“Sure,” Soren said softly. “If that’s what you want.”
Nia stood, too quickly. “It’s not about what I want. It’s just what is.”
Soren’s eyes found hers, steady, unreadable. “That’s not the same thing.”
Nia’s throat closed around words she couldn’t say. She wanted to tell her she didn’tdospontaneous. That she didn’t know how to make room for someone like Soren in a life built on control. That she was terrified of what it meant that she even wanted to.
Instead, she said nothing.
Soren nodded once, as if that silence told her everything. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” she said quietly, and slipped out before Nia could stop her.
The door clicked shut.
Nia sank back onto the bed, fingers pressed to her temples, staring at the faint light spilling under the door.
The world outside was thawing, but inside her, everything felt frozen again.
By afternoon, the sound of engines rolled up the mountain—low, rhythmic, relentless. Snowplows. The whole lodge seemed to exhale at once. Guests began packing bags, voices rising with relief. The world was open again.
Nia stood at the window, watching the road carve its way out of white. She should have felt the same relief. Instead, she just felt… hollow.
Her suitcase sat open on the bed, half-packed. She’d folded her clothes with clinical precision—each crease exact, every motion practiced. It was muscle memory, the kind of control she could still cling to. But her hands kept hesitating, pausing over the last few items.
A knock sounded at the door. Not tentative this time—just two firm taps.
She didn’t turn. “It’s open.”
Soren stepped inside, the smell of cold air following her. She’d changed out of her work gear into jeans and a dark sweater, hair still damp from snow. Her cheeks were pink, her expression unreadable.
“Ellis says the main road’s clear to the highway,” Soren said. “You’ll be able to get down to the airport by morning.”
“I saw.” Nia’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “That’s good news.”
Soren nodded slowly. “Yeah. Guess so.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched until it felt fragile, like one wrong word would break it completely.
Soren leaned against the doorframe, hands in her pockets. “You’re really leaving tomorrow.”
Nia turned, meeting her gaze. “I have to.”
“Have to,” Soren repeated, quiet but sharp. “Right.”
She crossed the small room, stopping just short of touching distance. Her eyes were darker than Nia remembered—storm-dark, the kind that held both calm and danger. “You could stay a few more days. The roads aren’t perfect, the flights might not all be running…”
“Soren.” Nia’s tone was soft but firm. “You know I can’t.”
Soren smiled then, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I figured. Doctors don’t take detours.”
“That’s not fair. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be.”
“I know.” Soren exhaled, the sound more like a sigh than laughter. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just—” She stopped herself, shook her head. “Never mind.”
Nia’s heart squeezed painfully. “Say it.”
Soren’s gaze flicked up to hers. “You walked in here like a storm, you know that? All sharp edges and cold air. And now that I’ve seen what’s underneath, I don’t really want to watch you walk back out.”
Nia swallowed, her throat tight. “You’ll forget me.”
