That night, the world was quiet. The snow fell in slow, lazy swirls, and the only sound was the crunch of their boots as they walked outside.
Kai suddenly flopped onto her back. “Watch this,” she said, sweeping her arms and legs in the snow.
Nami giggled and did the same beside her. When they sat up, two perfect snow angels lay side by side.
But even as they watched, tiny flakes were already beginning to fill them in.
“They won’t last,” Nami murmured.
Kai hugged her knees. “Snow always changes.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence. Then, a tiny voice whispered, “Not all things disappear.”
They turned to see a Hokkaido fox, its fur a brilliant red against the white snow. Its tail flicked as it padded closer.
“I am Yuki,” the fox said. “Some things melt, some things fade, but the moments you share? They stay, even when you can’t see them.”
Nami’s breath caught. “Like a map?”
Yuki nodded. “A map of your moments.”
Kai and Nami looked at each other. The snow angels might fade, but this moment—this adventure—was part of them now.
Smiling, Nami reached out and traced a line in the snow between their angels.
Each adventure was a dot. Each memory a path. Even if the snow melted, even if the wind erased the lines, the map would still be there. Invisible, but real.
A map that belonged to them.
And as they lay back down, arms spread wide like wings, they knew, this was only the beginning.
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