It was the kind of January morning that makes you believe the world was designed in shades of white and grey. Erik had taken the early train to a conference he was already regretting; Ingrid had a window seat and her headphones in, watching the frost-edged fields blur past.

The train stalled somewhere between stations — mechanical failure, the conductor announced — and Ingrid's playlist died with her phone battery. Erik had a portable charger. That was enough.

Three years of long winters made warm by each other later, we decided that the cold was actually our favorite season — so long as we face it together.