In the heart of George Square, the essence of Glasgow's rich history unfolded. Majestic statues adorned the grounds, standing tall as silent guardians of time. A dance of people traversed the open space, a rhythmic ebb and flow accentuated by the comings and goings of those arriving and departing Queen Street Station.

In the midst of this urban tapestry, the square's center became a hub of sensory delight. Street vendors showcased their culinary prowess, wafting tantalizing scents of grilled meats and sweet treats through the air. Yet, it was the lone candle seller who added a touch of warmth to the scene. Flames flickered from his stall in vibrant hues of blues and reds. Their glow cut through the winter chill, captivating onlookers who clustered around in awe.

Among the dynamic backdrop, a homeless woman sought solace near one of the statues. Her appearance, ragged and weathered, stood in stark contrast to the floral adornments in her hair. Pigeons pecked around her, seemingly attuned to a gentle presence. A passerby, moved by compassion, left coins and bottles of water beside her. A silent exchange of gratitude ensued, the unspoken acknowledgment of shared humanity.

As the square's tales unfolded, a young woman, unaware of the imminent sequence of events, entered a nearby cafe. The door swung shut behind her, the muted clang echoing like a prelude to the unforeseen chain of events about to unfold.

***

I walked into the café, greeted by a warmth that cut through the Scottish chill I'd grown accustomed to. Although I loved the magic of winter, nothing beat the feeling of settling into a cozy room with the promise of a comforting chai latte.

With the steaming paper cup in hand, I sought out the raised seats near the window, overlooking George Square. People-watching held a particular charm for me – a chance to play detective, to weave stories about the passersby. Who were they, and where were they headed? As I settled onto the high stool, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: Did anyone ever scrutinize me with the same curiosity?

Coat off, I draped it over the stool beside me, and a contented sigh escaped as I took my first sip of coffee. Cinnamon warmth permeated my senses, filling me with joy. Today I would not be watching the crowds. Instead, I reached into my coat pocket, producing a pack of tarot cards aglow in a gentle purple light – a Christmas gift waiting to be explored. Despite my limited knowledge of tarot readings, I was determined to take my first step into this mystical world.

With the table cleared, I laid out the elemental cards – fire, water, earth, and air – setting the stage for my venture. I shuffled the rest of the deck thoughtfully, attempting to forge a connection between myself and the cards. Although doubtful, the relatively quiet atmosphere of the café allowed me to focus, at least momentarily, on this experiment.

Taking a deep breath, I began the ritual. The first card, drawn with uncertainty, revealed itself – The Fool. It’s edges gilded with an ethereal glow. The card portrayed a whimsical figure standing before a large wooden door.

No hidden message initially jumped out at me so I continued the reading, placing my fingers onto the pack and drawing another card out. This time, it was The Magician. In the centre, a robed figure stood with one arm raised, cradling a lit pillar candle. I placed it next to the Fire Card and reached for the next card, intended for Earth.

My fingers tingled as I pulled it from the pack, the winter chill creeping back in. Placing the card beside the Earth element, I saw The Empress—a regal figure on a crimson throne, crowned with flowers. Frustration clawed at me. None of this made any sense! I took a sip of my now-cold coffee, wondering why I was wasting my only morning off playing this silly game.

Well, one card left; might as well finish it now.

I unveiled the final card. This one seemed to shine more ethereally than the rest. Reading the black lettering at the bottom, "Six of Cups," I saw two figures in the center—one crouched, the other offering a gold cup filled with flowers. Staring blindly at the spread, anger clouded my brain. I questioned if I was the fool for participating in this.

Reaching for my cup, I hastily gathered the cards, shoving them back into the pack. I threw on my coat, stuffing the cards into my pocket before discarding the paper cup into a bin near the exit. As I left the cafe, the door slammed behind me.

I turned to apologize - I didn’t mean to slam it so hard - but a sudden gust of wind seized my attention. It whisked past my hair, swirling toward the vendors in the centre of the square. The crowd erupted into shouts, clutching onto their hats and scarves. Commotion rippled through the gathering, causing people to collide.

Suddenly, a passerby toppled into the candle stall! Elegant candles teetered precariously, igniting the wooden beams. Red and blue flames danced wildly as the panicked stall owner rushed out to safety. The crowd stilled, watching the wood disintegrate.

Nearby, a homeless woman with flowers in her hair sprinted towards the scene. Armed with bottles of water, she doused the flames, till there was nothing left but black tendrils of smoke blowing into the wind. Calm descended over the square. The candle stall holder embraced the woman tightly, tears streaming down his stubbled cheeks.

Across the road, I stood transfixed, mouth agape. A strange thought entered my mind. Instinctively, my hand reached into my coat pocket, retrieving the pack of cards. Looking down, I shook my head in disbelief.

A whisper escaped my lips.

“Surely not?”