into the air in wisps of white as she slowed her pace.
She stopped at a quiet corner, the din of the market fading into the background as she leaned against a lamppost. Her hand tightened around the violin case strap, her knuckles white against the dark leather.
Why did I come here? she thought bitterly. What did I think would happen?
But deep down, she knew the answer. She had come here hoping, foolishly, irrationally, to see Gigi again. To catch a glimpse of her bouncing hair, her radiant smile, her pink eyes lighting up as she spotted Cecilia in the crowd.
The hope was a cruel thing, unrelenting and impossible to ignore. It clung to her like the frost in the air, sharp and unyielding.
With a shaky breath, Cecilia pushed off the lamp post and began the walk home. Her violin case swayed gently at her side, and the bag of chestnuts weighed heavy in her pocket, an unwelcome reminder of the moments she could never get back.
Every step felt like walking through quicksand, the memories tugging at her heels, pulling her deeper into the past. But she kept moving, her head bowed against the cold, as the market disappeared behind her.
The park was hushed beneath a blanket of snow, the world muted as if holding its breath. The air was crisp and sharp, filling Cecilia’s lungs with a chill that burned as she walked the familiar paths. Each step was deliberate, her boots crunching softly against the frozen earth. The sound echoed faintly, the only noise in an otherwise still expanse.
Above her, the bare branches of the trees clawed at the sky, their long, spindly shadows stretching across the pristine snow. The distant hum of the city reached her ears as a faint murmur, muffled by the quiet that seemed to wrap around the park like a heavy shroud.
Her hands were buried deep in her pockets, her fingers clenching the fabric until her knuckles ached. She hadn’t planned to come here, hadn’t allowed herself to even glance in this direction for months. And yet, here she was, drawn by something she couldn’t name.
The path curved gently ahead, disappearing into the pale haze of falling snow. Her gaze remained fixed on the ground, on the way her footprints disrupted the smooth white surface. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, afraid of what she might see—or worse, what she wouldn’t.
And then she heard it.
Laughter.
It cut through the stillness like the sharp peal of a bell, vibrant and warm, full of life in a way that made Cecilia’s breath catch in her throat. She froze mid-step, her chest tightening as the sound reached her ears again, impossibly familiar.
Her heart thudded painfully, an erratic rhythm that sent a rush of warmth through her veins. She knew that laugh. She would know it anywhere.
Slowly, as if moving through water, Cecilia lifted her head. Her green eyes scanned the path ahead, her breath misting in the air as her gaze darted across the snowy expanse.
And there she was.
Gigi.
She sat on a bench not far away, her figure partially obscured by the swirling snow but unmistakable all the same. Her hair was tied up in the familiar bunches Cecilia had teased her about endlessly, the strands bouncing slightly as she turned her head. She was wearing the scarf Cecilia had given her last winter, the deep green wool snug around her neck, the ends fluttering in the breeze.
For a moment, Cecilia couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Gigi looked the same and yet different. Her pink eyes sparkled as she leaned toward the person beside her, gesturing animatedly, her laughter ringing out again like a melody Cecilia hadn’t realized she had been starving for. The sound wrapped around her, warm and bittersweet, stirring something deep in her chest that she had tried so hard to bury.
Cecilia’s gaze drank in every detail—the way Gigi’s hands moved as she spoke, her smile so bright it could have rivaled the sun, the faint blush on her cheeks from the cold. She was vibrant, alive, as if nothing had changed, as if the months that had stretched between them were nothing more than a passing storm.
How could she still have this effect on me?
The thought hit Cecilia like a punch, and her chest ached with the force of it. Her fingers twitched inside her pockets, and she took a shaky step forward before stopping herself, her breath quick and uneven.
Gigi’s laughter faltered, the sound trailing off as if she had felt the weight of Cecilia’s gaze. Slowly, she turned her head, her movements unhurried yet deliberate, and their eyes met across the snowy expanse.
Cecilia’s heart stopped.
Gigi’s expression shifted, her pink eyes widening slightly as recognition flickered across her face. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—a soft parting of her lips, a fleeting hesitation in her movements. Or maybe it was nothing more than polite curiosity, a stranger’s momentary pause.
The moment stretched between them, fragile and taut, like a thread pulled too tightly. The falling snow seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the space between their locked gazes.
Cecilia’s throat tightened. She wanted to move, to speak, to do something, anything, but her body refused to cooperate. Her legs felt rooted to the ground, heavy with the weight of all the things she should have said, of all the moments she had let slip through her fingers.
“Cece?” Gigi’s voice was soft, hesitant, but it reached her ears like a beacon cutting through the fog.
The sound of her name on Gigi’s lips was enough to shatter the icy stillness inside her. Cecilia’s lips parted, her breath catching as she tried to form a response. The name escaped her like a sigh, a whisper carried on the wind.
“Gigi…”
The single word hung in the air, trembling with all the things she couldn’t say. Her voice was raw, caught between hope and fear, each syllable a plea, a question, a thousand unspoken emotions wrapped into one.
And then, Gigi tilted her head, her eyes searching Cecilia’s face. A flicker of something passed over her expression—was it recognition? Relief? Or was Cecilia only imagining it?
The snow continued to fall, soft and unrelenting, as the distance between them seemed to shrink and stretch all at once.
Would Gigi smile? Would she stand and come to her? Or would she look away, leaving Cecilia alone in the cold once more?
Cecilia’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling as she forced herself to speak again, her voice trembling but determined.
“Gigi, I—”
The rest of her words caught in her throat, lost to the wind. But she had called out, the fragile thread of connection between them tugged taut.
Gigi’s eyes widened, her expression unreadable.
And then…
The world seemed to hold its breath.