Christmas morning. The winter had taken her full course. The morning was especially chilly. The kind where a warm cup of coco and home-cooked food felt exactly like the loving hug all of us are in perpetual need of.

The cold breeze set sail for a mild itch in the nose, compensated by the warmth of the festive cheer in the heart. You could smell the half cooked gingerbreads, almost tasting the cinnamon in the air.

The Christmas joy had taken over everyone, happiness rustled over the city. The whiteness of snow blanketed the negativity, not just hiding it but almost dissolving it.

There I was peeking into the window, my Christmas present sitting in front on the Christmas tree, reading a book with a cup of Joe, which was not too sweet I’m sure, coz that’s the way she liked it. She must have been comfortable, despite standing outside on the verandah I could feel the comfort of the fireplace, I always did with her.

The celebrations had begun, kids thanking the Santa for their Christmas presents. Everyone was satisfied, almost everyone.

I tried believing in Santa, I just couldn’t. I had been a good boy, even then, there she was sitting, my Christmas present, only, she was not mine to celebrate.