Chapter 1: The Girl Who Preferred Winter Winter had a way of silencing things.

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.

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