Okyar blinked.

Once. Twice.

Attempting to clear the fog of exhaustion clouding her vision, she peered over the mountainous piles of files lining her desk. Out of habit, her gaze strayed to the half-frosted window nearby, where faint twinkling lights from a Christmas display danced outside, casting a soft, warm glow through the office.

It would be comforting—if only she weren't sleep-deprived and running on the remnants of last night's cold peppermint mocha. She needed to convince herself that the figure standing at her cubicle door was real and not a trick played by her sleep-deprived mind.

Even without focusing, she knew it was Mari, the Angel of Death disguised as her boss's secretary, standing at her cubicle door with yet another pile of "holiday cheer" (read: 'torment letters') in her hands. They were the kind that Okyar now dreaded as much as carolers dread sleet-covered sidewalks, neatly packed into black leather briefs, each one a miserable reminder of how close she was to losing even this underpaid internship.

"He said to get these done by noon tomorrow. Said it's 'critical,'" Mari intoned, her words dry and hollow as if the holiday spirit had evaporated from them weeks ago.

Okyar gaped, barely suppressing a groan. It was the third stack today, and she wasn't even halfway through yesterday's mountain. A voice in her head—a festive elf of rebellion—whispered, *Retire already. Move to the mountains. Become a Christmas tree farm owner.*

But there was no magical sleigh awaiting her. Instead, she slumped forward, palms pressed against her temples, her eyes bloodshot and burning like the office's dim holiday candle-scented candle—a lone attempt at seasonal cheer, now reduced to melted wax beside her monitor. 'Rest' was a mirage. 'Vacation' was a snowflake melting in her dreams, chased away by stack upon stack of soul-draining paperwork.

Outside, snowflakes began drifting down, dotting the windows in delicate crystals. A gentle chime from her phone reminded her that it was Christmas Eve; friends were probably heading out for mulled wine, tree-lightings, maybe even singing carols. Her only carol tonight was the hum of the printer, eternally whirring in the background. And no matter how hard she tried to keep up, her work was twelve hours behind her boss's ridiculous schedule.

Okyar's migraine—which had first struck when Mari had walked in with the morning's load of "urgent" briefs—renewed at the sight of yet another stack. But she only had two choices: keep going until the New Year or end up on the snowy streets outside. A warm roof was worth a sacrifice, she reminded herself. Even if that meant no holiday rest, no spiced cookies, no eggnog.

In her weary eyes, Mari saw the unspoken plea for reprieve. And maybe, for a second, even Mari—who usually struck terror like Krampus incarnate—softened. But it was brief. Her burden was heavy, and her patience thinning. "Where should I put these?" she asked, her voice more piercing than jingle bells.

Groggily, Okyar gestured to a tiny sliver of desk beside her keyboard, barely big enough to hold a mug, let alone the towering files. A small stack of candy cane-striped pens and sticky notes littered the remaining space, her half-hearted attempt to bring holiday spirit to the dull, gray cubicle.

The mountain of work she still had to tackle loomed over her like a snow-laden roof threatening to collapse. But as Mari walked away, she let herself imagine—just for a second—a Christmas miracle: a night off, a cup of cocoa, maybe a snowfall that somehow would freeze time and stop the endless cycle of urgent files.

With her gaze drawn back to the screen, Okyar tightened her scarf around her shoulders and resolved to keep going—just until the next snowflake hit the window.

Four hours later, she was still tapping away on her keyboard, her last two functioning brain cells bickering over whether eating lunch was strictly necessary for survival. The insistent rumble in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't had a real meal since yesterday's hastily eaten lunch. Not that coffee didn't count—if it were a proper food group, she'd be feasting.

But no, she couldn't quit. Not yet. Not when the weight of bills, rent, and student loans had her locked into a never-ending cycle of exhaustion. She couldn't just pack up and leave for a cozy Christmas at home, surrounded by the warmth of her family, where she could eat to her heart's content and actually laugh without the heavy guilt of unpaid deadlines looming over her. She hadn't been back in months, and the thought of sitting by the fire with her grandmother, listening to her family's endless teasing, felt like a distant dream—a reality she couldn't afford.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it absently. Another notification from the group chat back home. They were planning a Christmas Eve dinner, and her little brother was texting about all the food they were going to have—her favorite dishes, the ones that made her mouth water just thinking about them. But there was no way she could take a few days off now, not when every task in her inbox seemed to scream for her attention.

The work didn't care if it was Christmas, if she was exhausted, or if she was desperately craving a bit of joy outside this sterile office. It didn't give her the luxury of rest or a break. No, Okyar wasn't going to be sipping hot cocoa at her family's table this year. She'd be stuck here, tapping away at her keyboard, blinking through the haze of exhaustion as the holiday cheer continued to swirl around her in a distant, almost unreachable way. It was almost cruel how close and yet how far it all seemed.

'Are you deaf? Can't you hear that belly growl? Don't you know you're supposed to eat?' Okyar could practically hear the tiny voice in her head throwing a tantrum.

"Can't. Busy," she mumbled as she typed on, glancing at the clock. It read "five," with a soft glow cast from a string of tiny, rainbow Christmas lights that her cubicle neighbor had hung up in an attempt to add festive cheer to their endless workdays.

Outside her cubicle walls, she heard the rustle of her colleagues packing up for the holiday weekend, laughing and slipping on scarves and gloves to brave the chilly December air. She had another hour or two left before she could also grab her things and head back to her apartment. Of course, "heading home" now just meant bringing piles of paperwork with her.

'I can't take it anymore!' the voice in her head groaned, as if throwing a fit in a snowbank.

"I need to finish this before I leave," she hissed back.

'What?! Are these files more important than me?' the voice shrieked.

Ignoring it, Okyar's fingers stormed across the keyboard.

'Fine. Then we're going to need more coffee,' it muttered.

"That, I can do. There's plenty of coffee here." She paused, scanning her desk for the comforting sight of a brown cardboard cup. A snowflake-shaped coffee sleeve, now crumpled and worn, was still attached to one of them—a token from a coffee shop holiday promo.

She picked up the cup, gave it a gentle shake, expecting to hear a satisfying swirl of coffee remnants, but instead, she was met with a dead silence.

"Empty?" she gasped, peering at the disappointing cup. She let her gaze drift down to the floor, where a small cemetery of used coffee cups littered the space. Her frustration swelled as she realized she'd been living off little more than espresso and the fumes of burnt-out holiday cheer.

'So, we're low on coffee, huh?' The voice sounded unimpressed.

"NO, WE DON'T HAVE COFFEE!" she whined, collapsing into her chair with a dramatic sigh, shutting her eyes for just a moment.

When she opened them again, she found herself standing outside the office building, bundled up in a worn leather jacket, her breath visible in the cold. She spotted the familiar "Le Café" sign glowing across the street, cozy and inviting.

Her brain barely functioned without food, but without coffee? No chance. And after nearly six hours of grueling work, she'd heard the voice in her head demand she take an emergency coffee break—or suffer the consequences.

She crossed the street quickly, boots crunching through a thin layer of snow. She expected the warm sight of lights and cheer, but when she saw the "Closed" sign on the café's door, her heart sank. Throwing her hands to the sky, she moaned, "ALL I WANTED WAS COFFEE!"

A few passersby glanced her way, some with raised eyebrows, some with knowing smirks.

Okyar collapsed onto her knees in front of the glass door, head bowed in defeat. Her red-eyed reflection gazed back at her through the frosted glass, her tear-streaked face a testament to the day's hardship. Let people think what they wanted; she'd had enough.

Just then, she felt a light pressure on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" came a low, gentle voice above her.

Startled, Okyar quickly glanced up to see a towering figure standing beside her, a gentle smile gracing his face. He wore a fluffy coat that looked cozy enough to fall asleep in, his gray beard long enough to brush against the brown belt cinching his waist. He extended a warm, calloused hand toward her, inviting her to stand.

Still dazed, she looked from his face to the outstretched hand before awkwardly scrambling to her feet. Her cheeks flushed as she brushed herself off, realizing she'd just been caught crying over coffee.

"Why are you crying?" he asked softly, his concern clear in the warm caramel eyes that met hers, his smile never faltering. Despite being a stranger, something about him radiated kindness and comfort—a feeling so unexpected it made her want to spill every frustration of her day right there in the snow.

Feeling self-conscious, she swiped her sleeve across her cheeks. "I'm fine. Just...needed a coffee," she mumbled, pointing toward the café's "Closed" sign.

He chuckled softly, and her eyes snapped back to his in mild indignation. But the look of amused sympathy on his face calmed her.

"Oh, sorry," he said, stifling another chuckle. "I thought you were in big trouble or something."

"I am... really," she replied, voice small and trailing off as she fiddled with the hem of her top. She felt ridiculous, standing in the snow, rambling about coffee like it was the end of the world.

The man glanced around, his gaze settling on the closed café sign above them. "Oh, closed today, is it?" he asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"They were open this morning," she sighed, half to herself. She had managed to grab a coffee early in the day, but by now, that felt like a lifetime ago.

He nodded slowly. "Well, that's no good." He turned to her again, his eyes twinkling with a playful glint. "Still in need of that coffee?"

She glanced back at her office across the street, already imagining herself trapped in her suffocating cubicle, surrounded by files—and, worst of all, no coffee.

"Yeah, but it's fine," she mumbled, shaking her head. "There aren't any other coffee places around here, anyway."

"What about The Brewers?" he asked, his voice snapping her out of a mental spiral involving her hypothetical cubicle-bound funeral, her boss still chastising her in her grave.

"Huh?" She blinked at him, feeling lost.

"The Brewers," he repeated, that hint of a smile still playing on his lips.

"Is that...a coffee shop?" She tilted her head, curious. "Sorry, I don't know much around here. I only started working at Apela Finance last month." She pointed to the glossy office building behind her, towering and almost offensively polished, especially in contrast to her current state.

The man nodded, eyes twinkling with something like newfound amusement. "Well, then! You must give it a try. It's the best café in the area. I recommend their cappuccino—best you'll find." He gestured down a cobblestone alleyway, bustling with people wrapped up against the winter chill. "Just two blocks down that way."

She hesitated, glancing back toward her office. Another little voice was whispering that every minute she wasn't at her desk was a strike against her. But after a day like this, she could use a little Christmas miracle.

"Well... can't hurt to try it." She exhaled, already feeling a flicker of hope at the idea of a warm cup of coffee in her hands.

Okyar marched down the cobbled street, her breath forming little clouds in the crisp winter air as she scanned each side for the shopfront as the old man had instructed. The street was alive with the festive spirit; twinkling lights hung from every lamppost, casting a soft, golden glow across the cobblestones. Wreaths adorned shop windows, their green pine needles dusted with a touch of frost, while red ribbons and silver bells shimmered in the glow of the Christmas decorations. The faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, blending with the warmth of freshly baked treats coming from a nearby bakery.

Even if she'd considered turning back to her desk, Okyar's stubborn inner voice rebelled: Get the damn coffee or go die. That caffeine was her only fuel in an otherwise neglected lifestyle, and her body wasn't letting her forget it.

A light dusting of snow clung to the rooftops and window sills, turning the whole scene into a picture-perfect winter wonderland. People bustled along the street, bundled in scarves and coats, some carrying shopping bags, others chatting with a festive cheer in their voices. The soft sound of Christmas carols drifted from a nearby store, adding to the joyful atmosphere. The scene was warm, inviting, and filled with the kind of cheer that could almost make someone forget the cold.

After two blocks, she spotted a narrow, unassuming doorway tucked between two larger buildings, marked with thick italic letters. "The Brewers. Since 1809. We brew thee a smile," she read aloud. With a deep breath, she pushed through the door, the gentle chime echoing above her.

A wave of warmth enveloped Okyar as she stepped inside, a delightful contrast to the chilly streets outside. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes to savor it—the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint aroma of spiced cinnamon.

The dim lighting bathed the café in a soft golden glow, reflecting off crimson walls adorned with lush green vines and tiny red-and-white blossoms, like miniature Christmas ornaments. Circular tables with white-painted chairs were arranged with care, each topped with a small candle flickering inside a glass jar. The hum of soft laughter and murmured conversations filled the room, mingling with a gentle melody of holiday jingles playing in the background.

It was as if she'd walked into a scene from a Christmas card, a world far removed from the cold sterility of her office cubicle. Here, smiles weren't forced; laughter wasn't edged with sarcasm. Even those sitting alone seemed to radiate contentment, their hands wrapped around warm cups, their eyes distant but peaceful.

Okyar's gaze wandered to the counter, where a woman in a light blue uniform was adjusting a garland of tinsel hanging over the register. Spotting her, the woman straightened up and beamed, her smile wide and unreserved, carrying the same warmth as the café itself.

"Welcome to *The Brewers*! What can I get started for you?" the woman chimed, her voice as bright as a string of Christmas lights.

"Hi..." Okyar replied, returning a tentative smile of her own.

The cashier's expression softened as she took in Okyar's face. "You seem a little down today. Everything alright?"

"Uh, yeah, just a bad day."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. What can I get for you to cheer you up?" The cashier's gentle tone mirrored the kindness she'd felt from the old man earlier, and Okyar wondered for a moment if he'd sent her here for more than just coffee.

"A four-pack of macchiatos," she answered, getting straight to the point.

"Sure thing! Want names on the cups?"

"Nope, all for me." She chuckled lightly, feeling her spirits lift as she caught the cashier's amused look.

With the order in, Okyar waited, shuffling her feet as the cashier disappeared into the back. In less than ten minutes, she returned, the same wide smile gracing her face as she handed over the coffees.

Okyar settled her bill and grabbed the pack, eager to start sipping. She'd barely crossed the threshold before popping one open, taking a long sip that felt like pure bliss. As the warmth spread through her, she took a moment to savor the rich flavor and marveled at how desperately she needed this tiny bit of comfort.

She took another sip, twirling the cup in her hand like a happy girl. That's when her eyes caught something scribbled on the side of the cup.

Dear Okyar, it read.

The season shines brightest in moments like these, right? So guess what? You're a star, gorgeous. Keep your spirits high, let your smile sparkle, and show the world the magic you're made of. Merry Christmas!

Her breath caught. She blinked, her eyes misting. She'd never expected words like these—certainly not anywhere around Apela Finance or the bustling city of Finsale, where no one looked twice at another, gave a thought about what others might be feeling unless it paid them in money. These simple words somehow comforted her in a way that went deeper than any holiday bonus or hollow pep talk.

With her heart full, Okyar turned back toward the café, wanting to thank the cashier. But when she approached the counter, the cashier met her surprise with one of her own.

"We usually write little messages, but I swear I didn't write that one," she said, scratching her head. "Since you didn't want names, I figured you wouldn't be interested."

"Right... I didn't give my name," Okyar murmured, turning the cup in her hands, unsure what to make of it.

Her gaze wandered and she noticed a portrait on the wall—a painting of an old man with a long, familiar beard and warm caramel eyes twinkling with mischief. She squinted, recognizing the comforting features that had lifted her spirits on the street just moments ago.

The cashier followed her gaze. "Oh, him? That's the founder father of The Brewers. They say he was a kind, cheerful soul, the sort of person who could light up a room and cheer up a suffering heart."

"Oh... He does in fact look really kind. I assume he's no longer among us..." Okyar's voice trailed off, almost afraid to ask.

"Oh, silly," The cashier chuckled softly, "He passed centuries ago. Opened this place in 1809. But we still follow his 'customer care manual,' where he wrote all kinds of lovely, uplifting lines. We like to share them sometimes."

Okyar looked back at the cup, her finger tracing the words, feeling warmth in her heart.

"And that message?" the cashier added, her eyes gentle. "It's probably exactly what he would've written if he were still here."

Okyar held the cup close, reading the words again, savoring the unexpected comfort they brought. And for the first time in a long while, she smiled—genuinely.