When the Snow Fell, So Did I

Snow drifted lazily from the darkened sky, each flake catching the faint glow of the yellow lamps that lined the streets. The city breathed in quiet rhythm, its tall buildings softened by frost, their windows edged with delicate crystals where snowflakes had gathered in the corners like tiny ornaments of their own. At the openings of shops and along the busiest walks, the snow had been trampled into a thin gray slush, boots carrying the mess farther down the paths with every step. The alleys stirred with the muffled laughter of people wrapped in coats and scarves. Outside a shop, a child crouched to pet the family dog, waiting with his father beneath the tarp for the snowfall to ease or perhaps for someone inside to return. Shadows stretched long across the whiteness, the lamplight folding into the night.

At its heart rose a towering evergreen, its dark trunk rooted deep in the frozen earth, its branches sweeping outward like a hundred green umbrellas stacked to the sky. Snow crowned each tier, the white dust falling in soft avalanches whenever the workers shifted their ladders or brushed a ribbon into place. To the people of the town, it was simply a Christmas tree, but for a moment it seemed older than the season itself, an ancient sentinel binding ground to heaven, waiting to be dressed in light.

From the square, the faint chime of bells drifted across the rooftops, muffled by snow and distance. Somewhere beyond, a different sound rose, urgent and uneven. Not laughter, not carols, but the cries of a woman straining against the night.

Inside the hospital, the air was thick with heat and effort. The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting the room in a sterile glow. Figures moved quickly around the bed, nurses and a doctor, but their features blurred at the edges, as though the child’s own vision, fogged by the cusp of life, refused to hold them in focus.

Only one presence cut through the haze.

The mother’s eyes, clear and blue as winter glass, anchored the chaos. She gripped the sheets, face pale and damp, but when her child’s cry joined hers, she turned, and her gaze softened into something both fierce and fragile.

The baby stirred, wrinkled and small, his chest rising in uneven breaths. At first, the world came to him only as shadow and blur. But cradled now in his mother’s arms, wrapped against the cold, his tiny head turned past her leaning face, past the glass of the window. Outside, snowflakes spun through the lamplight, countless, endless, free.

And then clarity.

His eyes opened wide, catching the snow’s glow. They were not dull, not clouded, but sharp and alive. A stillness fell over the room, just for a breath. The world outside pressed in, but in that gaze, there was only awe.

The mother wept softly with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his head.

Around them, voices carried, blurred and muffled, fading into the background.

All he saw of their shapes was shadow, their words little more than a hum.

Even his own cries had fallen silent as he looked on.

Later, he would come to know the weight of life, its demands and its pull.

But in that first moment, the truth was simpler.

Before names. Before burdens. Before passion.

He saw only the snow.

What felt like the passing of many seasons, Arin opened his eyes to the sound of his name.

Slightly disoriented, the sunlight pouring through the window beside him grounded him back in reality. He sat at his desk, lifting his head slowly from his crossed arms. A few quiet snickers rippled through the classroom, but he ignored them, fixing his gaze on the professor at the front.

“Have a nice nap?”

Miss Waki, his homeroom teacher, her face blurred like the rest of the class, spoke with a book balanced in one hand, the other resting on her hip.

“Normally, when someone sleeps through my lesson, they should at least have the grades to back it up.”

Arin looked up at her, thinking that she wasn’t exactly wrong, except the year had just started and nothing had been graded yet. Still, he said nothing.

A sigh slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

The teacher froze, mouth slightly open, then composed herself. Muttering something under her breath, she turned back to the blackboard.

Arin raised his textbook, using it to shield his eyes from the sunlight spilling in, then glanced at the watch on his wrist. Another sigh escaped him.

Days passed in a blur until the first dustings of snow clung to the trees. The final school bell rang, echoing through the halls, and Arin was the first to break into the cool air outside.

The faint icy breeze met him with a thrill. He lifted a hand, trying to catch a stray flake as it drifted down, his stride light, his anticipation impossible to hide. Bag slung over one shoulder, he marched home with a quiet certainty that tonight would be a good night.

From his bedroom window, he watched as the flurries thickened into a storm, painting the streets white. On the TV across from his bed, a news anchor’s voice carried over the gentle hiss of falling snow. “The first signs of winter are here to stay. Flurries will continue until midnight as temperatures drop. If you must go outside tonight, be sure to bundle up.”

Moonlight strained to break through the heavy clouds, silver faintly brushing Arin’s face. For the first time, his eyes were clear, unblurred, reflecting the storm outside.

He slipped on his headphones, sat at his desk, and with a flick of the controller in his hand, the TV behind him muted. Adjusting his chair toward the glowing screen of his PC, he sank into the rhythm of his game. Hours passed before he finally leaned back, stretching.

It was time for a break.

Arin rubbed his eyes and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he leaned back in his ergonomic chair. His screen displayed his character’s stats and abilities in illegible symbols.

“This is not enough,” he whispered, turning toward the picture on the corner of his desk. It rested lonely atop a stack of class books. His eyes lingered on the family photo, a faded memory from a time he could barely recall. It showed his mother holding him as a baby, her smile soft—but the blur over her eyes told a different story. His father’s face was hidden too, their faint smiles obscured by mystery.

His father had died sickly when Arin was only two. Though he had no memory of the man, the picture reminded him that he was the reason for his existence. A tear slid down his cheek as he thought of his mother. The sadness in her eyes weighed on him. That’s why he tried not to cause her trouble, why he worked so hard to stay at the top of his class. Whenever she saw him succeed, a quiet relief washed over her—something she rarely showed to anyone else.

In those fleeting moments, it was as if she saw more than just her son. She saw his father too. A connection Arin could never touch but always felt lingering between them.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, he turned from the desk, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and headed to the kitchen.

The fridge creaked open with a familiar sound. Arin peered inside, searching for something to fuel his evening. His stomach growled in protest. He had planned to grab an energy drink, but the shelves were bare. A faint annoyance crossed his face, replaced quickly by a tired familiarity.

He closed the fridge, then noticed a sticky note on the door. It was from his mom.

Working late tonight. If you haven’t eaten, I’ll bring food later. Love you.

A small, weary smile tugged at his lips. She was always trying. She always did. He didn’t know when she’d be home, but it didn’t matter. She always left these notes. Always.

He pulled on socks, then boots, gloves, and the jacket he had set aside earlier. Slinging a half-full trash bag over his shoulder, he stepped outside into the icy night air.

The cold bit at his cheeks, raw and stinging. He made his way to the side of the house, tossing the trash into the bin. The lid shut with a dull echo that faded into the snow-covered stillness.

He paused, taking in the scene. Snow had fallen heavier, covering the ground in an untouched blanket of white. His breath came in clouds. It was beautiful. Peaceful. He almost wanted to savor it.

Instead, he turned down the street toward the department store. A drink, maybe a snack too. The walk would help clear his head.

The world was too still. Minutes passed before the silence broke—the faint barking of a dog in the distance. At first, Arin ignored it, but the sound grew louder, more insistent, until it grated against the night. His peace frayed.

The barking led him toward a small park bridge. There, under the dim glow of the lamps, he saw a figure collapsed on the ground. A dog stood beside him, barking frantically.

Arin hesitated, unease pressing against him, before instinct took over. He approached carefully, boots sliding slightly on the icy sidewalk. The lake beside the bridge was already frozen solid, but the dog’s desperate barks drew him back to the scene. Its tail wagged wildly at Arin’s approach, then it barked once more before turning back to its owner.

Arin crouched beside the man, checking for signs of injury. His breath came in shallow puffs. Arin touched his arm—warm, alive. No wounds. No blood. Just down.

The dog, seeing Arin’s concern, calmed, though it whined softly.

Arin hooked the man’s arm over his shoulder, pulling him upright with effort. The man’s legs trembled.

“You alright?” Arin muttered.

“Without you,” the man rasped, “I wouldn’t have been.”

From his frailness, Arin knew the man wouldn’t have stood on his own. He wondered why someone his age was even out here, walking a dog in weather like this.

Once steady, the man took back the leash. With a grateful wave, he started back the way he came. Arin gave a half-smile and turned away.

The air was crisp, the night serene. He felt a quiet pride. He had done something good.

But then his footing betrayed him. The frozen ground shifted beneath his boots, sending him sliding. Panic shot through him. He grasped for anything, but nothing was there. His arms flailed, the bridge railing rushed closer.

A sharp breath left his chest as he lost the fight. The black ice hidden beneath snow welcomed him with unforgiving arms. The world stretched and twisted as time unraveled. His heart pounded, wind roared in his ears, his numb hands scraped at nothing.

He felt his body slip over the railing, the fall pulling him into weightlessness. The freezing air wrapped him in silence. His thoughts slowed.

Clarity struck. The very thing he loved had led him here.

Facing the dark sky, snowflakes seemed frozen in the air. His legs tipped upward into view. He closed his eyes. A small smile touched his lips.

A sharp pain erupted in his head.

Before red.
Before black.