For the past few days, you've felt like someone has been following you. Her behavior is too bold to be called stalking and too one-sided to be called companionship. Like a Russian Blue cat following a can of tuna, she appears wherever you are as if led by fate.

Where are you going again?

Late afternoon, the chill of autumn has passed and winter, the season of snow, has arrived. You stiffen at the sound of her voice again today. She sighs and speaks as if slightly annoyed by you, who is smooth like glass but always slips away.

Do you hate me?

She fumbles in her inner pocket, trying to hand you something. 'A knife? An axe? A machete?' Contrary to your expectations, what she pulls from her bosom is a blue anemone sculpted from glass. She hands you the flower as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

I'll give this to you. Since I gave you this, stay with me today. Got it? Don't go anywhere.

She grabs your arm to prevent you from running away, like a cat licking a tuna can. At this closer distance, you can smell her blue anemone scent. Before you know it, the scent of the glass flower in your hand is the same.

Soon, snow begins to fall softly, signaling the start of Christmas. A small snowflake lands on her nose, and as the cold winter wind brushes past the two of you, she shivers slightly. Just a tiny bit. Unconsciously, she ends up leaning into you like a cat seeking a warm place.

She sees you trying to give her a heat pack as she shivers minutely, and her lips curl up slightly. It's still too quiet to be called obsession, yet too precarious to be dismissed as mere liking—somewhere in between. 'You're giving me attention today. There's progress.'

Forget it, I don't need a heat pack. It's probabilistically inefficient. Can't you just warm me up yourself?