All is Calm

Matthew wasn’t a fan of crowds. He never had been. Crowds meant things were often loud and unpredictable, and he avoided such things the way a careful man avoids a wobbly chair.

This made Christmas in his small town a particularly challenging time of year. People moved differently during Christmas—faster, louder, and more distracted. Yet every year, without fail, Matthew went to the Christmas market downtown.

He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t buy gifts, didn’t eat the cookies or drink the hot chocolate, and he absolutely never rode the carousel. But something about the market drew him in. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch unless he walked through the stalls, observing the bright lights, the red ribbons on every booth, and the frosted breath of cheerful strangers.

This year was no different. Matthew adjusted his scarf neatly around his neck, zipped his coat to just below his chin, and walked to the market. His steps were precise, measured, and intentional. His eyes scanned everything, taking in the scene like a camera cataloging every detail.

The market was alive with sounds and smells. A man with a violin played “Silent Night,” his bow dancing over the strings. Children laughed and tugged on their parents’ arms, begging for frosted sugar cookies from a nearby stall. Vendors called out their wares, each trying to outdo the others with promises of handmade quality or unbeatable prices.

Matthew walked past all of them, his hands tucked into his pockets, his head slightly tilted as if listening to something no one else could hear.

“Hey there!” a voice called out, cutting through the noise like a gentle nudge.

Matthew turned. The voice belonged to a vendor at a small wooden booth filled with hand-carved figurines. The man was older, with a kind face and a wool hat pulled low over his ears.

“Looking for a gift?” the man asked, his tone warm but not pushy.

Matthew hesitated. He didn’t usually stop for things like this. People talking to him often led to awkward pauses, misunderstandings, or worse—pity. But something about the man’s voice felt different. It wasn’t demanding; it felt like an invitation.

Slowly, Matthew approached the booth. The wooden figurines were arranged neatly—reindeer with delicate antlers, snowmen with tiny scarves, and a nativity set so intricate it looked like it belonged in an art exhibit.

One figure caught his eye—a small angel with outstretched wings and a serene expression. He reached out, his fingers hovering above it for a moment before he picked it up.

The vendor smiled. “That one’s special,” he said. “Angels are messengers, you know.”

Matthew turned the figure over in his hands. The wood was smooth, polished to a shine. He studied the angel’s face, its eyes looking out as if it knew something he didn’t. After a moment, he set it back down carefully and nodded once at the vendor before walking away.

All is Bright

At home, the quiet was a relief. Matthew sat by the window in the living room, watching snow gather in the corners of the street below. The angel stayed in his mind, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. A messenger. That would be something, wouldn’t it? To say what you needed to say without all the trouble of saying it.

The next morning, Christmas Eve, Matthew followed his usual routine. He walked to the bakery on 2nd Street, where the smell of fresh bread greeted him before he even opened the door. Mrs. Graves, the owner and seemingly the only one ever working, was already smiling when he stepped inside.

“Morning, Matthew,” she said brightly. “Got your chocolate croissant already here for you.”

Matthew nodded, reaching into his pocket for a neatly folded five-dollar bill. He handed it to her, careful to avoid her eyes.

Mrs. Graves paused as she handed him the bag. “You know,” she said, her voice softening, “I keep meaning to tell you, my granddaughter is about your age. She’s an artist. You should meet her sometime. You’d like her.”

Matthew didn’t respond. He never did, and Mrs. Graves never pressed. She just smiled, a little sadly, as he turned and left.

Love’s Pure Light

Christmas morning arrived, quiet and still.

The snow from the night before had covered the town in a soft white blanket. In the kitchen, a single gift sat on the table, wrapped in bright red paper with a ribbon tied in an elegant bow.

Matthew stared at it for a long time. He wasn’t used to gifts—at least, not ones that felt like they were meant for him. But this one was different. It was small but heavy in a way that was promising.

He sat down, unwrapping it slowly, methodically, as if the paper itself held secrets. Inside was a device—a tablet, but not just any tablet. This one had been programmed with care. On the screen were pictures, words, and a simple layout.

Matthew’s fingers hovered over the screen. He didn’t move for a moment, his eyes studying the device like it was an alien artifact. Then, carefully, he pressed an icon.

A voice—not his, but close enough—spoke: “Thank you.”

His parents, who had been watching from the doorway, beamed. His mother clutched her hands to her chest, her eyes glistening with tears. “Merry Christmas, Matthew,” she whispered.

Matthew looked at them, then back at the device. He pressed another button, and the voice said, “Merry Christmas.”

And for the first time, in a way no one had expected, Matthew said what he had always wanted to say.