The night air was cold, edged with pine and a silence that felt older than the trees. Mia stepped out onto the lodge's front porch, her mug warm in her hands, steam rising into the night. The boards creaked faintly beneath her feet. Above, the stars hung heavy and clear, scattered across the dark like silver dust.
Behind her, the building had gone still—no murmurs from the lounge, no footsteps in the halls. Only the faint crackle of cooling wood inside, and the soft, shifting breath of the forest beyond.
She leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply. There was something grounding about this—being alone but not lonely, surrounded by something bigger than herself. She remembered a day on a similar mountain trail, the air just as crisp.
"Do you think we'll ever just be… enough?" his voice had asked, soft and distant, as they both stood at the edge of the cliff, looking at the wide expanse below.
She had glanced at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"Us. You and me. All this. Do we need more than this? Or is this enough?"
She had laughed, brushing it off with a light tone. "Maybe we don't need anything more."
But the words had echoed in her mind long after, and now, standing alone, she wasn't sure they had ever been enough.
A faint sound—wood shifting under someone's step—made her glance back, snapping her out of her reverie.
He was there.
The man stood in the doorway of the lodge, just behind the screen door that led out to the porch. A book tucked under his arm, a dark jacket thrown over his shoulders. His expression was unreadable, but he didn't seem surprised to find her here.
She offered a small smile. "Couldn't sleep either?"
He shook his head. "Not tonight."
He stepped out, his movements slow and unhurried. He stood beside her without needing an invitation.
For a long moment, they didn't speak. The wind moved through the trees, low and constant like a breath the earth had been holding all day.
"You read before bed?" Mia asked, nodding at the book under his arm.
He glanced down. "Sometimes. Helps me settle."
She gave a slight, almost imperceptible smile. "Doesn't work for me. My mind just… keeps going."
He paused, his gaze steady. "Takes a while to quiet down."
The silence returned, but it wasn't empty. She found herself comforted by his presence, the way he didn't try to fill the space with noise.
"Do you come here often?" she asked.
"Now and then."
"Why this place?"
He shrugged slightly. "It's quiet. No one bothers you."
She smiled faintly. "That's the appeal, isn't it?"
He gave a slight nod.
Mia blew on her tea, watching the steam drift. "I left the city last week. Broke things off with someone. It got... loud. Not just around me. In me."
He didn't react much, but there was something in the way he turned his head, like he was listening more carefully now.
"I needed space," she said. "From people checking in, asking if I'm okay. I didn't even know how to answer."
He nodded slowly. "Sometimes it's easier to be somewhere no one asks."
She looked at him. "Exactly."
A beat passed. "You get that?"
He hesitated. Then: "Yeah."
She waited, but he didn't offer more. She didn't push.
"What do you do?" she asked after a while.
"Used to work in tech," he said. "Now… I don't know."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "Just out here drifting?"
"Kind of."
"That sounds… terrifying."
He gave a faint smile. "Sometimes. Mostly it's quiet."
She looked down at her mug. "You ever get tired of being alone?"
He didn't answer at first. Then: "Yeah."
She turned slightly to face him. "Then why keep going?"
His fingers tapped lightly on the railing. "Habit. Or maybe I'm afraid to stop."
Something about the way he said it made her chest ache.
"I thought if I kept moving," he said after a while, "I could stay ahead of the grief."
Mia didn't move. "Did it work?"
He shook his head. "Grief's faster."
She didn't speak, unsure if anything she could say would matter. So she stood beside him, sharing the silence instead.
"I lost someone," he added, voice low. "A long time ago."
"I'm sorry."
He nodded once, slow and quiet. "So am I."
They fell back into silence, but it felt closer now, like something had shifted between them. Their arms brushed when a gust of wind pushed them slightly together. Neither of them pulled away.
Mia looked up. "The stars look closer here."
He followed her gaze. "Maybe they are."
She turned to him. "Do you miss home?"
He shrugged. "Don't really have one anymore."
"Not even a place you think about when things get hard?"
He hesitated. "I used to. Not anymore."
She nodded, understanding more than she expected.
He looked down for a moment, then back at her. "What about you?"
Mia thought about it. "I don't know. I think I'm trying to figure that out."
There was a pause, long and thoughtful.
"I like this," she said softly.
"What?"
"This... whatever this is. It's easy. Doesn't feel like I have to be anyone."
"You don't."
She met his eyes, and for a second, she saw it—something open, something vulnerable that he kept tucked far beneath the quiet.
He straightened a little, nodding towards the door. "Walk tomorrow?"
Mia blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then she smiled. "Yeah. I'd like that."
He gave a small nod, then turned and walked across the porch, his footsteps light on the weathered wood. With a soft creak of the floorboards, he disappeared through the door to his room, leaving only the faint sound of the door clicking shut behind him.
Mia remained, staring at the sky. The cold finally began to reach her bones, but she barely noticed.
For the first time in a long while, the silence inside her didn't echo. It felt like the start of something real.
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