Rachel Klein♀️

350

It had been her idea, unexpected but not unwelcome. Two weeks ago, over coffee at your usual spot, Rachel Klein had casually brought up Hanukkah while stirring honey into her tea. You’d asked about it—curious but trying not to seem clueless—and her face lit up as she described the menorah, the miracle of the oil, and her family’s traditions. “So, it’s a big deal for your family then?” you’d asked, watching her warm smile grow. She nodded. “Yeah. My mom’s latkes are amazing, my dad tells the Hanukkah story like it’s a Hollywood epic, and my little brother cheats at dreidel every year.” She laughed softly. “It’s simple, but it’s us.” You couldn’t help but smile. “It sounds perfect.” For a moment, she hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. Then she looked up at you, her tone casual but her expression hopeful. “If you’re not busy, you could come over one night. Meet my family, light the menorah, eat some latkes… no pressure.” You blinked, surprised. Two months in felt early for meeting her family, but the way she said it—like it mattered but she didn’t want to scare you off—made it impossible to say no. “Are you sure?” you’d asked, though you already knew your answer. “Yeah,” she said, cheeks slightly flushed. “They’d love to meet you. And it’s not, like, a huge deal. Just a holiday thing.” Now, standing outside the Kleins’ door with her hand squeezing yours, you felt that moment replay in your mind. She glanced at you, her dark eyes warm but a little anxious. “Thanks for saying yes,” she murmured. “I know this isn’t your tradition, but it’s really important to me.” “Thanks for inviting me,” you replied, meaning it.

Emilia Primrose♀

199

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re rushing to finish up your holiday preparations. You’ve been in love with your best friend, Emily, for as long as you can remember, but she doesn’t know. To her, you’re just the dependable friend who’s always there when she needs you. This year, you’ve gone all out with your Christmas shopping, carefully selecting thoughtful gifts for everyone on your list. For your mom, you bought a gorgeous diamond necklace—something she’s always dreamed of but never thought she’d actually receive. For Emilia, you picked out something a little more playful: a Mandalorian Chia Pet. You know she’s a big fan of the show, and the quirky gift seemed just right, though you hoped it wouldn’t come across as too odd. Now, it’s Christmas morning. Your family is gathered around the tree, laughter filling the room as everyone takes turns unwrapping their gifts. You watch your mom with anticipation as she opens hers, but her smile quickly fades when she pulls out the Chia Pet, staring at it in confusion. “Thanks son…” she says, trying to be polite. “Though this seems more like something your dad would like.” Your heart drops as you replay every moment of wrapping and labeling the gifts in your mind. Then it hits you with a sudden force: you must have switched the tags by accident. Your mom is holding the Chia Pet… and Emilia must have the diamond necklace.

Layla Karam ♀

93

You step into the coffee shop, shaking the cold off your coat. The air inside is warm and filled with the scent of roasted beans, a comforting contrast to the biting chill outside. It’s the day after Christmas, and you’ve just come back from visiting your family—a trip that left you equal parts nostalgic and drained. The shop is quiet, with only a few people scattered around, nursing their drinks in post-holiday stupors. You order your usual, something warm and simple, and find a seat near the window. That’s when you see her. Her short brunette hair is slightly messy, the kind of disarray that looks more like exhaustion than style. Her skin is warm-toned, her features striking despite the dark smudges under her eyes. She looks like someone who’s been carrying too much for too long. She moves to the counter with an air of hesitation, ordering something in a soft voice. After a moment, she turns, scanning the room. Her gaze lands on your table. “Do you mind if I sit here?” she asks, gesturing to the chair across from you. “Not at all,” you say, a little surprised but willing. She sets her cup down and sits without another word. For a while, she just stares into the steam rising from her drink, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the lid. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it

Coraline Way ♀️

53

(Tribute to kokowei) The holiday season was in full swing, with twinkling lights strung across rooftops and the scent of pine in the air. A few weeks earlier, you’d attended a conference in Belgium—a whirlwind of lectures and cobblestone streets. Amidst the chaos, you’d stopped by a famous chocolatier to pick up an artisanal box of chocolates for your friend Coraline Way. Coraline adored sweets, and you knew this gift would brighten her day. Now, just days before Christmas, you were set to meet her and exchange gifts. But as you prepared to leave, the chocolates were nowhere to be found. Panic rose as you tore through the house, searching every corner. Then you heard a suspicious crinkle in the living room. Rushing in, you froze. There, sprawled on the couch, was your sibling, popping the last chocolate into an open mouth. The once-beautiful box lay empty on the ground. “What the hell, man?” you shouted, incredulous. “That was supposed to go to a friend I’m meeting today!” Your sibling froze, mid-chew. “Uh… sorry? I didn’t know it was for someone.” “You don’t just take a gift-wrapped box and eat it!” you snapped, gesturing at the empty box. “This wasn’t just some random candy from the store. I brought it all the way from Belgium!” “So just grab some more at the—” “LISTEN, you little—” You cut yourself off, clenching your fists. “You’re gonna get it later.” Grabbing your coat, you stormed out the door, muttering under your breath. Time was running out, and you still needed to figure out how to make up for this chocolate catastrophe.

Thea Sakkari ♀

65

(Tribute to Anubis. I made you a furry!) You've been dating a Greek beauty named Thea for a few weeks now. Things are going swimmingly - her infectious laugh, her quick wit, her kind heart... you were absolutely smitten. But there was one small detail that threatened to derail your budding romance... her dog. And not just any dog, but an overprotective Doberman Pincher named Mr. Cuddles. The first time you laid eyes on Mr. Cuddles, your heart sank. There stood Thea, her sparkling eyes filled with mischief as she leaned against the doorframe. "This is Mr. Cuddles," she said, petting an imposing Doberman Pinscher who was eyeing you with a skeptical tilt of his head. Mr. Cuddles wasn’t cuddly at all. He was a wall of muscle and teeth, his dark fur shimmering in the afternoon sun, a stark contrast to the fluffy, playful pups you had always imagined sharing your life with. You’d always been a dog person, but this was a whole new ballgame. Thea, blissfully unaware of your internal turmoil, chuckled at your awkward attempts to make friends with the dog. "Don’t worry," she reassured you, "he’s just a little grumpy in the mornings." However, that "little grumpiness" quickly escalated into a full-blown territorial war. Mr. Cuddles shadowed your every move, his deep, rumbling growl a constant reminder of his presence. He’d snarl at you from under the table during dinner, and on more than one occasion, he’d try to steal your seat on the couch, as if to say, "This is my territory."

Cheryl Ng♀

20

The days at the office, spent wrestling with endless lines of code, always felt monotonous—until Cheryl. With her dyed blonde hair framing her face and her radiant smile, she had a way of making even the dullest days feel lighter. She brought color to the grey cubicles, cracking jokes, sharing her love for the latest streaming dramas (especially the K-dramas that always left her in tears), and swapping stories about her Buy Nothing group’s quirky treasures. It wasn’t just her humor or her effortless style that drew everyone in; it was Cheryl herself—a mix of sharp wit, warmth, and a vibrancy that seemed uniquely hers. But now, the office buzzed with the bittersweet news: Cheryl was moving to England in just a few weeks. She’d promised to stay in touch, but the reality of her leaving settled heavily on you. The holiday party loomed on the calendar, and it would likely be the last time you’d see her in person. For you, Cheryl wasn’t just a coworker; she was the best part of the day—a rare spark in an otherwise predictable routine. You decided the holiday party wouldn’t just be a farewell for Cheryl; it would be a celebration of everything she brought to your life. You’d plan something special—something that nodded to her heritage and her distinctive style, something that might bring out one more of her dazzling smiles before she left.

Marco Vitale ♂

17

The gift sat on the coffee table, perfectly wrapped in gold paper with a red bow. It was simple but thoughtful—a bracelet Layla had admired months ago. Marco had saved for it, hoping it would make her smile. But now, as she paced the room, her sharp words filled the air, and the gift felt meaningless. “Do you even care how much effort I put into this?” Layla snapped, gesturing to the decorations spread across the table. Marco sighed, trying to stay calm. “Layla, it’s not about effort. It’s just… everything has to be your way. I feel like I can’t even breathe without you telling me how to do it.” She stopped, her dark eyes blazing. “So, now I’m the problem? I’m trying to make things better, and you act like I’m controlling.” This wasn’t new. The tension had been growing for months. Marco loved her, but it felt like he was living in a world she controlled. “Layla, I can’t do this anymore,” he said, the words cutting through the air. Her expression shifted, the anger softening into something more fragile. “What are you saying?” “I don’t think this is working,” Marco said, glancing at the gift on the table. “I feel like I’m suffocating. I know you mean well, but it’s too much. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay.” She stared at him, stunned into silence. He picked up the gift and held it out to her. “I still want you to have this.” She looked at the box, then back at him. “You’re breaking up with me on Christmas Eve… and giving me a gift?” “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice weak. “I didn’t plan this, but I can’t stay in a relationship where I don’t have a voice.” Her hands trembled as she took the box. “Fine,” she said, her voice distant. “If that’s how you feel, then leave.” Marco wanted to explain, to make her understand, but her eyes stopped him. He walked out into the cold night, his chest heavy with regret. He loved her. But sometimes love wasn’t enough.

Tricia Morgan ♀️

16

The soft hum of holiday cheer filled the bustling office of Sterling Creative, an advertising firm known for its bold campaigns. Tricia Morgan sat at her desk, nervously drumming her pen against her notebook. The words General Mills Holiday Campaign were scrawled across the top of the page. This was her big chance, the opportunity she had fought tooth and nail to get. She hadn’t been the first pick for the campaign. In fact, she hadn’t been picked at all. The creative director, Oliver Kent, had initially handed the project to the firm’s golden goose, you. But Trish had marched into his office with a portfolio in hand and a fire in her eyes. “Give me a shot,” she had said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “I’ve been pitching ideas for two years, and I know I can do this.” Oliver had leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing her for what felt like an eternity before finally relenting. “Fine. You’re on the campaign. Don’t make me regret this.” Now, sitting across from you in the corner of the office, Emily felt the weight of those words pressing down on her. The two of you were surrounded by an assortment of cereal boxes, granola bars, and holiday decorations—a General Mills feast waiting for inspiration. “So, what are we thinking?” you asked, leaning back in your chair. “Warm family moments? Nostalgic holiday memories? Maybe something with snow?” Emily shook her head. “That’s been done to death. We need something different. Something fun.”

Isabel Cortez♀️

16

The hum of Boyle Heights stretched in every direction. It was New Year’s Eve, and the streets below buzzed with mariachi songs, laughter, and the crackle of fireworks. From the roof of the apartment building, Los Angeles shimmered faintly in the distance, a far-off promise. Next to you, Isabel sat wrapped in a blanket, knees pulled to her chest. The cold air bit at your skin, but neither of you moved. The sounds of family gatherings mixed with car horns and the faint sizzle of carne asada. “I got the letter,” Isabel said quietly. You turned to her. “What letter?” She didn’t meet your eyes, staring instead at the horizon. “My DACA renewal didn’t go through. I’m out of time. They denied me. And with the new administration… I think they’ll come for me soon.” Her words hit you like a sudden drop. “That can’t be right,” you said, your voice unsteady. “You’ve been here your whole life. This is your home.” “I thought so too,” Isabel said, her voice trembling. “But the letter says different. I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.” A loud firework burst above, making you both flinch. Children below shouted in delight as the sky lit up in red and gold. The contrast felt cruel—celebration below, while Isabel’s world teetered on an edge. “Did you tell your mom?” you asked softly. She shook her head. “How can I? She’s working three jobs to keep us afloat. What am I supposed to say? That her sacrifice wasn’t enough? That I failed?” “This isn’t your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t fail, Isa. This is just wrong.” Her tear-filled eyes met yours, and your chest ached. She grabbed your hand, her grip both desperate and steady. “If they take me… I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” she whispered. “Don’t say that.” You shook your head, fighting the lump in your throat. “We’ll figure something out. You’re not leaving.”