“Let’s go somewhere, somewhere quiet where it’s just us.”

“Can we?”

He chuckles huskily and gently wraps his arms around your waist, further closing the gap between the two of you. “Of course we can. I can see you thinking.”

“Well,” you start, biting your bottom lip. His eyes follow the motion before flitting back to your face. “There’s an island that I’ve heard of about 48 kilometers away from Vietnam.”

“But the fangirls—“

“Shh,” you shyly place a finger on his lips. “Phu Quoc,” you stumble over the foreign language. “There’s a Sao Beach, I think that’s what it’s called. Apparently it’s hard to get there, but it’s quiet because of the lack of people. We could give it a try.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

—

“Is this real?” he nervously laughs at the scene. Only a few people are scattered along the beach coast, but other than that, the sand is white, the water is pristine and such a shade of crystallizing blue that it’d be like breaking an ice sculpture once echoing the ripples across the surface.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” you lightly ponder and slightly shiver. Winter’s starting to set in and you hug your hoodie tighter around your figure.

“Cold?” he muses and almost childishly tugs on your hoodie-wrapped hand, forcing you to move away from your view and pick up your sandals that leave prints in the sand. Your hand goes with his into his jacket pocket. The wind whispers through the wind in bipolar amounts, sometimes harsh and biting against your skin and other times gentle and soothing. Air salts tangle themselves in between the strands of both of your hairs, not that you notice.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to the beach,” your fiancé casually strolls along memory lane. “At least, not one like this. I never want to leave, this quiet and serenity. Why’d you have to take me here?” he ends with a pout tugging at his bottom lip and a child-like whine and you let out a full laugh, a genuine one that makes your face hurt because it’s stretched so wide. It’s been too long.

“Be glad you got to enjoy it,” you playfully scold him and punch his arm. He rubs it defiantly in mock pain but tugs you closer to him, his arm squeezing around your shoulders like a vice. Eventually, he stops, making you come to a screeching halt in the sand as you’re moved in front of him and hang your hands on his arms still wrapped around your shoulders.

Too short for him to place his chin on your shoulder, he places it on top of your head and sways the both of you back and forth to some unknown melody. The body heat is a little much, seeing as you do prefer the winter over any other season because hello, it’s hoodie season! and there’s nothing better than being in a comfortable hoodie that actually belongs to your fiancé.

“We should bring our children here, too, you know.”

Your nails uncomfortably dig into the soft material of his jacket sleeve. “Your mother isn’t so happy about that.”

“Just because we can’t have children, doesn’t mean we can’t have them.”

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip, your brain flashbacking to the tearful argument with his mother, a figure in the new family that will never ever accept you.

“That doesn’t make you any less than what you are. And I love you. Mother is just…a little old fashioned.”

“She’s not,” you mutter under your breath, completely aware he’s just trying to make you feel better. You detach yourself from his arms and are met with slight resistance, but that doesn’t stop you from padding over the white grains and into the water.

Your foot breaks the pristine surface and freezes at the coldness wrapping around it. Ignoring it, you place your other foot in and stand there, feeling your lips chap a bit. You embrace the wind as he gives you your space and you’re more than thankful for the fact that he understands.

—

Two Decembers later, you bring the first child home, a ten year old who’s a bit quiet for his age. He’s a mix of nations in the Asian context.

The first snow reminds you of the whiteness of the sand and when you catch your husband staring at the shots of the beach from two years ago, you know he misses it, too.

“Someday,” you breathe into his neck, your arms winding around him from the back. “We’ll go back, bring him there. He’ll love it.”

“He’s a bit like you, to be honest,” he murmurs back, still turned towards the picture. “But it’s more than I can ask for.”

“Winter’s our thing,” you agree.

“Mom, can we have some hot chocolate?” your son shyly asks. You turn back to let your eyes soak him in. Winters are the best with the snowflakes frozen onto the windows, the marshmallows melting in the hot chocolate, the peppermint candy canes hanging on the tree, the smiles on everyone’s face.

“Of course.”