Snow fell gently outside the frosted windowpanes of Nymphia’s living room, where laughter and chatter filled the air. The annual Christmas party she hosted had become a tradition among her friends. This year, however, it felt different—at least to her. Jane was here, like always, lighting up the room with her laugh and the way her dimple showed every time she smiled.
Nymphia couldn’t help but steal glances at Jane, who was effortlessly charming everyone with her wit and humor. It had always been this way. Jane was magnetic, the kind of person people gravitated toward without realizing it. Nymphia was no exception, though she’d never dared to say it out loud.
"Hey, Nymph! You okay?" Jane’s voice cut through her thoughts. She was standing right there, holding out a steaming mug of hot cocoa.
"Yeah," Nymphia replied, her voice quieter than she intended. She took the mug, her fingers brushing against Jane’s. "Thanks."
Jane tilted her head, studying her. "You’ve been quiet tonight. Something on your mind?"
Nymphia shook her head, forcing a smile. "Just... enjoying the moment."
If Jane noticed the slight tremble in her voice, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she grinned and plopped down on the couch beside Nymphia, closer than necessary.
The night carried on, with games, music, and endless chatter. But the inevitable moment came when someone—probably Mirage—dragged out the mistletoe.
"Okay, everyone! You know the rules!" Mirage announced, holding up the sprig of green with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Nymphia groaned inwardly. She hated being the center of attention, and this game always found a way to make her uncomfortable.
"Alright, let’s spin the bottle and see who gets the honor of standing under this bad boy first!" Mirage declared, placing the mistletoe at the center of the room.
The bottle spun, the room a blur of laughter and anticipation. Nymphia barely registered it slowing down—until it stopped, the neck pointing directly at her.
"Looks like Nymphia’s up first!" Mirage crowed, her grin widening as she grabbed Jane’s arm. "And guess who’s the lucky one to join her?"
Jane’s face flushed, and for once, she looked genuinely flustered. "Oh, come on, Mirage. This is ridiculous."
"Rules are rules," Mirage said smugly, practically shoving the two of them toward the mistletoe hanging from the archway.
The room erupted in cheers and teasing as Nymphia and Jane stood awkwardly beneath the tiny sprig.
"You don’t have to—" Nymphia began, her voice faltering.
"Hey," Jane said softly, her hand brushing against Nymphia’s. "It’s just a silly tradition, right?"
But her eyes said something else entirely—something unspoken yet unmistakable.
Time seemed to freeze. The world around them faded into the background, the laughter and teasing turning into a dull hum. Jane’s gaze locked with Nymphia’s, and for a brief moment, the mask they both wore cracked.
Nymphia’s heart pounded. This was it. The moment she’d both feared and longed for.
Jane leaned in, her movements hesitant, giving Nymphia every chance to pull away. But she didn’t.
The kiss was soft and fleeting, barely more than a brush of lips, but it left them both breathless.
When they pulled back, the room erupted into cheers and whistles. But Nymphia barely noticed.
"Jane—"
"Later," Jane whispered, her cheeks flushed, but her smile was genuine.
And in that moment, Nymphia felt something she hadn’t in a long time: hope.