Whispering Snow

— To the beloved

The train rushed through the endless expanse of a snow-covered land. Outside the window, the world seemed frozen in time—mountains wrapped in white, their silhouettes blurred by the morning light. Shifting reflections flickered across the glass, trembling with the train’s motion.

A young man sat quietly by the window, his elbow resting on the armrest, knuckles lightly touching his cheek. His gaze was distant, lost in the endless white beyond the glass. His hair, nearly the color of snow, curled slightly at the ends, shifting ever so gently with the train’s subtle vibrations. The warm air inside occasionally lifted the fine strands across his forehead, yet he made no move to smooth them down.

The thin silver frames of his glasses reflected the passing scenery, yet behind the lenses, his eyes seemed detached—fixed on the distance, yet carrying a quiet indifference, as if the outside world held little claim over him.

Beside him, a young woman was nestled in her seat, wrapped in a light-colored sweater, a white-covered sketchbook resting gently against her chest. Her head tilted slightly to the side, lost in slumber. Her short, soft curls framed her face, rising and falling with the rhythm of her breath. The gentle cabin lights illuminated her sleeping features, lending an even softer touch to her expression. Her lips curled faintly, as if caught in a sweet dream.

The cabin was hushed, save for the steady hum of the speeding train, the occasional rustling of newspapers, and the faint rattling of the windowpane.

Suddenly, the girl’s lashes fluttered. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

She blinked sleepily, scanning her surroundings before her gaze settled on the young man beside her. A glint of mischief flickered across her face, her lips curving into a playful smile.

"Just now, I wandered off to dreamland and left you all alone here," she teased, her voice light. "Did you miss me?"

The young man froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers instinctively curling slightly over his knee, as if an invisible thread had tugged at his nerves. He glanced at her, only to quickly turn back toward the window, a faint flush creeping onto the tips of his ears.

"I... We've been sitting together the whole time," he mumbled, his voice slightly stiff. "Why would I miss you?"

He adjusted his glasses with feigned nonchalance, eyes still fixed outside. His tone grew a shade cooler, as if trying to conceal his unease.

"And… don't lean so close. It's embarrassing if other passengers see."

The moment the words left his mouth, the girl leaned in even closer. Her warm breath hovered near his cheek, teasingly close, her lips carrying a sly curve.

"You’re still so easily flustered," she laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with something bright and mischievous. "I’ve known you since we were kids, yet you still want to keep your distance from me in public. Do you care that much about what others think?"

Across from them, a man who had been reading a newspaper slowly lowered it, casting a glance in their direction. A faint, knowing smile flickered across his face before he returned to his paper.

The young man tensed slightly, pressing back into his seat as if shrinking away. His ears, already tinged pink, burned a shade deeper.

The girl couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. She finally pulled back, stretching lazily with a soft yawn.

Flipping open her sketchbook, she turned to a page and pointed at an illustration, her eyes gleaming.

"Look at this. Don’t you think it’s beautiful?"

The young man glanced down. The drawing depicted a vast, silent snowfield, with a single, lonely figure standing in the middle. Behind them, only one set of footprints stretched into the distance.

His fingertips hesitated on the edge of the page. His brows knit together ever so slightly.

"It’s beautiful…" he admitted, voice quiet. "But… doesn’t it feel a little too lonely?"

The girl gazed at him, her smile softening. Her fingertips brushed lightly over the illustration, tracing the silhouette in the snow.

After a moment, she closed the book, tilting her head as she regarded him. Her eyes, gentle as moonlight veiled in mist, held something deeper as she murmured,

"Then… what if that person was you?"

The young man faltered, his expression shifting. Just as he was about to ask what she meant, the girl suddenly grinned, brushing his arm lightly.

"I’m joking," she said airily. "Don’t frown so much—you’ll get wrinkles."

He hesitated, then sighed, shaking his head. Yet, for some reason, her words settled deep in his mind, like the first frost of winter—light, fleeting, but carrying a quiet chill.

The train continued its journey through the snowy landscape. Outside, the world was shrouded in a thin mist, the distant hills and forests draped in an ethereal glow.

The young man’s gaze remained on the girl beside him, though she was now looking out the window, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips.

Just then, the train began to slow. The intercom crackled to life.

"Next stop: temporary station. Short stop only. Passengers, please take note."

The young man instinctively looked outside.

A vast, untouched snowfield stretched beyond the station platform, glistening under the golden glow of the setting sun. The rolling white hills formed a gentle, endless horizon, with a few frost-laden trees standing still against the wind.

Beside him, the girl inhaled softly, her eyes widening like a child’s at a long-lost wonder. A faint flush rose to her cheeks, breath curling in the cold air.

She tugged at his sleeve, excitement flickering in her gaze.

"Let’s get off here."

The young man hesitated. His brows furrowed slightly.

"But… this isn’t where we planned to go."

She turned to him, lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

"Plans change," she said. "If we wait too long, it could be too late. The light is perfect now. And isn’t the beauty of the unknown more exciting?"

The young man looked between her and the untouched snow outside. Something deep in his heart wavered, a resistance loosening—like ice cracking under a warm breath.

"But… this is just a temporary station. We don’t even know its name."

The girl’s smile deepened. She exhaled, a breath of white mist dissolving into the air.

“Does a name matter?” she whispered. “You’re here. The snow is here. Your footprints will be here. Isn’t that real enough?”

He stared at her.

For a moment, he thought of refuting her—of saying that this wasn’t rational, that it wasn’t the plan.

But when he looked into her eyes, bright as the dawn’s first light, his words caught in his throat.

In the end, he simply let out a soft, resigned chuckle, shaking his head.

“…Alright. You win.”

Her smile bloomed like the first thaw of spring. She tightened her grip on his sleeve and pulled him to his feet.

The intercom sounded again—"Doors closing."

As the doors slid open, a gust of icy wind rushed inside. The young man instinctively stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of her, shielding her from the cold.

She blinked up at him, something warm flickering in her gaze.

Stepping onto the platform, the two of them stood in the quiet expanse of white, their figures small against the vast snowfield.

Behind them, the train rumbled away, its silhouette dissolving into the mist.

The girl tilted her head back, watching the sky. A long breath escaped her lips, forming delicate frost in the air. She smiled faintly.

“You see? We’re standing in a place that perhaps no one else knows. And for this moment, it belongs only to us.”

The young man lowered his gaze to the snow at his feet. A strange, indescribable feeling swelled in his chest.

He wanted to say something.

But when he turned to look at her, she was already smiling—softly, knowingly—as if she had already heard every word he wished to say.

The two walked slowly through the snow, their steps light, the crisp frost beneath their feet letting out soft, rhythmic crunches.

Breaking the comfortable silence, the girl spoke, her voice as gentle as the snowfall around them.

“It’s been so long since that winter when we first met as children,” she mused, tilting her head slightly toward him. “But this… this must be the first time I’ve ever asked you to come on a trip with me—just the two of us, taking a train somewhere far away.”

She paused, turning her gaze to the boy, her eyes deep and warm, filled with something both familiar and distant.

“You know,” she continued, “you used to care so much about what others thought of you. You were timid, always hiding behind a polite smile, nodding along to words you didn’t even like, avoiding stares that made you uncomfortable.”

The boy lowered his head slightly, eyes cast downward as he pressed his foot into the soft snow, saying nothing in response.

The girl let out a quiet sigh and extended her hands, palms upturned to catch the drifting snowflakes. A faint smile played on her lips.

“But I was different,” she said softly. “I’ve never cared about meaningless words, about fleeting glances. I just wanted to express my feelings freely. Other people’s opinions? They’re nothing more than the wind to me.”

A playful glint flickered in her eyes as she turned back to him.

“But, you know what? I’m happy,” she said, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Because you’re starting to change. You're becoming more and more like me. Could it be that I’m just too dazzling, and my brilliance is rubbing off on you?” She giggled.

The boy let out a small chuckle in return, raising an eyebrow before shrugging lightly.

“The snow’s getting heavier,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I’ll hold up the umbrella for you.”

The girl blinked once, then suddenly darted ahead, twirling around to face him. Her breath curled in the cold air as she grinned mischievously.

“You always sound like some old, nagging father,” she teased. “Look at all these little snow fairies dancing around us—so delicate, so playful. And yet, you want to shut them out with an umbrella? How cruel.”

The boy sighed, pressing his lips together before exhaling in defeat. Without another word, he lowered the umbrella and quietly tucked it away.

“By the way,” he said, glancing at her, “before we left, you mentioned having a small wish—something you wanted to do today. What was it?”

The girl looked up at the sky. Her voice was light, unhurried, as if she were merely speaking of something simple, ordinary.

“I just want to share a hug,” she said. “Right here, in this beautiful snow. A real one—no distance, no hesitation.”

The boy froze, caught off guard. His gaze wavered slightly, shifting to the side.

“Uh… shouldn’t we at least… I don’t know, prepare for it? Or maybe wait a bit? It looks like someone’s walking toward us—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the girl took a sudden step forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Her soft hair brushed against his neck, carrying the faint chill of winter. But her breath—warm and steady—surrounded him like a quiet ember in the snow.

The boy tensed for a moment. His fingers curled slightly, unsure of what to do.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms and returned the embrace, his eyes slipping shut.

The world around them stilled.

It was quiet—so quiet, it felt as if they could hear the snowflakes landing upon their skin.

Against his ear, the girl’s breath came soft and warm, barely a whisper—

“Myosotis…”

The boy murmured in reply, almost unconsciously—

“…Forget-me-not? Isn’t that your favorite flower?”

But no answer came.

Only silence.

Just then, a mother and child passed by. The little boy tugged at his mother’s hand, pointing in his direction.

"Mom, look!" he whispered, eyes wide. "That big brother is just standing there… hugging himself."

The woman frowned, quickly pulling her child away. "Don’t stare. Who knows? The crazy cold makes people crazy."

A sudden chill prickled at the boy’s spine. His eyes snapped open.

His arms—empty.

He turned sharply, looking behind him.

In the snow, only one set of footprints trailed into the distance.

A gust of wind stirred the air, sweeping up a flurry of snowflakes. They brushed against his cheek, light as a feather, fleeting as a sigh.

For the briefest moment, he thought he heard the whisper of snow, like her beautiful laughter—soft, distant, carried on the wind.

He pressed a hand to his chest. The warmth was faint now, but still there, lingering beneath his palm.

Then, without a word, he took a slow breath, exhaled into the cold air, and stepped forward—leaving his footprints in the snow behind him.

David

Written in a snow-laden cabin, somewhere in Edmonton

February 5, 2025