Zoboria held the coffee cup in both her hands,
as if the warmth was the only thing
keeping her steady in that moment.
The heat seeped into her fingers,
slowly, gently,
like something trying to tell her to pause.
With the first sip, she realized —
that more than the snow falling endlessly outside,
or the faint laughter drifting inside the bakery,
the real comfort was held right here,
between her palms,
inside this simple cup of coffee.
Behind the counter, Ehsan stood still.
His camera hung from his shoulder,
untouched, forgotten —
yet his eyes were already framing a picture.
Zoboria’s tired little smile,
the faint shadows beneath her eyes,
the steam curling up from the cup
and dissolving into her quiet breath —
as if her entire day was slowly rising with it.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
There was only the low hum of the coffee machine,
steady and familiar,
and the soft, patient taps of snow
brushing against the glass window,
asking to be let in.
Then, without warning,
Ehsan lifted the camera
and clicked.
“Why?” Zoboria frowned,
her voice carrying both surprise and fatigue.
“Because…” he said softly,
almost apologetically,
“some moments can’t be kept by asking.”
He paused,
then added gently —
“and this one… you might need someday.”
Zoboria didn’t answer.
She simply watched the steam rising from her cup —
as if it carried pieces of yesterday,
fragments of today,
and quiet possibilities of tomorrow.
Outside, the snow began to fall harder,
thicker, heavier.
But inside…
it felt like another season had arrived —
one that bloomed only
in the silences shared between two people.
After finishing her coffee,
Zoboria placed the empty cup on the counter,
carefully,
as though even the sound of it touching the surface
might disturb something fragile.
Yet Ehsan’s gaze never left her.
He was about to speak —
to say something that had been resting on his tongue —
when the doorbell rang again.
With a sharp gust of cold air,
another man walked in.
He was tall,
wrapped in a dark overcoat,
snow clinging to its edges,
and in his hand,
a small gift bag.
Zoboria’s eyes froze the instant she saw him.
Not widened —
just still,
as if time had momentarily forgotten her.
Ehsan noticed the change immediately.
The man walked straight to the counter,
his steps quiet,
and spoke in a low voice —
“Zoboria… I know I’m here unannounced,
but I had to give you this.”
He held the gift bag out to her.
She hesitated,
her fingers hovering for a second longer than necessary,
before finally taking it.
Inside was an old photo frame.
Within it —
a picture of the bakery from years ago.
Snow on the ground,
lights freshly lit,
and standing beside her in that picture…
was him.
Ehsan’s grip tightened around his camera strap,
the leather pressing into his palm.
Still, he said nothing.
The man remained silent for a moment,
then finally spoke —
“Maybe you thought I’d forgotten everything…”
He swallowed,
“…but I never forgot this moment.”
Zoboria’s fingers lingered on the frame,
tracing its edge,
as if a season long buried under snow
had suddenly returned,
uninvited.
Ehsan understood right then —
today, it wasn’t just the snow outside.
An old season had stepped back inside too.
Zoboria placed the frame gently on the counter,
as if afraid the time held within it
might shatter if she moved too fast.
Ehsan leaned against the edge of the counter,
his attention no longer on his camera,
but on the man —
who now stood with his hands in his coat pockets,
his eyes fixed on her.
“It’s good to see you here…”
Zoboria said softly,
then hesitated —
“But… why so suddenly?”
The man gave a faint smile,
tired around the edges,
and replied —
“Because I heard…
you’re happy now… with someone.”
As he said this,
his eyes briefly met Ehsan’s.
In that glance,
there was so much unsaid
that the room itself seemed to grow colder.
Ehsan picked up a cloth
and began wiping the cups near the machine —
a quiet excuse to stay silent,
though the silence itself felt sharp.
Trying to soften the tension,
Zoboria asked —
“Will you have some coffee?”
“No… I just wanted to give this.”
His voice lowered,
carrying that familiar catch —
the kind that comes
when words rise from the heart
but get stuck somewhere in the throat.
Still wiping,
Ehsan finally spoke —
“If it’s old pictures you want to see,
the snow outside the bakery
makes for good ones too.”
The man looked at him carefully.
He seemed to understand
this wasn’t just a remark —
it was a boundary.
Zoboria’s grip on the photo frame tightened,
almost without her realizing it.
Outside, the snow fell faster.
Inside…
a cold season spread between three people,
one no heater could warm.
After a long pause,
Zoboria broke her own fear —
“You two don’t need to stare each other down.”
Her voice sounded tired,
almost worn.
Yet both men’s eyes remained locked.
The man — still nameless in the air —
took a slow step forward,
his fingers brushing the photo frame lightly —
“Zoboria, do you remember…
what day this picture was taken?”
Her gaze fell to the photograph.
It was the bakery’s opening day.
She was laughing,
standing outside in the snow,
with this man beside her.
Without looking at the picture,
Ehsan said —
“Probably the day you felt
someone would always be by your side.”
The man smiled faintly,
but bitterness lined the curve of it —
“And maybe the same day
I first learned
how quickly ‘always’ can end.”
Zoboria inhaled deeply,
as if trying to draw in
the cold hanging between them.
“Before either of you say anything more,”
she said quietly,
“This bakery isn’t just work for me… it’s my refuge.
Whatever you have to say,
this place can’t carry that weight.”
Ehsan set the cup down slowly.
For the first time,
he looked straight into the man’s eyes —
“Then let’s go outside.
Because some things must be said in the snow…
only that cold can hold them.”
Zoboria glanced at the clock,
then at both of them.
Her face held the expression of someone
afraid to lose one person,
and desperate to stop the other.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
And perhaps,
in the next few minutes,
not only snow —
but something else would break.
The cold wind wrapped around the three of them
the moment they stepped outside.
Snow fell so thick
that the buildings across the street
blurred into fog.
Zoboria stopped at the doorway.
But Ehsan and the man
stood face to face.
Ehsan tightened his scarf —
“So tell me… why have you come back?”
The man laughed,
but there was no warmth in it —
“Maybe for the same reason
you’re standing here.”
“Zoboria?”
Her name dropped between them like snow,
settling heavily in the air.
Ehsan’s lips pressed together —
“I’m here to stand beside her,
not to be a shadow from her past.”
The man leaned in slightly,
his voice edged with pain and challenge —
“And I’m here to prove
that the past never truly ends.
You think she only has your ‘now,’
but in her heart…
my ‘before’ is still alive.”
Snow dampened Ehsan’s cheeks,
freezing there.
But the real cold
had entered his eyes.
“If that were true,
she’d be with you…
not here.”
From the doorway, Zoboria spoke —
“Enough!
Snow can cover many things,
but only I can decide
who means what to me.”
Both men turned to her —
one with hope,
the other with fear.
Snowflakes settled on her lashes
as she took a deep breath and said softly —
“You are both my seasons…
One taught me to let the winter stay,
the other taught me
to find warmth in the cold.”
She paused,
then added —
“But… I don’t want to keep changing seasons anymore.
I need stillness.”
Ehsan’s eyes glistened faintly.
The man,
slowly,
seemed to sink deeper into the snow.
The snow kept falling.
But for the first time,
the season between them
felt clear.
Possible Plot Directions – What Could Happen Next
Ehsan’s Test
Instead of trying to prove his love, Ehsan chooses to give Zoboria space.
His patience and restraint show readers what mature love truly looks like.
Closure of the Past
The man from Zoboria’s past accepts his mistakes and takes responsibility for what he lost.
Zoboria forgives him — not to return, but to finally let go.
The Meaning of Stillness
Zoboria does not choose anyone immediately.
She chooses herself first — her peace, her healing, her breath.
A Slow-Burn Ending
Ehsan stays by her side without pressure or expectations.
Love does not rush in; it grows quietly, naturally, over time.
✅ Life Lessons from This Story
Not every old love has the right to return.
The quietest love is often the deepest.
Healing does not always require choosing someone else.
Sometimes, staying still is the bravest decision of all.
Love is not only about possession — it is also about understanding.
Next Short Part
Title: “Stillness”
The snow had begun to fall more lightly.
Inside the bakery, Ehsan lowered the heater without asking—
as if he already knew
that today, the cold wasn’t only outside.
Zoboria placed the photo frame on a shelf,
not near the coffee machine,
but in a quiet corner—
where only old things are kept,
or memories that are not hidden,
only carefully preserved.
Ehsan said nothing.
He simply made a cup of coffee
and placed it in front of her.
“Without sugar today,” he said softly,
“because today, you need the taste of truth.”
Zoboria lifted the cup
and smiled for the first time—
a little tired,
but lighter.
Perhaps…
this is where stillness begins.
Thank You Message for Readers (Extended & Emotional)
Thank you for staying with this story until the end.
Thank you for your time, your silence, and the emotions you carried while reading.
Stories like this breathe only when someone pauses to feel them — and you did.
If even one line stayed with you, if one moment felt familiar,
then this story has found its purpose.
Your presence here is the quiet warmth that completes these words.
Thank you for listening to a story that speaks softly.
This story was written by the author, with language assistance for clarity.
All images used on this website are either AI-generated or used for illustrative purposes only.
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