Mark Brooke | 21.11.2011

Mist clouds on Mark's window pane, preventing him from seeing Martha's window.

He makes a futile attempt to clean the mist. The mist remains.

He lifts the window pane, a little. A jolting wind sweeps in. He rubs his fingers against the cup of hot chocolate which patiently waits for his attention. The cup remains untouched.

He catches a glimpse of her tousled, dark blonde hair. He takes a sip of the warm goodness.

It rarely grew cold in California. Today is an unexpectedly cold day.

Her face now appears among the cleared mist. He waves. She smiles.