The cold is familiar, almost comforting. It wraps around me like an old cloak, reminding me of a time when solitude was my only companion. The snow crunches softly beneath my boots, the stillness of this place amplifying the weight of my thoughts. There is something peaceful about the frozen landscape, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for something that never quite comes.

I don’t mind the silence. In fact, I embrace it. Words are fleeting, but the stillness, the cold air that fills my lungs, are things that ground me. In the solitude, I can think clearly, uninterrupted by the noise of others. I’ve always preferred it this way—away from the distractions, away from the prying eyes of those who do not understand.

My walk continued before an unfamiliar person walked next to me, giving me a strange feeling in my gut.