How We Met
It was the kind of January morning that makes you believe the world was designed in shades of white and grey. Erik had taken the early train to a conference he was already regretting; Ingrid had a window seat and her headphones in, watching the frost-edged fields blur past.
The train stalled somewhere between stations — mechanical failure, the conductor announced — and Ingrid's playlist died with her phone battery. Erik had a portable charger. That was enough.
Three years of long winters made warm by each other later, we decided that the cold was actually our favorite season — so long as we face it together.