Chapter 40 : Silent Snowfall

Hana stirred awake as a pale blue light filtered through the curtains of her bedroom. Her hair was a wild mess, the product of a restless sleep, but her half-lidded eyes blinked open with a strange sense of peace. Something felt different. A quiet hush lingered in the air. It wasn’t just the usual morning stillness—it was deeper, colder.

She pulled the blanket off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, shivering slightly. “It’s colder than usual…” she murmured to herself, standing up and padding across the wooden floor. Her fingers curled around the curtain and slowly drew it back.

Her breath caught.

Snow.

Outside, the rooftops, trees, and empty streets were painted white in a soft, shimmering layer of snow. Her eyes lit up like a child seeing magic for the first time. “It’s snowing…!” she whispered, awe dancing in her voice. Without a second thought, she spun around, eager to grab her coat and run outside. She could already imagine it—playing with Nene, Emiko, Yuka…

Her smile faltered.

Mikuya.

She froze, hand on the doorknob. The memory of Mikuya’s absence hit her like the cold air outside. Her bright eyes dimmed. She lowered her hand slowly, pressing her forehead to the door. The quiet in her heart was no longer peaceful. It was hollow.

Across the neighborhood, Nene also stirred. She rubbed her eyes groggily and sat up. As she turned to face the window, something caught her attention—the world outside looked brighter. She pulled aside the curtain and felt her breath leave her lungs.

Snow. Gentle, endless snow.

A smile tugged at her lips. It reminded her of that one day, almost a year ago, when the five of them had built snowmen together in the schoolyard. Hana had slipped and fallen into the snow, Emiko had dumped snow on Mikuya’s head, and Yuka had tried to mediate, laughing the whole time.

It had been a perfect day. One of the last perfect ones.

Her fingers trembled slightly on the windowsill. “Where are you now, Mikuya…?” she whispered.

In another part of town, Emiko stirred from her dreams as her mother called her name. “Emiko, wake up! Look outside!”

Still half-asleep, Emiko shuffled to the window, brushing aside her curtains. Her eyes widened and lit up like stars. “Whoa! Snow!” she exclaimed.

She jumped in place like an excited child. “I gotta tell the others!” Then her expression softened. “Mikuya would’ve been so excited…”

Meanwhile, in a crumbling hideout near the city outskirts, Mikuya lay curled up on a thin mattress. The walls around her were cracked, and a frigid wind slipped through the holes like silent whispers.

She stirred, teeth chattering slightly, and sat up. A soft white light poured through the shattered section of the wall.

Snow.

The city beyond was veiled in white. Snow had settled over the broken roads, buildings, and even the nearby rooftops. Mikuya pulled her blanket tighter and stared at it in silence.

Sora awoke beside her, stretching. “Looks like it’s snowing,” he said, voice low. “And it’s freezing.”

Mikuya gave a quiet nod. But her eyes never left the window.

Yuka's alarm buzzed faintly, but she was already awake. Her room was dark. The curtains were still drawn, and the shadows stretched across her face.

She slowly pushed herself up from bed and walked over to the window. She cracked it open slightly. A flurry of snow drifted in.

But her face held no expression. No joy. No wonder.

Just… emptiness.

She changed into her school uniform, wrapping a thick scarf tightly around her neck and pulling on a coat. The cold outside was biting, but the cold in her heart was far worse.

She walked down the stairs, heading for breakfast, when she heard voices from the dining room.

“I’m going to file the papers after Yuka graduates,” her mother’s voice said calmly.

“Do what you want,” her father responded between bites. “It doesn’t concern me anymore.”

Yuka stopped, hand hovering just inches from the dining room door. Her grip clenched.

Without a word, she turned away.

She walked quickly to the front door.

“Yuka, eat something before you go!” her mother called, stepping out.

“I’m not hungry,” Yuka replied flatly, not even turning around.

She opened the door and walked into the snow-covered world without looking back.

Students were scattered along the path to school, bundled in coats and scarves. Their breath fogged in the crisp air, and snow crunched beneath their boots.

Yuka walked in silence, eyes fixed ahead.

“Yuka!”

She didn’t react.

“Yuka!!”

Hana’s voice cut through the air, but Yuka kept walking. Her mind was far away.

Hana ran up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Yuka jolted slightly, snapping out of her daze.

“Hana…”

“Are you okay?” Hana asked gently. “You didn’t respond.”

“I didn’t hear,” Yuka replied, her tone distant.

Soon, Nene and Emiko joined them, and the four of them walked to school together. But the warmth that once surrounded their group was gone. Something in Yuka felt colder than the snow.

Throughout the school day, Yuka barely spoke. She stared out the window during class, unable to concentrate. When the teacher called on her, she stumbled over her answer.

During lunch, the three girls confronted her gently.

“Yuka,” Nene said softly, “you’re acting strange. Is something wrong?”

“Are you okay?” Emiko asked.

“You can talk to us,” Hana added.

But Yuka stood up suddenly, eyes cold. “Leave me alone.”

Nene flinched. “Yuka…?”

“I said leave me alone.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp.

Hana wanted to say more, but Nene stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Let’s give her some space.”

They left Yuka alone in the classroom. Outside, the snow was still falling. The world was so beautiful, and yet everything inside them felt like it was falling apart.

The three girls stood on the school rooftop later, watching students laugh and play in the courtyard below. Snowballs flew. Smiles blossomed.

But the rooftop was quiet.

None of them spoke for a long time.

“I miss her,” Hana finally said.

“Me too,” Emiko murmured.

“She would’ve smiled so brightly today,” Nene whispered.

The day ended, and students filtered out of the school. Emiko turned to Yuka.

“Do you want to hang out? Just for a little?”

“No,” Yuka said coldly, not even looking at her.

She walked away, leaving the three girls stunned in silence.

Later, Hana, Nene, and Emiko met at the playground they had once called their secret base. Children were laughing, building snowmen, throwing snowballs. But the three girls didn’t join them.

They stood there quietly, watching memories play in their minds like a silent film.

Where had everything gone wrong?

At her home, Yuka shut the door behind her and stormed up to her room. Her mother tried to follow.

“Yuka, can we talk?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Please, just—”

“I said leave me alone!”

Yuka slammed her door.

Inside, she stood frozen for a moment… then screamed. She grabbed a glass jar and hurled it at the wall, shattering it.

“Why…?!” she cried, collapsing to her knees as tears streamed down her face.

After what felt like hours, she stood up. Her expression was unreadable. She grabbed her scarf and coat and walked downstairs.

Her mother met her at the bottom. “Yuka, I have to tell you something…”

“I already know,” Yuka said flatly. “You’re getting a divorce. You want to tell me now because you think I’ll be old enough to understand.”

“Yuka—”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “Do whatever you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

And with that, she walked out the door.

Her mother stood frozen, unsure whether to call after her… or cry.

Yuka walked the city streets, her steps slow and aimless. The snow crunched beneath her feet, and the wind stung her cheeks. Eventually, she turned into a quiet alley and stopped.

From the shadows, someone stepped forward… but their face remained hidden.

Yuka didn’t move.

She just stood there, staring at the darkness.

Back in the hideout, the sunset cast an orange glow across the broken wall. The snow outside glistened.

Mikuya sat near the edge, hugging her knees to her chest. Sora sat beside her, arms folded against the cold.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, right?” Mikuya asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“…Yeah.”

She didn’t say anything else.

Together, they watched the snow fall in silence.

Each flake drifted down like a fading memory, soft and silent. And as the cold pressed in, so did the quiet truth—

Some goodbyes don’t need words.

Only the ache of the heart to remember them.