The corridors were quieter, footsteps softer, conversations shorter as if even people were afraid to disturb the stillness that clung to the air. Outside, the world was painted in pale whites and tired greys, and for once, nothing demanded to be noticed.

Aria liked it that way.

She sat by the window of her hospital room, knees pulled close, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The glass was cold beneath her fingertips, fogging slightly where her breath touched it. Beyond it, snow drifted down slowly, like time had decided to move a little more gently.

Most people hated winters.

Too cold. Too lonely. Too quiet.

Aria thought it was honest.

There was no pretending in winter. No forced smiles, no loud laughter echoing in places it didn’t belong. Just stillness. Just truth.

She traced a small, invisible pattern on the glass, something she used to do when she was younger. Back when winters meant school holidays and warm cups of tea instead of hospital rooms and muted heart monitors.

A faint beep… beep… beep followed her every movement.

Steady.

Predictable.

Annoying.

She glanced once at the machine beside her bed, then looked away. She had learned not to stare at it too long. It made things feel… fragile.

And Aria didn’t like feeling fragile.

A soft knock came at the door.

She didn’t respond.

Most people took silence as an answer. They would hesitate, then leave, maybe try again later.

The door creaked open anyway.

“Okay, so either this room is empty,” a voice said casually, “or there’s someone in here who really doesn’t like talking.”

Aria closed her eyes briefly.

Great.

She didn’t turn.

Footsteps followed... light, unbothered, like the person didn’t belong to a place filled with quiet rules and careful voices.

“I’m gonna assume you’re real,” the voice continued, “because talking to myself would be slightly embarrassing.”

Still nothing from her.

A pause.

Then, closer now

“You know, ignoring people is kind of impressive. Most at least pretend to care.”

Aria finally turned her head, just slightly.

He was standing near the foot of her bed, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie that looked too warm for indoors. His hair was messy in a way that looked unintentional but somehow worked. There was an ease about him—like he carried no weight at all.

Which didn’t make sense.

No one walked into a hospital like that.

He noticed her looking.

“Ah,” he smiled, “so you are real.”

She looked away again.

“Disappointing,” he added lightly. “I was starting to think this room was haunted. Would’ve made my day more interesting.”

Silence settled again—but this time, it wasn’t entirely empty.

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he glanced around the room, then dragged a chair a little closer, the legs scraping softly against the floor.

Aria frowned.

“What are you doing?” she said, her voice quiet but edged.

He grinned slightly, like he’d just achieved something.

“Wow. You talk.”

“I asked you something.”

“Right,” he nodded, sitting down like he belonged there. “I’m sitting.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Seemed like the important part.”

She stared at him now, properly this time.

“Who are you?”

“Matthew,” he replied easily. “And you’re Aria.”

Her expression didn’t change—but something in her eyes sharpened.

“How do you know my name?”

He gestured vaguely toward the door. “It’s written outside. Not very secret.”

She clicked her tongue softly and turned back toward the window.

“Then you got what you wanted. You know my name. You can leave.”

“Hmm,” he leaned back in the chair, completely ignoring the hint. “I don’t think that was what I wanted.”

“Then what do you want?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at her—not in the quick, dismissive way most people did, but like he was actually trying to figure something out.

“You don’t react much,” he said finally.

“That’s not a reason to bother someone.”

“It kind of is,” he shrugged. “Everyone else reacts. Smiles, complains, talks… you don’t.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Not really,” he said. “Just makes me curious.”

Aria exhaled quietly, turning her gaze back to the falling snow.

“Curiosity fades,” she said. “You’ll get bored.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But not today.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

But not uncomfortable.

Matthew followed her gaze to the window.

“Do you like winter?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away.

Then, almost reluctantly—

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s quiet.”

He smiled faintly at that.

“Or lonely.”

She shook her head.

“No,” she said softly. “Just honest.”

That caught him off guard.

He didn’t joke this time.

Didn’t interrupt.

For a brief second, the room felt… balanced.

Then somewhere down the corridor, laughter echoed—bright, loud, out of place.

Matthew stood up.

“Guess I’m needed,” he said, stretching slightly.

Aria didn’t respond.

He walked toward the door, then paused, glancing back.

“I’ll come again tomorrow,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

And then he left.

The room fell silent again.

The way Aria liked it.

The way it had always been.

But as she turned her attention back to the window, something felt… different.

Not louder...

Not warmer...

Just

less empty.

Outside, the snow kept falling.

Aria noticed it the moment she woke up.

The light outside was the same dull grey, the snow still falling in soft, endless layers. The room hadn’t changed. The machine still echoed its steady rhythm. Even the nurse who came in the morning said the same things in the same tone.

Everything was exactly as it had always been.

So why did it feel… off?

She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. Her eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, toward the door.

Then away.

Ridiculous.

She picked up the book resting beside her bed, flipping it open to a random page. The words sat there, unmoving, refusing to make sense.

Her gaze slipped again.

The door remained closed.

Aria frowned faintly and turned another page, though she hadn’t read the last one.

Time stretched.

The ticking of the clock grew louder. The beeping of the monitor sharper. Even the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway seemed to echo longer than usual.

And then..

A knock.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the book.

She didn’t say anything.

The door opened anyway.

“Good,” the same voice from yesterday slipped in, light and familiar, “I was starting to think you’d disappear overnight. That would’ve been inconvenient.”

Aria didn’t look up immediately.

But she didn’t ignore him this time either.

“You talk too much,” she said quietly.

Matthew stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

“And yet,” he replied, dragging the chair closer again, “you’re still listening.”

She glanced at him.

Just for a second.

That was enough for him to smile.

“I brought you something,” he said, holding up a small paper cup.

She raised an eyebrow slightly.

“What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s what makes it better.”

She hesitated.

Then, slowly, she reached for it.

The warmth seeped through the thin paper into her hands, unfamiliar but… not unwelcome.

“Careful,” he added, sitting down, “it’s actually hot. Learned that the hard way.”

She almost asked how.

Almost.

Instead, she took a small sip.

It was sweet.

Too sweet, probably.

But she didn’t say that.

Matthew watched her reaction with unnecessary focus.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s fine.”

“That’s it?” he frowned. “I risked my life making that.”

“You poured it from a machine.”

“Still dangerous.”

She exhaled softly—something between a sigh and the faintest hint of amusement.

He noticed.

But didn’t point it out.

Not yet.

“So,” he leaned back slightly, “what do you usually do all day? Besides staring out the window like you’re in a sad movie.”

“I read.”

“Do you?”

She paused.

“…sometimes.”

“Liar.”

She looked at him again, sharper this time.

“I don’t lie.”

“You don’t read either,” he countered. “You just pretend to, so people won’t talk to you.”

That… wasn’t entirely wrong.

She didn’t respond.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her.

“You’re good at being alone,” he said, not unkindly.

“It’s easy.”

“No,” he shook his head lightly, “it’s just familiar.”

That made her look away.

The room fell into a softer silence.

Not empty.

Just… quieter.

Matthew tapped his fingers lightly against his knee, like he was resisting the urge to fill the space with noise.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, “there’s this kid down the hall who thinks I’m a magician.”

Aria didn’t react.

“I’m not,” he added. “But I did make a coin disappear once and now I have a reputation.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is,” he agreed. “You could help.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

“I don’t need to.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Come with me.”

The words hung in the air.

Aria blinked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t go out.”

“It’s a hallway, not another country.”

“I said no.”

He watched her for a second longer than usual.

Not pushing.

Just… waiting.

Then he stood up, stretching his arms slightly.

“Alright,” he said simply.

No argument.

No teasing.

He started toward the door.

Aria frowned faintly.

That was it?

He was just leaving?

His hand rested on the handle, but he paused.

Without turning back, he said

“I’ll be there for a while though. In case you change your mind.”

And then he left.

The silence returned.

But it didn’t settle the same way anymore.

Aria stared at the door.

Her grip on the cup tightened slightly, the warmth still lingering in her palms.

Come with me.

She glanced toward the window.

The snow was still falling.

Unchanging.

Safe.

Then toward the door again.

Uncertain.

Unfamiliar.

After a long moment, she set the cup down.

Carefully.

Like the decision might break if she moved too quickly.

Her feet touched the floor.

Cold.

She stood up.

Slowly.

Her heartbeat felt louder than usual not faster, just… heavier.

Step by step, she walked toward the door.

Paused.

Then opened it.

The hallway was brighter than her room.

Noisier too.

Voices, footsteps, distant laughter.

Life.

Aria hesitated.

Then, a few steps ahead, she saw him.

Matthew was crouched slightly, holding a coin between his fingers while a small child watched with wide, expectant eyes.

“And now,” he said dramatically, “for the greatest trick you’ll ever see”

The coin disappeared.

The child gasped.

Matthew grinned.

Then, as if sensing it, he looked up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, he looked surprised.

Then, not overly excited, not loud.. just a small, genuine smile.

Like he had expected her.

Aria didn’t smile back.

But she didn’t leave either.

And somewhere between the noise of the hallway and the quiet of her world

something shifted.

Not enough to change everything.

Just enough to make her stay.

He still did, sometimes, out of habit, or maybe out of respect.. but he didn’t wait for an answer. And Aria… didn’t pretend to ignore him anymore.

It became a pattern.

He would come in sometime between late morning and afternoon, carrying something different each day, hot chocolate, a book he clearly hadn’t read, once even a paper snowflake that looked like it had survived a very bad accident.

“It’s abstract,” he had defended.

“It’s torn,” she corrected.

“Art is subjective.”

“You’re delusional.”

He had laughed.

And she hadn’t told him to stop.

Some days, they talked.

Other days, they didn’t.

Strangely, those were the ones Aria didn’t mind the most.

Matthew would sit beside her, sometimes on the chair, sometimes carelessly on the edge of her bed, flipping through random things, tapping rhythms against the wall, or just… existing. He didn’t demand conversation. Didn’t force noise into her quiet.

It made it easier to breathe.

Easier to stay.

“You’re staring again.”

Aria blinked, pulling her gaze away from the window.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Matthew said, not looking up from the book in his hands. “Either that, or you’re trying to burn a hole through the glass.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Cool. Let me know if it works. I’ll open a window.”

She glanced at him.

“…You’re annoying.”

“And yet,” he turned a page lazily, “you haven’t asked me to leave in three days.”

She didn’t respond.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Later that afternoon, the nurse came in.

Routine check.

Temperature. Pulse. Questions Aria didn’t answer fully.

Matthew stayed quiet for once, watching from the side as the nurse adjusted the wires connected to her.

“You’ve been feeling more tired?” the nurse asked gently.

Aria shrugged.

“Normal.”

“It’s getting a little worse,” she said carefully. “You should rest more.”

“I already do nothing.”

Matthew’s fingers stilled.

Just for a second.

The nurse gave a small, understanding smile before finishing up and leaving the room quieter than before.

“You don’t like people knowing, do you?”

Aria didn’t look at him.

“Knowing what?”

“That you’re not as okay as you pretend to be.”

Her jaw tightened slightly.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t okay.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence.

He didn’t push further.

Didn’t ask what exactly was wrong.

Didn’t ask how serious it was.

And somehow… that made it worse.

Or maybe better.

Aria couldn’t tell.

“Come with me today.”

She looked at him, already expecting the question.

“No.”

“Different place.”

“No.”

“There’s a window at the end of the east wing,” he continued, ignoring her refusal. “You can see the whole hill from there. Looks better than your sad little square of sky.”

“My window is fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s boring.”

“I like boring.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You like safe.”

She didn’t reply.

Because that… felt closer to the truth than she wanted.

“I won’t stay long,” he added quietly.

Something about the way he said it made her pause.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged lightly, too casually.

“Nothing. Just saying.”

She watched him for a moment.

There was something off.

Subtle.

Like a word left unfinished.

But before she could ask, he stood up again.

“Come on,” he said, softer this time. “Just five minutes.”

Aria hesitated.

Her body felt heavier today. Even sitting up for too long made her chest tighten in ways she had learned to ignore.

Five minutes wouldn’t matter.

Right?

The hallway felt colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just her.

Matthew slowed his pace slightly, matching her steps without making it obvious.

They walked in silence.

Not awkward.

Just… aware.

At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door leading to a quieter section of the hospital.

And there it was.

A large glass window, stretching wider than the one in her room.

Beyond it, the world looked… different.

The snow-covered hill rolled out into the distance, untouched, glowing faintly under the pale light of the sky. The trees stood bare but steady, their branches dusted in white.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“It’s better,” Matthew said quietly.

Aria stepped closer.

The glass was just as cold beneath her fingers.

But the view

“…yeah,” she admitted softly. “It is.”

He smiled, but didn’t look at her.

He was looking at her reflection.

They stood there longer than five minutes.

Long enough for the silence to settle comfortably between them.

Long enough for Aria to forget, just for a second, where she was.

Long enough for her to feel..

normal.

Then it hit.

A sharp, sudden tightness in her chest.

Her breath caught.

Her hand pressed instinctively against her heart, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her sweater.

Matthew noticed immediately.

“Aria?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, too quickly.

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing.

Her vision blurred slightly at the edges, the world tilting just enough to make standing feel uncertain.

Matthew stepped closer, his voice losing its lightness.

“Sit down.”

“I said I’m-”

Her knees weakened.

He caught her before she could fall.

For a moment, everything felt too loud.

Her heartbeat.

Her breath.

His voice... closer now, sharper, cutting through the haze.

“Hey- look at me.”

She didn’t want to.

Didn’t want him to see.

But she did anyway.

And for the first time since she had met him

Matthew looked scared.

The moment passed.

Slowly.

Pain fading into something duller. Manageable.

Familiar.

He helped her sit on a nearby bench, his hand lingering for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

The silence this time...

was different.

Heavier.

“…This is why,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual. “I don’t go out.”

Matthew didn’t respond right away.

His jaw tightened slightly, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the window.

Then, softer..

“You should’ve told me.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

Another pause.

Cold air pressed against the glass.

Winter, still and unchanging.

But something had shifted.

“I still think it was worth it,” he said after a while.

She frowned faintly.

“What was?”

“Coming here.”

She looked at him.

He met her gaze this time.The

No teasing.

No lightness.

Just something steady.

“I’d do it again.”

Aria didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t say anything.

But as her hand slowly relaxed against her chest, feeling the uneven rhythm beneath

for the first time,

it didn’t feel like something she was facing alone.

And that scared her more than the pain ever...