Bring The Heat Back

In another snow-covered part of the city, a lighter flickers to life in trembling hands. One can hear broken, sniffling breaths, soft and uneven. In the stillness of early morning, droplets of melted snow fall gently into the depths below.

A tall man sits leaning against a tree, arms wrapped around his knees, shaping a small mound of snow in front of him.
He takes a drag from a cigarette, exhales into the cold air, and then places the still-burning stub into the tiny snow pile. His breath comes out slow and steady as he murmurs.

"Happy birthday, Khan... K... whoever you are..."
He pauses for a moment, eyes distant.
"You're not supposed to say your wishes out loud... or else they won't come true."

But my wishes aren't really wishes. They're unreachable dreams.