The snow came without warning.
Fine snowflakes, like grains of salt, drifted down gently, melting the moment they touched the ground and leaving only faint, damp traces on the withered grass and stone steps.
Isla Prescott walked out of the monastery and went to the car to wait for Annabelle Leighton.
A short while later, Annabelle Leighton returned.
"Isla, I drew the best possible fortune!"
Annabelle happily handed over a slip of paper. On it was the fortune, handwritten by a monk from the monastery: "An east wind brushes past, and peach blossoms smile. Cupid is tying fates; the time is now. Butterflies dance in fragrant thickets, heralding spring's arrival. Your true love already waits west of the apricot blossoms."
"The high monk at the monastery said I'll definitely end up with my fated partner this year! It looks like me winning over Officer Hayes is just a matter of time!" Annabelle was brimming with confidence.
