It’s eerily quiet in the airport, the lights dimmed to a soft glow. We’ve walked the entire terminal, read every placard detailing the area’s history, and admired every photo of Vancouver from over a century ago. Now, we’ve come across a special, limited-time display of tiny Disney figurines. “Oh, look at this Minnie Mouse!” I point at the glass. “She’s doing yoga.” Bash comes close, his thick shoulder brushing against mine as he bends at the hips to inspect the one I’m referring to. The unexpected contact makes my heart skip a beat. “I think she’s just sitting cross-legged.” The low gravel of
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