Weeks before the great storm hit, Salkha Village was alight with celebration. The air, thick with the smell of roast meat and filled with cheerful laughter for Gerel and Jochi's wedding.

Entya was prohibited from the kitchen. She sat quietly, suppressing the familiar prick of helplessness over her body's limitations.

She lifted her head and peeked into Gerel's family ger. Inside, her best friend sat gracefully upon a pile of cushions, looking like a rose in full bloom.

Gerel was wrapped in a stunning pomegranate-red silk deel, intricately embroidered with gold thread forming patterns of clouds and cranes. Sparkling silver bridal crown, Khaan Khuur, adorned her thick, braided brown hair, reflecting the light inside the ger like tiny stars.

Gerel's face was flushed with happiness, although slightly nervous, making her breathtakingly beautiful. Her friend was starting a new life, and she was genuinely happy for her.

The pounding of dozens of horse hooves echoing on the ground announced the arrival of Gerel's family to the bridal ger. Outside, the groom's relatives welcomed them with a spectacular display of horsemanship. Young men rode bareback, standing on the backs of galloping horses, and shot small targets with impressive precision. Cheers and whistles of admiration echoed across the steppe, a festive tribute to the bride's family.

The main ceremony began. Gerel, escorted by her father and mother, walked slowly toward the new ger prepared for the couple. Her feet stepped carefully onto the clean white sheepskin rug, a tradition symbolizing the purity of heart when entering a new life.

At the ger's doorway, Jochi waited for her. His eyes full of clear admiration and love. Before the elders, they exchanged simple yet meaningful silver rings. They bowed deeply to their parents and relatives with respect.

Then came the moment to share the ceremonial yogurt drink from a carved wooden cup. They offered it first to the clan head, the elders, and then to their families, as a sign of unity and hope for prosperity.

Entya watched with a fixed smile on her face. Her heart was full, yet a subtle sadness stabbed her. They looked perfectly complete, a happiness far out of her reach.

When Gerel and Jochi offered the drink to her and Yul, her smile felt stiff. Every happy laugh from the couple felt like a small jab. She glanced at Yul, who received the cup with a calm nod. His expression was composed, unreadable. Was she alone in this silent agony?

Yul must have noticed. He leaned close, his voice low: "It's a bit crowded here. Let's get some fresh air."

His quiet invitation was a lifeline. Entya nodded, gratefully setting down her wooden cup, and followed him out toward the quiet, darkening steppe.

They walked away from the light and noise.

The cool night air felt refreshing on Entya's cheeks, carrying the scent of grass and wet earth. Above them, the sky scattered with starlight. The sounds of music and laughter from the village were now faint, becoming a distant backdrop to their silence.

They stopped near a large, flat rock, their favorite spot to escape the crowds. For a while, they just sat in silence, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness and enjoying the tranquility. Entya hugged her knees, her chin resting there, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

The memory of Gerel and Jochi laughing flashed in her mind. A long-suppressed question dared to surface.

"Yul," she whispered softly. She turned to look at Yul's sharp profile under the starlight. "Have you ever thought about the future?"

A brief silence. Yul did not look at her right away. His eyes were fixed on a cluster of stars in the distance, as if searching for an answer there.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded flat and emotionless. "The future? Not really."

"I mean... a life together with someone you care about, like Gerel and Jochi. Building a family, having your own ger, children running on the steppe." Entya waved her hand, trying to paint the picture in the air. "You know, things like that."

Yul sighed, long and heavy. He picked up a small pebble and threw it into the distance. "I never thought about it seriously, Entya."

The answer hit Entya like a blast of winter wind. Her disappointment flared into anger. "How can you not?" she pressed, her voice trembling. "Everyone thinks about it. Don't you want to be happy like them? Don't you want a family, a home?"

Yul finally turned to her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. "Happiness is simple, Entya. Having enough food, a safe shelter. Our life is already good. I have a job, a bed, and people who care about me."

"That's not happiness, Yul. That's survival," Entya retorted, frustration making her voice tremble. "Gerel and Jochi, they are truly 'living'. They share laughter, dreams, they are building something together. Don't you want more than just... enough? Don't you want to feel a love like that?"

Yul's jaw tightened. He looked away, back to the cold stars. His voice dropped to a low growl. "Thoughts like that will only bring disappointment, Entya. Hoping for too much will only hurt you in the end. It's better to focus on what we have now."

He stood up, ending the conversation. "It's late, we should head back."

His final words were an icy wall. There was nothing more to say. Entya looked down, swallowing the pain of rejection. The feelings she had secretly nurtured were unrequited.

The silence on their walk back to the village felt far heavier and more suffocating than before.

Entya didn't know that every word of Yul's rejection was his way of protecting Entya from his own uncertain world. He was an orphan, an outsider. He felt he could never provide the happiness and security that Jochi gave Gerel. More than that, he knew about Entya's fragile physical condition.

For him, pushing those dreams away was the only way he could love Entya without hurting her, without realizing his actions were creating a deeper wound.