In a snowy Derbyshire village, Mowmita’s story for Different Truths follows a lonely author who rediscovers first love, transforming a Christmas getaway into a lifelong New Year’s miracle.
Snow drifted softly against the windowpane of Elena’s tiny Derbyshire flat, gathering like powdered sugar on the stone ledge. Inside, she curled up on the sofa, hands wrapped around a mug of strong black coffee—her steady companion during long writing nights.
Being an author had its charms but also loneliness. Deadlines. Book tours. Endless emails. Drafts that never felt right. She shoved it all aside for Christmas week, craving quiet, space, and maybe a little magic.
Tonight, the world outside glowed. The streets, the rooftops, even the branches of the bare oak tree—everything carried the shimmer of a true White Christmas.
She sipped her coffee, inhaling its warmth, and felt something tug inside her. A small ache. A memory.
Maybe she needed a walk. Maybe the village would remind her how to breathe again.
***
Derbyshire in December felt like stepping into the pages of a winter fairytale. The Christmas market was already alive, stalls twinkling under fairy lights, children chasing each other with red noses, and the smell of chocolate and cinnamon wafting everywhere.
A towering Christmas tree stood at the centre, dressed in gold ribbons and tiny bells. A choir near the old clock tower sang gentle carols, voices rising like warm breath into the cold air. A man dressed as Santa waved at toddlers. Two calm reindeer were fed by giggling children, their noses dusted with snow. A festive sledge waited nearby, its bells jingling whenever someone stepped close.
Elena paused to take it all in.
God, she had missed this.
“Still wandering around looking for your next book idea?”
She froze.
She knew that voice—soft, teasing, and anchored somewhere deep in her chest.
She turned slowly.
There he was.
Aiden.
Her first love.
Her once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.
The one person she never got over, no matter how many books she wrote or cities she visited.
He stood there as if the snow was meant to fall around him—dark hair dusted white, coat unbuttoned at the collar, eyes warm enough to melt the cold.
“Aiden…” She said his name like it still belonged to her.
He smiled, that gentle tilt she used to replay in her mind far too often.
“You’re back.”
“I’m here for Christmas,” she managed. “Needed a break from… everything.”
He nodded as if he understood the “everything” without needing explanation.
“Elena, you haven’t changed,” he said softly. “Still wandering the square with a notebook, hoping inspiration falls from the sky.”
She laughed. “Something like that.”
“Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward a stall. “Let’s get you a proper Christmas drink. Hot chocolate? Mrs Grant still makes it like it’s a hug in a cup.”
She almost said no.
Almost.
But his smile was hard to walk away from.
“Alright,” she murmured.
***
They sipped steaming hot chocolate, topped with a mountain of whipped cream, while snow fluttered around them. Elena felt warmth seep into places she’d ignored for too long.
“You disappeared into the world,” Aiden said gently. “Book signings. Events. Travel. I kept seeing your name everywhere.”
“Did you?” she asked quietly.
“It’s hard not to notice the girl you once planned your whole life around.”
Her heart stilled.
“Aiden…”
“I don’t mean to make it heavy,” he said quickly. “It’s Christmas. I’m just happy you’re here.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m happy too.”
They walked through the square, brushing past children dragging their parents toward Santa, past stalls selling gingerbread men, and past the reindeer pen. They strolled the way they used to—slow and easy, arms brushing just enough to make her pulse quicken.
Suddenly, a group of children shouted,
“Under the mistletoe! They have to kiss!”
Elena looked up and groaned. A large bunch of mistletoe hung above them, tied with a red ribbon.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
“Oh yes,” Aiden teased.
Snowflakes clung to his lashes, melting slowly. The soft glow of the market lights wrapped around them like a blanket.
“You don’t have to—” she began.
He stepped closer. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“I never stopped wanting to.”
Her breath caught.
And then he kissed her.
A warm, slow, breathtaking kiss that tasted like everything she had missed—home, comfort, promises, the boy she once loved, and the man he had become.
When he pulled back, she felt dazed.
“Elena… I don’t want this to be just Christmas nostalgia,” he said, voice shaking a little. “I don’t want to wonder ‘what if’ for another year.”
She didn’t want that either.
Not again.
Not this time.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
Aiden’s eyes softened in relief, as though he’d waited years to hear those words.
***
The next days unfolded like a quiet miracle.
Morning coffee in her flat.
Afternoon walks through snowy fields.
Late-night talks about everything they never said before.
Elena wrote again—pages and pages, not forced but flowing, alive.
Aiden read beside her, legs brushing hers, sometimes stealing a kiss just because he could.
And with each hour, each shared silence, each laugh, each snowfall… something grew between them. Something that felt sturdy, true, and beautifully familiar.
She wasn’t just home.
She was found.
***
On New Year’s Eve, as lanterns glowed across the square and fireworks whispered above the hills, Aiden led her back to the old stone bridge overlooking the frozen creek. Lanterns glowed softly along the path, and the snow around them shimmered like crushed pearls. It felt quiet in a way that made the heart speak more boldly than the mouth.
He stopped walking.
“Elena,” he said, breath misting in the cold, “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not about how much you meant to me then… and how much you mean to me now.”
She felt something warm bloom inside her chest. “Aiden…”
He took her hands, rubbing his thumbs over her gloves—steady, gentle, full of years of unsaid longing.
“You were my first love,” he whispered. “The kind that never fades, no matter how much time passes. You went out into the world and made your dreams real… and I was proud. But I never stopped wishing you’d find your way back to me.”
Her throat tightened.
Snow clung to his hair.
Lantern light softened the edges of everything except the truth in his eyes.
“I’m here now,” she breathed. “I’m not running anymore. Not from you. Not from us.”
He exhaled, as if he’d been holding that breath for years.
Then—quietly, without theatrics—he reached inside his coat and pulled out a small velvet box.
No crowds.
No dramatic music.
Just them and the falling snow.
“Elena,” he said, voice steady with certainty, “marry me. Not because it’s Christmas. Not because it’s romantic tonight. But because I’ve loved you since I knew what love was… and I want to spend my whole life waking up next to you.”
Her eyes filled instantly.
Her heart felt like it was overflowing.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Of course, yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger—simple, elegant, perfect. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his coat as he held her tightly, lifting her slightly off the snowy ground.
Snowflakes drifted around them like blessings.
They kissed—slow, warm, certain.
A kiss that felt like home.
A kiss that felt like beginning again, but better this time.
***
Their wedding was small and gentle, held in the village church where they had first sung carols as children. She walked toward him with snow falling outside the stained-glass windows, and the moment she reached him, he mouthed, You’re my forever.
And he meant it.
Afterwards, they returned to her Derbyshire flat—now their flat—where two mugs of coffee sat waiting on the counter, and the scent of pine filled the room from the Christmas tree they’d decorated together.
Aiden pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Mrs Tennyson,” he murmured, “how does it feel?”
She smiled, heart full. “Like the story I didn’t know I was writing, finally found its ending.”
He kissed her again—soft, lingering, full of a lifetime’s promise—before lifting her in his arms and carrying her toward the warm light of their home.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, love finally had the place it was always meant to live.
And so, their story ended exactly the way it should—
With warmth.
With laughter.
With coffee shared on quiet mornings.
With Christmas lights glowing softly against the walls.
With two hearts that had wandered, separated, waited…
and finally chose each other, fully and forever.
A happy marriage.
A love that stayed.
A love that made coming home feel like the sweetest miracle of all.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
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