Chapter 17 — New Year Snowfall
The turn of the year brought with it a new silence. A peaceful one. Streets were blanketed in white, and the rustle of celebration had given way to the soft hush of winter's breath.
For Elena and Elira, the winter break had become something magical—quiet, creative, and filled with promise.
The magazine featuring their project had officially gone to print.
The day it arrived by mail, Elira couldn't contain her excitement. She rushed into their small shared room, holding the envelope like a fragile relic.
"Elena! It's here!"
Elena looked up from her laptop. "The magazine?"
"It's real! It's real, it's real—look!" Elira peeled the envelope open carefully, revealing the glossy publication.
On the first spread of the youth submissions section, there they were: a full two-page feature titled Through the Pages of Us.
Elena's prose stood tall in the left column, while Elira's illustrations framed the right—expressive sketches of two girls beneath a rain-soaked umbrella, walking forward through blurry silhouettes of their past.
They sat together on the floor, flipping through the pages again and again, unable to fully believe it.
"I don't think I've ever felt this proud," Elira whispered.
Elena smiled, brushing a hand over the page. "We made something. Something that people actually wanted to read."
They sat in silence for a while, bathed in the pale winter sunlight. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they reached for their pens and notebooks. The desire to create had only grown stronger.
...
Kaito, meanwhile, spent his break helping his grandfather with temple duties. As the eldest son in a long line of shrine caretakers, New Year's was always busy.
He was sweeping the snow-dusted temple steps when his phone buzzed.
Elena:We got the magazine today. It's beautiful. Thank you for encouraging us.
He smiled.
Kaito:You did all the hard work. I just believed in something that was already true.
He didn't tell her how many times he'd bragged about them to his grandfather that week.
"She's the quiet one in my class. The one with the sharp eyes. And her sister—Elira—she draws like she sees into people's hearts."
His grandfather only chuckled. "You admire them."
"I respect them," Kaito corrected softly. "They've been through so much, and they still choose to be kind."
By January's second week, the twins returned to school with a different kind of confidence.
Students who once walked past them now nodded in greeting. A few stopped to ask about the magazine. Even the teachers treated them with a new, quiet reverence.
During lunch, they sat at their usual spot near the window. Snowflakes fluttered outside, catching in the winter sunlight.
"Have you noticed how quiet it's gotten?" Elira asked.
"Peaceful, you mean?" Elena replied.
Elira nodded. "Like… we're finally breathing properly."
Elena smiled. "I think this is what safety feels like."
Rintaro found them later in the art room. He plopped a box onto the table.
"Print proofs," he said. "I made extra copies of your zine project. Thought you might want some."
Elira's eyes lit up. "You reprinted these?"
"High-res paper, too," he added smugly. "Best quality the club's budget could afford."
"You're amazing," Elena said sincerely.
He scratched the back of his neck. "I know."
As they browsed through the fresh prints, Rintaro hesitated for a moment. Then, he pulled a folded flyer from his pocket and slid it across the table.
"What's this?" Elena asked.
"An art and writing competition," he explained. "City-wide. Theme is 'Resilience.'"
Elira leaned forward. "That's…"
"Kind of perfect," Elena finished.
"I think you should submit something," Rintaro said, looking at both of them. "Separately or together—doesn't matter. You have a story worth telling."
They stared at the flyer in silence, the weight of possibility settling between them like snowfall.
The days began to blur as January unfolded.
The twins brainstormed over warm drinks at cafes and late nights under the kotatsu. Their new project slowly took shape—part poetry, part visual narrative, all of it steeped in memories they had once locked away.
They called it Winterglass.
Elira drew fragile frost-covered windows with silhouettes peering out. Elena wrote of distant stars, warm hands, and footsteps in the snow.
Kaito, who'd become an honorary member of their creative circle, reviewed drafts, offered feedback, and once or twice simply sat with them in silence when they didn't need words.
"You two are like light refracted through glass," he once said.
Elira blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're still the same light," he said. "Just reaching the world in a hundred different colors now."
The night before submission, Elira sat awake, drawing the final panel.
It was a picture of two girls looking out at a snow-covered world, side by side, hand in hand.
Elena watched from the bed, eyes soft. "That's us."
"It's always been us," Elira whispered.
Elena stood, walked over, and leaned her head against her sister's. "Let's show them who we are."
...
The day of the competition results arrived in early February.
They weren't expecting to win. Just to be seen.
But when the email came, both of them held their breath.
Congratulations.
'Winterglass' has won the Grand Award in the Youth Creativity Category.
They screamed. Then laughed. Then cried.
Their names would be announced at the upcoming city showcase.
They'd be invited to speak again. And Winterglass would be published, not just in a magazine—but as part of a city-wide art exhibition.
That night, Kaito joined them outside the exhibition hall where the announcement board had been set up.
He smiled when he saw their names carved into the placard.
"You did it again."
Elena turned toward him. "We couldn't have done it without you."
He shook his head. "I didn't change you. You changed yourselves. You just needed the chance to be heard."
Elira smiled. "Then maybe we'll keep finding more ways to speak."
He looked at them both, quietly proud. "The world is listening now."
As they stood under the streetlight, snow began to fall again—soft, slow, and full of promise.
And this time, it felt like a blessing.
To be continued...