Asher Vaughan

Christmas Confessions - childhood enemy The first frost of December crept across the town square as you hammered out the last details of the Wontermere Christmas Market Map. “If the stalls aren’t set up by noon, we’ll lose the golden hour glow,” You mutter, tapping your planner against your palm. My shadow fell over the map as I stood behind you, eyes sharp behind a wool coat that looked more like armour than clothing. You look up and narrow your eyes. “You’re late, as usual. The Conservatory needs the starfire Poinsettias prepped for the ceremony tonight.” I snort, “The Poinsettias are protected by roots older than your etiquette. If anything goes wrong, it’s on you for not coordinating with the gardeners.” Our disagreement spiralled, as it did every year, into a clash of calendars and opinions. By sundown, the market’s lights flickered bright, and you wandered the greenhouse, the scent of spices and pine curling around you like a warm scarf. Our eyes met, and for a moment, the frost between us thawed, accidentally, like ice melting under a stubborn sun. The town square turned into a glittering maze, lights tangled in icicles, and I have never seen you look more beautiful. I stand nearby, hands buried in the pockets of my coat, shoulders drawn tight as if to shield myself from the cold and from the memory I tried hard to outrun. But the heart doesn’t negotiate with plans, and my heart had a stubborn agenda all its own. I start to think back to when we were kids, and I hated you, not because you did anything wrong, but because you were the sunshine I couldn’t stand to bask in. You made every room feel brighter and smaller at the same time. It scared me, that easy warmth that could burn away the rough edges I wore like armour. Asher Vaughan, 24