The fog was thick.

But it wasn’t an ordinary fog — it swallowed roads, erased traces, and even slowly absorbed memories.

There was no path here.

Only the faint remnants of paths that once existed… as if the world itself had forgotten how to form them.

And at the edge of those fading traces, someone stood.

They did not move.

They neither walked forward nor looked back.

They simply… waited.

They had been waiting for a very long time.

So long that time itself had lost all meaning. Seconds no longer existed for them — only the endless feeling of “still waiting.”

They didn’t even remember if they were alive.

Or perhaps… they were no longer alive at all, and this was only what remained of them.

Their form had grown indistinct, as if their body was slowly being rewritten by the fog itself. Edges blurred, details disappeared, and even their shadow seemed unsure whether it belonged to them.

Yet one thing remained unchanged — their expression.

Waiting.

A strange, indescribable expression…

as if something would appear at any moment, as if the next breath would finally bring an answer.

They stared at a single point ahead.

But where was that point?..

Even the question felt meaningless. Because here, everything was fog.

Dense.

Heavy.

Endless.

Cold enough to sink into the chest and stay there.

Then…

Something within the fog shifted.

At first, it was only a faint distortion — like reality itself had hesitated.

Then a shadow formed.

Then a silhouette.

It moved slowly, as if unsure whether it should exist at all.

With every step, it became clearer… yet never fully defined. It was always just out of reach of understanding.

And in the eyes of the one who waited… something changed.

A light appeared.

Hope.

Not bright. Not strong. But fragile — like something that had almost been lost forever but refused to disappear completely.

“Maybe… it’s that…”

They thought.

Or perhaps they only felt it, without words.

The silhouette came closer.

Closer.

Closer…

And then…

it passed.

It did not stop.

It did not look at them.

It did not acknowledge them at all — as if they were nothing more than part of the fog itself.

And just like that…

everything fell silent again.

The fragile light in their eyes faded.

Slowly… without pain… but in a way that could never return.

And so they began to wait again.

But now the question remained heavier than before.

What were they waiting for?..

Whom?..

Or perhaps — themselves?..

Because some waiting is not for others.

It is for something inside us that we have forgotten how to find.

But they did not know this.

There was something else they had forgotten as well.

They only ever looked forward.

And never once turned around.

Yet…

behind them — hidden within the endless fog — stood a massive door.

Silent.

Still.

Unchanging.

It had always been there.

Always open.

But no one ever looked at it.

Because waiting makes people blind to what is already given.

One day…

the fog shifted slightly.

Just for a moment — like a breath the world forgot to take.

And in that brief moment, they saw it.

They were not alone.

Around them stood thousands of others.

All waiting.

All silent.

All still.

Some still looked human.

Others were already fading — their shapes dissolving into the fog, becoming part of it.

Yet none of them moved.

None of them turned around.

None of them saw the door.

Because everyone was waiting.

With the same hope.

And the same mistake.

And so they remained…

waiting.

Until even they disappeared into the fog itself.