The snow had now stopped.

Outside the window, the world was quiet to the point of unreality. In the distance, a thin veil of mist wrapped everything tightly. The mist drifted in the wind, lingered in the snow. The snow lay over the world in silence, as if brushing a layer of soft stillness onto everything. Rooftops in the distance were half-hidden by white fog, their outlines blurred, like an unfinished watercolor. Snowlight reflected the faintest sunlight, casting a hush that felt almost sacred.

This snow reminded me of many things—too many, in fact—I hardly knew where to begin. I stood at the window, brushing my fingertips lightly along the frame, feeling the coldness seep into my skin. A thin layer of frost had formed on the sill; I scraped it with a fingernail, leaving a transparent mark. Everything felt mysterious, unfamiliar—and that was fine. In fact, that was exactly what I needed now. After all, such silence was vast enough to contain any kind of reckless escape.

Perhaps every story should begin with a clear starting point. But memory doesn’t work like that. It’s more like the snow outside—falling in scatterings, accumulating without order. All I can do is pick out a few flakes from the drift, and try to piece together a story worth telling.

I can’t say for sure when it happened. Maybe it was on a perfectly ordinary morning. Maybe it was in the middle of a silent dream. Or maybe, it never had a definite time at all.

Time has passed since then. And only when I looked back—almost accidentally—did I realise: I no longer needed to ask questions, nor to search for answers. The past is like a seed buried in soil—once thought to be nothing—but one day, it quietly sprouted a tender shoot. Then it bloomed. Then it became this damp grass beneath my feet.

It’s muddy, it’s messy—but it’s mine. Mine, and mine alone.

The story isn’t over. But I no longer need it to define me. It’s just a part of me now—like the sky after rain, no longer the whole landscape, but still part of its wholeness.

If you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything.
About me.
About him—and the other him.
About all the choices that trembled between shadow and light.

Would you like to hear it?

==

At the wedding, the lights in the hall glowed a soft amber. Laughter overlapped, and waves of congratulations rippled through friends and family. I stood in the center, surrounded, dressed in the white gown my best friend, Alex—whom I call Ai—had spent ages helping me choose.

Ai, my mother, everyone—they all looked so happy. They said I looked radiant. I smiled back at them. I told them I was doing well, that I was indeed, truly happy.

After all, these people loved me—they were genuinely happy for me. Everything had gone the way they hoped, even the way I appeared happy was just as they had wished.

But my face felt like a blank mask, and from the cracks within it, only a black void looked out.

“Ro… Rowan, Where’s Elliot? Shouldn’t the groomsmen be in place by now?” someone asked in a low voice—it must’ve been the venue staff checking on the schedule.

“Won’t be long… I think,” I answered, pretending everything was normal. I pulled out my phone for a quick glance. The notifications had exploded—dozens of well wishes from friends and relatives. I scrolled to the bottom, but there wasn’t a single message from Elliot. The bouquet in my hands began to slip. I quickly put the phone away, trying to suppress the unease rising in my chest.

He would come. I believed that. He wasn’t the type to disappear at the last moment. He had always been that way—quiet, steady. He never asked too many questions, never needed constant reassurance. But as long as he gave you his word, you know you could trust it. You could trust him.

Still, time seemed to freeze, and my thoughts drifted back to the day we first met.

It was an utterly ordinary afternoon. The café’s air conditioning was too cold, and the bell above the door chimed constantly with the coming and going of people. Ai pulled me straight out of the dentist’s office, made me change, and threw me into a cab like I had no say in it. I was already bracing myself for yet another mind-numbing blind date, muttering a hundred complaints in my head as I pushed the door open.