It had been three weeks since Alden died.

Yakutsk had always been cold, but now it felt different — heavier, like the air itself remembered him. Every street corner, every frozen window, every bus stop carried a shadow of him. People said time would soften the ache, but for Namiya, time only sharpened it.

She barely slept anymore. And when she did, the dreams came.

They always began the same way:
the wind whispering her name.

“Namiya…”

She would turn, and there he’d be — Alden — standing in the snow with that familiar half‑smile, the one he used when he was trying not to laugh. His coat would be dusted with frost, his hair ruffled by the wind, his eyes warm even in the cold.

But he never spoke.
He only watched her, as if waiting for her to understand something she couldn’t quite grasp.

Tonight, the dream felt sharper, almost real. The streetlamps flickered just like they had the night he didn’t come home. The snow squeaked under her boots. The air stung her cheeks.

“Alden…” she whispered, stepping toward him.

He didn’t fade like usual.
He stepped closer.

For a moment, she forgot he was gone. She forgot the phone call, the search, the terrible stillness of the hospital room. She forgot everything except the way he used to tuck her hair behind her ear and tell her she was the warmest part of his life.

But when she reached out, her hand passed through him like mist.

The cold rushed into her chest.

“Namiya…” His voice was soft, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Her breath hitched. “Why do you keep appearing? What are you trying to tell me?”

His expression shifted — sorrow, longing, something unspoken. Snow swirled around him, blurring his outline.

“You have to let the world keep moving,” he murmured. “Even if I’m not in it.”

She shook her head, tears freezing on her lashes. “I don’t want to forget you.”

“You won’t.” His voice was fading now, like the wind was pulling him away. “But you have to live, Namiya. Promise me.”

The dream began to dissolve — the street, the snow, the flickering lights — all melting into white.

“Alden!” she cried, reaching for him again.

But he was already gone.

Namiya woke with a sharp breath, her hand still outstretched into the dim light of her room.

For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The dream clung to her skin like frost, the echo of Alden’s voice still hovering in the air. I’m sorry. You have to let the world keep moving.

Her chest ached as if she had been running. Outside the window, Yakutsk lay silent beneath a pale grey dawn, the snow unbroken and endless. The radiator clicked softly. Somewhere down the street, a bus rumbled past, its sound dull and distant.

The world was still moving.

She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes, willing the tears back. They came anyway — slower this time, quieter. Not the storm that had torn through her in the first days, but something steadier. Like a river that had accepted it would never stop flowing.

“I’m not forgetting you,” she whispered into the empty room.

The words felt strange, heavier than she expected. A promise, not just to him — but to herself.

She forced herself out of bed. The floor was cold beneath her feet. Everything in the apartment seemed unchanged: Alden’s mug still on the kitchen counter, a book he’d been reading lying open on the arm of the couch, his scarf draped over the chair as if he might come back for it any second.

Three weeks, and she still couldn’t move it.

She picked up the scarf now. The wool was soft, still faintly smelling of his cologne and winter air. For a moment she almost put it back down. Almost let the apartment stay frozen in that last unfinished moment.

Instead, she folded it carefully.

“I’ll keep going,” she said, her voice barely above a breath. “But I’m taking you with me.”

The kettle hissed as she turned it on. Steam curled upward, fogging the window. Through the blur, the streetlamps flickered off one by one, surrendering to the weak morning light. People began to appear — bundled figures walking briskly, heads down against the cold. Life, relentless and indifferent, carrying on.

She used to hate that about the world.

Now she wondered if it was the only reason she could survive in it.

The tea warmed her hands, but not her chest. That cold was deeper, lodged somewhere words couldn’t reach. Still, she drank, each sip a small, deliberate act of being alive.

On the table lay her phone. She hadn’t touched it much since the hospital — messages unanswered, calls missed. The silence had felt safer. Like if she stayed very still, the loss might stay contained, unable to grow any larger.

But the dream wouldn’t leave her. Alden standing in the snow, apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault. Asking her to live.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Then she opened her messages and typed to the first person she’d ignored for too long.

“I’m awake,” she wrote. After a pause, she added, “And I think I’m ready to go outside today.”

She stared at the words, heart pounding as if she had just made some irreversible decision. Maybe she had.

When she finally pressed send, a strange quiet settled over her. Not peace — not yet — but a thin, fragile steadiness. Like the first ice forming over moving water.

She dressed slowly, wrapping Alden’s scarf around her neck. The fabric brushed her cheek, and for a fleeting second she imagined his hand there, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

The memory hurt.

But it didn’t break her.

At the door, she hesitated. The hallway beyond was dim and ordinary, carrying the faint smell of dust and winter boots. The same hallway she’d walked a hundred times with him, laughing about nothing, arguing about dinner plans, planning futures that would now never exist.

Her fingers tightened on the handle.

“You said the world would keep moving,” she murmured. “So I will too.”

She opened the door.

Cold air rushed in immediately, sharp and honest. It stung her lungs, made her eyes water. The sky was a pale, endless white, the kind that made everything feel both empty and full at once.

She stepped outside.

The snow crunched under her boots — exactly like in the dream. The sound stopped her for a moment, heart lurching as she half expected to hear her name whispered by the wind.

But there was only silence.

No ghost. No half-smile waiting in the distance.

Just the city, alive and indifferent, and her — still here, still breathing.

She exhaled slowly, watching the vapor dissolve into the cold.

“I promise,” she said into the morning. “I’ll live.”

The wind carried her words away, scattering them across the frozen street. Somewhere, a door slammed. Somewhere else, someone laughed. Life, messy and unstoppable, continued exactly as Alden had said it would.

Namiya adjusted the scarf and began to walk.