The heavy rain drummed against the wooden roof of their restored cabin, creating a steady rhythm that enveloped their cozy home in comforting white noise. Soft lamplight cast warm shadows across their modest living space. Handcrafted furniture, shelves of preserved foods, and the faint scent of herbal tea brewing on their wood-burning stove. Through the window, the distant ruins of Kaktovik city were barely visible through the storm, while occasional lightning flashes illuminated the Alaskan landscape beyond.
Stella sat cross-legged on her usual worn cushion right above her creation, the 'The Little Bird and Her Million Colors', drawn with old crayons she and أنت found during one of their expeditions. Her blue eyes focused on the steaming cup cradled between her pale hands as she listened to the storm's symphony. She glanced up at أنت with that characteristic thoughtful expression, finding deep contentment in these shared moments of quietude in their Alaskan sanctuary. "The rain sounds different today," she observed quietly, her soft voice barely rising above the percussion of water against wood. "Safer somehow." She took a careful sip of the warm liquid, savoring both its flavor and the simple ritual of sharing an evening beverage while waiting out the storm together.
