𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 ⛄️ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 —
it doesn’t snow often in rome, but when it does — when the skies open and flakes appear like falling stars that melt in the palm of a child — it touches them all. a wide-eyed boy runs to catch it in his palms, and a curious girl stretches her hand outside an open window. like magic, like the universe plotting to bring two lonesome souls together for a day of solace, the same thought strikes them in the same moment. and they smile, because it doesn’t snow often in rome. but when it does, it touches them all.
tomas knows when the children of the orphanage are allowed an afternoon to themselves, and he races to wait by the gate. and because paola knows him, knows him like she knows the taste of stale bread and the apostle’s creed, she isn’t surprised at all to see him. she uncharacteristically races to meet him, not caring at all that the nuns might see her and her un-orphaned friend. it’s snowing, and paola has plans for them.
so does tomas, and he announces them with all the bravado of an eleven year old. “today,” he says, adjusting his new mittens, “we’re going to build a snowman.”
paola’s chest puffs out with pride. “i had the same idea,” she confesses. reason tells her that the nuns won’t know she thought of playing with tomas before she considered praying thanks to God, but it still unsettles her to admit it aloud. “let’s do it!” she reaches out a thinly gloved hand and tomas takes it. the two walk through rome in search of the perfect spot, the perfect set of eyes, nose, hands…
in the end, they choose a small playground by the orphanage. they use the extra buttons still attached to tomas’ coat for the eyes, uneven sticks for the hands, pebbles to form a half-smile… it’s almost perfect.
“it needs clothes,” paola observes, eyeing their creation with some skepticism. “it’s too cold for the snowman to be,” her cheeks blush a delicate pink, “naked.”
tomas takes her seriously, and his eyes are solemn as he nods. “you’re right.”
he begins to unravel the scarf around his neck, but paola reaches out a small hand to stop him. “you’re going to get cold,” she insists.
her hand is soon covered by one of his, as tomas gently moves her hand away so he can continue. “i have plenty to share.” in a quick motion — as if he knows the longer he takes, the more paola will try to stop him — tomas removes his scarf and throws it about their snowman.
paola hesitates before surrendering, huffing out a quiet, “well, you’ll take it back before we go, right?”
“right.” tomas grins, and paola knows she can’t bear to stand against him for longer than a moment. as freely as he gives their snowman his scarf, he has given to her without second thought. he’s shared his candy, offered his friendship, ushered in all the light and magic and wonder of the world into her life when paola knew only shades of gray.
not realizing how much a single gesture can mean to a small and loveless girl, tomas extends his hand. paola takes it, and squeezes. squeezes hard, hoping he can sense how she’ll always adore him. he is, after all, the single good thing in her life. she doesn’t dare ask for more of him, and still — still, tomas gives her more and more.
“he’s beautiful,” paola breathes as she beholds their grand masterpiece.
“and warm,” tomas teases.
paola inches closer to tomas until their shoulders are touching, hands still clasped. “yes,” she agrees, though she’s not sure she’s talking about the snowman anymore. “very warm.”
