When are You Planning to Leave?

December is already halfway gone, but it feels like it could last forever, the days blending together in the quiet of this frozen world.

I tug the hood of my puffy jacket over my head, the soft fabric offering some protection against the biting cold, though I can still feel the chill creep into my skin as I step outside. The crunch of snow beneath my boots is the only sound I hear as I move toward the backyard. The snow cushions my steps, a soft, cold embrace with each footfall. Beneath my thick jacket, I'm only wearing a thin white t-shirt, but the layers help keep me warm, even if the wind cuts sharply across my face, reminding me of the harshness of this winter.

I make my way toward the garage, where we store milk and other perishable items, the cold air nipping at my cheeks. As I approach, I see June in the center of the backyard, his figure silhouetted against the swirling snowflakes. He's chopping wood with the ax, each swing echoing through the silent morning. The logs split with a satisfying crack, the sound oddly grounding in the otherwise still world.

For some reason, I hesitate before calling out to him. The awkwardness lingers between us, thick and unspoken. We both know what it is—this distance that's grown between us, despite the things we both feel. June is too perceptive, too aware. He must know the way my heart flutters whenever he's near, just as I suspect he's aware of the quiet ache in his own chest when our eyes meet.

I take a breath and step forward, trying to shake the weight of the unease. The sound of my footsteps crunching through the snow makes him turn. His eyes meet mine—dark and focused—before flicking away, the tension between us palpable, though neither of us speaks of it.

"Umm... I thought you were still sleeping," I say, forcing a smile, though it feels awkward, even to my own lips. "Aren't you tired?"

June pauses, his hands steadying the ax in his grip. He looks at me for a moment, the corners of his mouth pulling into a faint smile.

"No," he answers, his voice soft but steady. "I just woke up early today. I needed to clear my head."

There's a moment of silence that stretches between us, thick with things we don't say. For some reason, today feels different. June feels different—more distant, maybe. I don't know if it's the early morning stillness or the cold air that's making my thoughts feel sharper, but something feels off. Maybe it's the way he looks at me, as though there's something unspoken hanging in the air, or maybe it's just the weight of everything that's been left unsaid between us.

I nod awkwardly, trying to shake off the heavy feeling.

"All right then."

I move toward the garage, my steps purposeful, but my mind is elsewhere. I don't know what I'm avoiding, but it feels like I'm avoiding something, even if I don't know how to confront it.

Just as I reach the door of the garage, I hear him call my name from behind.

"Hannah."

I turn back, the cool morning air brushing against my face, making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. The sky is still wrapped in the soft, bluish hues of dawn, the first light of the day not yet breaking through the horizon. In this soft, half-light, June stands there, his figure striking as always. His broad shoulders, straight posture, and tall stature fill the space between us with an undeniable presence. The way the faint light hits his face only accentuates the sharpness of his features—symmetrical lips, deep, thoughtful eyes, and that quiet intensity that's always so effortlessly captivating.

"Yes?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intend, caught off guard by the sudden charge in the air between us.

"I heard you might have found your family," June says, his words wrapped in a soft, almost imperceptible smile. 

There's a certain gentleness to his tone, but also something more, something I can't quite place.

I swallow, my heart tightening. Angela must have told him about the possibility of my family being refugees in Costan. She and I had talked about it just the night before.

"Oh, that…" I nod slowly, trying to steady the nerves that are suddenly flickering to life inside me. "Yeah, it's true."

"So, you're going to leave for Costan…" June's voice trails off, and though his tone is casual, there's a quiet tremor beneath it. I can hear it, even if it's faint, and it makes me pause.

For a moment, I hesitate. And I know exactly why. The reason is standing right in front of me. It's his eyes—those deep, earnest eyes that seem to look right through me, to know the things I haven't said, to understand the things I'm too scared to acknowledge.

It's because of him—because of the way he's looking at me, with so much unsaid between us—that my thoughts get tangled. It should be so clear, so simple. I need to find my family. But here he is, watching me like that, and suddenly I feel unsure.

At last, I nod slowly, my heart heavy in my chest. 

"Yes," I say quietly, "I'm probably going to leave… to Costan."

June's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's strained, almost as if he's forcing it, trying to cover something deeper. 

"That's good for you, Hannah," he says, but his voice carries a weariness that wasn't there before. "I'm happy for you... that you found your family." But the words feel hollow, like they don't carry the full weight of what he's truly feeling. There's something in his tone—something I can't quite name—that stirs unease in me.

"So, when are you planning to leave?" June asks, his voice casual again, but the tremor is still there.

I hesitate, unsure how to answer. Why does he want to know? Does he want me to leave quickly? A strange, almost inexplicable feeling tightens in my chest, a mix of disappointment and confusion. I wonder if he's asking out of genuine concern or just because he's curious. His words seem so ordinary, yet they feel like they're laced with something more, something unsaid.

"I'm thinking of leaving by the end of the week," I finally say, trying to keep my tone light, though I know it sounds uncertain. "I was going to tell everyone tonight, but I guess you took my chance," I add with a small chuckle, trying to ease the tension, though the ache inside me only seems to deepen.

June nods slowly, his smile thin but polite. 

"I see. Well, stay well while you're here." His voice is gentle, but there's an unmistakable distance in it now, a subtle shift.

Without another word, he turns back to his work, the sound of the ax biting into the wood filling the air between us. The rhythmic thud of it is the only thing that remains, as if the moment between us—everything unsaid—has been chopped away, leaving only the cold, silent space between us.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, watching June chop the wood for several seconds. The rhythmic sound of the ax splitting the logs fills the air, but it does little to break the heavy silence that has settled around us. His movements are steady, precise, but there's a distance between us now, something unspoken hanging in the cold, morning air. I want to say something, to bridge the gap that's widening with every passing moment, but the words are stuck in my throat.

Finally, I turn away, my legs feeling heavier with each step as I make my way toward the garage. The crunch of snow beneath my boots is the only sound that follows me, a quiet reminder of the space between me and him.

I push open the door to the garage, and it creaks as it swings inward. I step inside, the familiar scent of metal, cold storage, and old wood filling the space. The garage is filled with everything we need—food items that must be kept cold, tools for the rescue missions, safety equipment—but in the dim light, it feels like a different world altogether. A world where the weight of my thoughts presses down harder, where I can be alone with the mess inside my heart.

The darkness of the garage envelopes me, thick and heavy. I hesitate for a moment, then reach for the lantern, flicking the switch. The small flame bursts to life, casting long shadows against the walls. The light feels fragile, like a small beacon in the vast, empty space.

And then, without warning, the tears fall.

I don't know why. Or maybe I do.

I wipe at my eyes, but they keep coming, as though once the dam has broken, there's no stopping it. The sound of my quiet sobs seems to fill the garage, mixing with the faint flicker of the lantern's flame.