The cold had settled over the city like a second skin.The sky, a soft cotton-gray, swallowed the morning light and returned it as silence.
Catarina zipped her suitcase with a sharp motion, then froze, her hand resting on the fabric, her heart heavy in a way she couldn't name. Everything seemed ready.And yet, she felt that strange ache, the sense that she'd forgotten something. Something important.Something she would never be able to recover.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
Althéa:My dear, get ready to live THE Christmas of the century.
Althéa:I even convinced my dad to wear an ugly sweater. Can you imagine?
A small laugh escaped Catarina's throat.An ugly sweater… The image of Althéa wrapped in tacky Christmas colors was enough to make her smile. But the word dad tightened something in her chest.
She put the phone away, slipped on her coat, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection showed a young woman with dark eyes, calm face, loud thoughts. Her hair fell like a curtain of night over her collar.
She took a deep breath. On her desk, an empty coffee cup still sat, the one she used when she wrote. The same kind of coffee she used to drink at that little place in the old town, the one where hewould join her.
Sylus.
She didn't say his name aloud, but the memory of it struck anyway. She hadn't gone back there in weeks. Their last exchange had been brief, almost cold. And yet, sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she swore she could still hear his voice.
A new message popped up.
Althéa:You're still coming, right? Tell me you're coming. I'm already waiting with cookies.
This time, Catarina truly smiled. How could she ever say no? Since they'd met, Althéa had filled a void she hadn't known how to name, A bright, talkative, sincere presence. A friend. A real one.
She grabbed her suitcase, closed the door behind her, and walked down the stairs. Outside, the wind bit at her cheeks. The city smelled like coming snow , that scent made of cold air and promise.
She called a taxi, heart beating faster than she wished. Through the ride, she wrapped herself in her scarf, watching the streets roll by glowing windows, bundled children, strings of lights above the sidewalks. Everything looked peaceful.
And yet, in the glass reflection, her eyes betrayed an unease she couldn't shake.
Then, a notification appeared, an unread message from two days ago. Unknown number. No name. No profile picture.
"You shouldn't go there."
Her breath caught.She froze, heart pounding in the muffled quiet of the taxi.
The number wasn't saved. But the way the words were written, Concise. Cold. Familiar. She knew it.
She locked the phone, inhaled sharply, trying to push the thought away.It wasn't possible. That part of her life was over.
And yet, beneath the layers of reason, a small voice whispered softly:
You know it's never over.
The car left the city, diving into the countryside, where houses grew rarer, and lights more distant. The road wound through snow-covered trees. Night was falling, slow and silent.
Catarina leaned her head against the glass, eyes lost in the shadows. And without knowing it yet,she was driving straight into the past she had tried so hard to forget.