She pulls up in front of his house on Saturday morning.

She’s never been inside, but it seems impossibly large and regal, smiling upon the

Her thumbs dance over the glass screen. Her inbox is stuffed with emails from her parents, sending college webpages and extracurricular reminders galore. Prying texts from her boyfriend of two years litter the screen, asking what she’s up to. She taps on the texts, taking her to the light banter between the two. She types a hasty response, but her thumb is hesitant to let it go.

Two crisp knocks on the glass jolt her head up. She unlocks the car, slipping her phone into her boot as Sam clambers in the car. His unbuttoned, tangerine overcoat reveals a crimson sweater and a pristine white button-up. His burnt umber locks curl over his forehead, like tendrils of a plant peeking out from the soil. His dark eyes are bright, almost sparkling as the car glides across the road. Her gaze is on the road, attentive as her sweating hands grip the steering wheel. Her indicator ticks as she prepares to make a sharp turn. An announcer’s loud and obnoxious voice jabs at her wavering concentration. She bites her lip as her fingers itch to unclench the leather wheel.

The station changes one where the singer croons.

“I’m not a fan of that station,” says Sam, his raspy voice breaking the silence. He clears his throat. “So, what’s up?” His words flow off his tongue, the melody seemingly written by the bright, unwavering sun itself.

She almost sighs in relief as the light turns green and her wheels turn into a calmer area. For a moment, she sneaks a glance at Sam, whose face rests on his palm, staring at the grey clouds overhead.

“I’m doing… good,” says Leah. Though usually a formality, her body surges with a small dose of warmth, from her chest to the tips of her numb fingers. “How about you?”

“I’m doing well too,” says Sam, shifting in his seat to face towards her. Silence hangs in the air. “I’m seeing my sister today,” he blurts. “And I’m really excited!”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah! She lives in New York, so she doesn’t come around too often...”

“Wow. I mean, that sounds great.” She pauses, but she can’t help herself. “She must be thrilled to have a brother like you,” says Leah playfully, nudging Sam, who crosses her arms.

“I hope so.” He pulls out his sleek, modern phone from his pocket. “She’s..uh.. like my dad – demanding and bossy. She doesn’t really do the ‘let’s talk’ thing. I mean, not that it’s a bad thing – she’s just kind of like that, I guess. I mean, she is a social media manager so that’s probably a good thing.”

“I mean, it’s good to have different types of people in your life, right?”

“Yeah. I still love her though.”

The rest of the drive is silent, a wordless exchange of thoughts that flew through the air like birds, but the guitar-fueled ballad that reverberated through the stilled air. Everything is comforting, and for once, Leah has no desire to fill it up with meaningless banter.

The car stops in the parking space and for a moment, she doesn’t realize the ride has come to an end. Both of them sit for a moment, before a startling realization prompts her to pull of the keys from her ignition and wander into the parking lot.

From the sky, small, white flakes drift lazily on gusts of wind. They are miniature, perfectly symmetrical reminders of the season, the cheer and spirit. She lowers her gaze to her red-cheeked companion, grinning as flakes became ornaments for his silky locks. They stood in awe outside Café Vanilla for a few perfect moments.

The morning was grey, but they were splashes of color.

They strolled inside the shop, laughing with one another and taking their positions. The day was normal, perhaps even better than usual. As she walked around to see if anyone needed anything to attend to, she sees a messy table. She finds the cart, wiping down the table when she hears a sharp voice behind her.

“I don’t like that kid,” whispers the voice to their companion, who stays silent. “I don’t want them.”

She keeps wiping the table, but she listens closely. Her eyebrows arch as they continue to ramble.

“Yeah, this café used to be fine a few years ago. But I swear, every time that spic touches my food, it tastes like ass.”

What the –

“Now there's so many of them here – shit, I think he’s lookin’ at us. Let’s go.” They get up, striding away, laughing to themselves. She turns her head, perhaps to profile them, but only sees the usually unassuming couple storm out the doors. Her hands shake.

She didn’t usually engage in politics. But this was more than that.

But she didn’t want to ignore their words. Her blood boils as she tries to comprehend their conversation.

She looked towards Sam for a quick moment, watching the modest employee greet a customer with a gentle smile, a gracious manner, and a polite greeting.

He was just another kind person, only giving to the world. And nothing would change that.