That year, Christmas.
Edinburgh.
A sheet of ice.
A naive girl with a handbag adorned with cute cartoon designs stands before a dressed-up Christmas tree, occasionally stomping her feet and blowing into her hands to fend off the cold.
As the clock chimes, the person she's waiting for still hasn't arrived.
Looking at the gift in her hand, she pouts, sadness in her eyes, "You're not coming?"
"No."
"It's definitely the traffic jam."
"Yes, it must be!"
Hope flickers in her eyes, and she continues to stomp her feet and blow into her hands, persistently looking in one direction.
Christmas Eve, a night of revelry.
As the clock turns, the crowd gradually thins.
By two in the morning, the street is almost deserted.
By three in the morning, aside from the beautiful Christmas tree, only she remains.
He's not coming.
