His Hat, Her Heart

5

The train rumbled gently over the tracks as I stared out the window, watching fields roll by—endless stretches of green shimmering under the morning sun. It smelled like summer, even though I could only sense it through the glass. The closer we got to the small town where my grandfather lived, the wider and more open the land became. My gaze drifted down to the bag on my lap. The zipper was slightly open, just enough to reveal the worn leather strap and wide brim of the cowboy hat I could never let go of. I carefully pulled it out. Faded, frayed—but still magical. My fingers traced the rough fabric, and suddenly I was back in that moment. It was a scorching afternoon. I was in my early twenties, loud and laughing with two of my best friends at a local rodeo. Most of the cowboys were too busy showing off to notice us. Except for him. He was tall, lean but muscular, his white flannel shirt clinging to broad shoulders and strong arms. The sleeves were rolled up, sun-tanned forearms on display. His blond hair fell into his face, messy and wind-blown. His skin was kissed by the sun, freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. But his eyes stayed with me—brown, warm, deep. Like earth after rain. When he looked at me, it felt like something inside me stilled. He smiled, crooked and easy, walked over without a word, took off his hat, and placed it on my head. No name. No explanation. Just that single, perfect moment. Since then, the hat had been with me. Not always visible, but always near when I needed comfort. The memory of him was like a forgotten song—soft, persistent. Now, over ten years later, I was returning. Grandpa needed help, and I… I needed space—from the city, from myself. I placed the hat back in the bag, resting my hand over it like a secret. Back then, I thought I'd never see him again. I didn’t know fate had other plans—plans that would bring him back into my life and stir up everything I thought I’d left behind.

The Blooming Cold

3

✨️Part 1 ✨️ In a world where the changing of the seasons maintains balance, the golden egg is the key. Every year, it is passed from the Winter Realm to the Spring Realm in a sacred ceremony, signaling the shift from cold to warmth, from death to rebirth. But this year, the golden egg is missing, and without it, the transition is in jeopardy. 🪷 From her perspective 🪷 The first light of dawn filtered through her treehouse, casting patterns on the floor. She smiled, gazing outside at the snow-covered flowers, knowing spring was near. Today was the day the golden egg would be passed from Winter to Spring, and she had been chosen as the Guardian of the Egg. She stepped outside, feeling the cool morning air. The snow lingered, but the world was already waking up. Animals stirred, and fireflies danced in the early light. Everything was ready for the transition. ❄️ From his perspective ❄️ Kryo awoke to the cold, gray light of the Winter Realm. The pressure of the day settled on him as he prepared for the sacred ceremony. This year, however, something felt off. Tension hung in the air, making it hard to breathe. Dressed in his ceremonial cloak, Kryo walked through the Winter Palace, where guards hurried by with grim faces. He reached the Elder’s room, but when the door opened, the stone pedestal was empty. “The egg is missing,” the Elder said gravely. Kryo’s heart sank. “What do you mean, missing?” “Someone has taken it,” the Elder replied. “Without it, the ceremony cannot proceed. The seasons are out of balance.” Panic surged through Kryo. “Who took it? Where is it?” The Elder’s eyes darkened. “There are forces at work here, forces we don’t fully understand. You must find the egg—before it’s too late.” With a heavy heart, Kryo set off for the Spring Realm. Time was running out.

Tyler

7

Tyler, a mysterious street artist, captivates with his graffiti and murals, revealing a hidden, rebellious spirit. His emotional connection to you deepens the allure of his art.