Half a year had passed. Snow fell in soft, heavy flakes, muffling the noise of the streets. David Miller, still teaching at the university, felt how his life had changed irreversibly. His lectures remained as precise and structured as ever, but in his eyes now burned a new light—the light Sophie had lit within him.
Sophie—he called her nothing else now—was no longer a student. After defending her thesis, she had shed her academic chains and found a new calling. On the edge of the city, she opened a dog shelter—small but warm, with enclosures where rescued dogs ran about, and a tiny office cluttered with medical charts and paperwork. She had never been a fierce dog lover, but after her parents' death and the inheritance she received, she wanted to make the world just a little better. At first it was just a desire to help, but gradually the shelter became her passion.
She spent her days there from morning to night—nursing puppies back to health, healing the wounds of abandoned dogs, sterilizing them and finding them new homes. She even had her favorites: a lame Labrador named Bruno, whose loyal gaze made her heart ache, and a mischievous mutt, Motya, always running off with her gloves.
David saw how she had changed. Her boldness and fire were still there, but the reckless lightness she had once carried—during her student days, in the beginning of their relationship—appeared less often. She had grown more serious, perhaps because of her work.
He often stopped by the shelter after his lectures, bringing coffee or helping her carry heavy bags of dog food. Sometimes he just stood aside, watching Sophie as she stroked a dog, her hands moving confidently to clean wounds or calm a trembling animal. In those moments, his love for her—yes, he finally called it love—burned even stronger, if such a thing was possible.
Their relationship was no longer a secret. Sophie's friend Anna loved to tease them about their age difference, calling David nothing but "the honorable Professor Miller." David's own friends made their jokes too, dubbing her "the young lady." Neither Sophie nor David took offense—they knew, perhaps rightly, that everyone was simply jealous.
The visions that had begun with their first night together had not disappeared. They came whenever Sophie reached orgasm, showing them glimpses of other worlds. Most were entirely unfamiliar, but sometimes the same place would appear more than once.
The shift to London half a year ago remained their brightest, most shocking experience, but since then they hadn't physically crossed into other realities. They only saw them—fleeting yet so vivid that Sophie shivered, and David squeezed her hand, not in fear but in reverence for the miracle. He didn't want the visions to stop. They were like windows into other realms, opened only for the two of them.
Christmas was drawing near, and David had made up his mind: he would take Sophie away. He wanted a vacation—the first in three years. Somewhere without duties or burdens. Somewhere with a fireplace, blankets, good food, and walks in fresh snow.
"A vacation?" she repeated, a smile tugging at her lips. "You, David Miller, want to run away from your lectures? Who are you, and what have you done with my professor?"
"I'm serious, Sophie. We need time. Just you and me. No shelter, no university, no rush—just us."
A week later they were driving down a snowy road toward a small mountain resort a couple of hours from the city. The car was warm, the radio hummed soft Christmas melodies, Sophie gazed out the window at the forest drowned in snow, and Miller kept his steady hands on the wheel…