She sat at the window, her back against the cool wood of the sill, watching the snow fall softly outside. It was a quiet evening, the kind that wrapped the world in stillness, where the only sound was the whisper of wind brushing against the trees. The snowflakes drifted down like feathers, soft and weightless, gathering in gentle layers on the ground. Her eyes traced their slow descent, the silence almost peaceful, but not quite.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone, the screen glowing softly in the dim room. She hesitated before unlocking it, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest. There, at the top of the list, was his name—his number—his picture. The photo was taken years ago, during a time when they were both more whole, more alive. He had smiled, that easy, carefree grin, the one that had made him look like he knew all the answers to life’s toughest questions.

But now, it was just a frozen image of someone she had lost.

Her thumb hovered over the screen as she scrolled, the messages flickering one by one. There were so many—small conversations, words of encouragement, thoughts shared late at night or in the quiet moments between their lives. A shared laugh here, a deep question there. But none of them were the words she should have said, the words that came too late.

"How are you?"
"I'm good. Been thinking about you."
"How’s it going? You still doing okay?"

She stopped at the last message. His words were simple, almost casual:

"I’m hanging in there. You too, yeah?"

She closed her eyes, the tightness in her throat making it hard to breathe. She remembered that message like it was yesterday, the sound of his voice in her head, the weight of the words that followed it.

It was on this phone that she had received the call—his sister’s voice shaking as she told her, as if saying the words aloud would make them any more real. Her mind had gone blank, the ground beneath her feet had fallen away, and all she could hear was the cold, quiet hum of the phone in her hand.

"He’s gone," she had said.

And with that, something in her world had shifted, something had broken, something she wasn’t sure could ever be repaired.

She exhaled slowly, the phone slipping from her fingers onto her lap as she stared at the window again. The snow outside continued to fall, uninterrupted, as if time hadn't shifted, as if the world hadn’t crumbled around her. She should have told him—she should have told him how much he had meant to her, how he had helped her find courage when she felt so lost, how he had given her strength even when he struggled to find his own. But it was all gone now.

The moment slipped through her fingers like the snow falling outside. He was gone. There would be no more messages, no more moments to share, no more simple words exchanged.

She closed the phone and placed it carefully on the table beside her. Then, without another thought, she stood, wrapped herself in a thick coat, and stepped out into the cold.

The snow was heavier now, the world blanketed in white, quiet and muffled. Her boots crunched against the fresh snow, the cold air stinging her skin, but she didn't mind. It felt real, somehow—like a reminder that she was still here, still breathing, still holding onto something even if she didn’t know what it was.

She walked further, stopping in the middle of the yard, letting the snow fall on her face, on her shoulders, the chill biting at her skin. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, letting the snowflakes kiss her skin. It was so still out here, so empty, and yet so full—full of everything she had lost, everything she still carried. The grief, the guilt, the silence.

And still, through all of it, she whispered a quiet, impossible hope, a prayer into the falling snow.

"I love you."

The wind rustled gently through the trees, and for just a moment, she imagined that he could hear her—wherever he was, wherever the dead go when they leave this world. The thought was fleeting, but it stayed with her, warm, for a moment.

And then the snow continued to fall, soft and steady, and she stood there, breathing in the cold, as if it could cleanse her, as if it could help her forget for just a little while.