The sky was still pale in the morning when they started walking. The trail behind the lodge wound gently through the trees, dew-soaked and quiet, the only sounds their footsteps and the distant call of a bird. Mia walked beside him, her hands in her pockets, a scarf pulled close around her neck. He had his hood up, face mostly shadowed, but his posture was easy—calm in a way that felt practiced.
They hadn't spoken much since they left the porch.
"You sleep at all?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Didn't try."
She gave a small smile. "Me neither."
A few steps passed before she added, "I kept thinking about how strange it is, finding someone like this. Like you."
He didn't answer, but his gaze flicked towards her, steady and unreadable.
They followed the path as it curved around a cluster of mossy stones. The forest opened up slightly, sunlight slipping through the pines. Mia stopped and looked out into the trees.
"I'm not good at saying things when they matter," she said.
He stopped beside her. "Me either."
Mia turned to him, her voice quiet. "You said yesterday... that you lost someone."
He nodded once.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked, not pushing, but offering the space.
For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he sat down on a large flat stone and looked out at nothing.
"She was my sister. Younger. I raised her after our parents died. It was always just us." He glanced at her. "She got sick. Same thing I have now."
Mia's heart stuttered, the weight of his words sinking in. She understood now—what he meant by "the same thing"—but said nothing, letting the quiet gravity of it all settle around them.
"I took care of her until the end," he said. "Promised I'd be there the whole way. And I was." He looked down at his hands. "But I couldn't save her. And when she died... something in me just went quiet."
"I'm so sorry," Mia whispered.
He nodded, like he'd already made peace with that part. "I kept moving after that. Different towns, different faces. I thought I could outrun it. But grief doesn't work that way."
Mia sat beside him, the stone cold beneath her legs. She watched his face in profile, saw the shadow of grief still lingering.
After a pause, she murmured, "That's a heavy thing to carry."
He was silent for a few breaths, his gaze distant. Then he exhaled—not a laugh, but something softer, wearier. A sound that carried the weight of too many nights spent alone with the truth.
He looked at her, his voice dropping, calm and steady. "I've learned something. When everything falls apart—when the worst thing happens—you think you'll break. But you don't. Not completely."
He let the silence stretch before continuing.
"You lose people. You lose parts of yourself. And still, the world keeps turning. The birds keep singing. The air doesn't stop moving. And after a while, you realize the ache is still there, but so are you. Breathing. Moving. Living."
She stared at him, a weight settling in her chest.
"I've met people who let heartbreak become the whole story," he said gently. "But it's just a chapter. Not the end. People leave. Things end. But that doesn't mean the beauty stops. It just changes."
She blinked, the tears coming again—different this time. Not from pain, but from recognition.
"You're not broken because someone left," he said. "You're still here. And that means you get to write the next part. However you want."
She looked down, her voice shaking. "It still hurts."
"I know," he said. "It's supposed to."
Then, softer, he added, "But don't run from the hurt. Let it shape you. Let it teach you what matters. And when it's time, let it go. Not because it didn't mean anything—but because you've grown past it."
Mia stared at him, stunned into stillness. Something in her cracked open—not in a way that shattered her, but in a way that let something new in.
He held her gaze. "Life doesn't wait until you're ready," he said quietly. "It doesn't care about your plans. One day you're making coffee or reading a book, and the next... you're told everything you know is on a countdown."
Mia's throat tightened, but she didn't look away.
He glanced towards the trees, their leaves whispering in the breeze. "The world keeps moving, no matter what. But how you live... that's the only part you really get to choose."
Mia swallowed, her voice barely steady. "And what did you choose?"
His gaze returned to hers. "To stop waiting. To feel everything. Even the hard things. Especially those. Because when you stop numbing the pain, you start to see the beauty again. Even in endings."
She sat with that for a long moment, the quiet between them no longer heavy, just real. Then, gently, "When did you find out?"
"A year ago." He looked back towards the trees, the sunlight playing across his face. "The doctors said I had about a year. That was ten months ago."
Mia's chest tightened, but she kept her voice soft. "You look... well."
He smiled faintly. "That's the tricky part. You look fine, until you're not."
Mia's throat ached with everything she wanted to say but couldn't. So instead she asked, "Why tell me now?"
"Because I'm leaving tomorrow," he said. "And I didn't want you wondering why I disappeared."
She blinked fast, the edges of her vision blurring. "You weren't going to say goodbye."
"No. I didn't want it to feel like an ending."
"But it is," she said, the words catching.
He looked at her then, really looked. "You made this place feel like something real again. Like I wasn't just passing through."
"I don't know what to do with this," Mia said softly. "I came here to be alone, to get away from people. I wasn't supposed to—" Her voice cracked. "You weren't supposed to matter."
"I know," he said quietly. "Me neither."
They sat in the hush that followed, the breeze wrapping around them like a whisper. Without thinking, Mia reached for his hand. He didn't hesitate—he just held it.
Then she leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against his. They stayed like that, breath mingling, the silence between them stripped of pretence. No more questions. Just presence.
When they finally stood, the stillness lingered. His eyes were wet, but there was a faint smile on his lips.
As they walked back towards the lodge, he spoke without looking at her. "I don't know where I'll go next. I just know I won't forget this. Or you."
She paused for a moment before replying, her voice steady but soft, "You've made a mark here. One that doesn't fade easily."
He didn't answer, but his hand found hers and held tight.
________________________________________