Stockholm’s winter had never felt colder. The city, draped in snow and bathed in the dim glow of streetlights, seemed to mirror the emptiness in Elias's heart. He stood by the frozen waters of Riddarfjärden, his breath curling like ghosts in the air, waiting—always waiting.
Two years ago, he had met Hanna on this very bridge, where her scarf got caught in the wind and flew straight into his face. She had laughed, and he had been too mesmerized to hand it back immediately. That day, they walked the cobbled streets of Gamla Stan, their hands brushing unintentionally, their hearts learning a rhythm neither had known before.
Hanna was everything Elias wasn’t—wild, unafraid, full of life. She would take him ice skating on thin, dangerous lakes and kiss him in the middle of crowded squares just to see him blush. He loved her recklessly, foolishly, in a way that made his entire being ache when she wasn’t near.
But then came the diagnosis.
Hanna had smiled even when the doctors didn’t. “It’s just time, Elias,” she had whispered on a quiet night, curled against his chest. “I just have a little less of it than most people.”
She made him promise that he wouldn’t cry when she was gone. “Instead, meet me here, every year, on the first snow.”
So here he was, as the first flakes of the season fell, standing on the bridge where love had found him and then slipped through his fingers. He waited because hope is pathetic, and love makes fools of us all.
And as the wind whispered through the trees, for just a moment, he swore he heard her laugh again.
Elias had always been a quiet man, a dreamer lost in books and melodies, but Hanna had pulled him out of his silence. She was a storm that tore through his stillness, leaving warmth where there had only been loneliness. He could still hear her voice in his mind, teasing him, urging him to take risks.
He remembered the first time they danced in the snow, right outside her apartment in Södermalm. She had grabbed his hands and twirled him around despite his protests. "Come on, Elias! You can't live your whole life as a spectator. Dance with me."
He had never felt so alive.
But life had a cruel way of taking what one loved most. The illness came swiftly, like winter creeping in before autumn had even settled. Hanna’s laughter never wavered, but her body did. She grew thinner, paler, her strength slipping away like sand through his fingers.
Yet, she never let him despair.
"Let's make memories instead of mourning time we haven't lost yet," she had said, dragging him to their favorite café, their favorite bookstore, their favorite secret spot in Skansen where they would watch the city lights twinkle. She made him promise he wouldn't let grief steal their happiness before it was necessary.
And then, one morning, she was gone.
Elias had woken up to the absence of her warmth, the stillness of a world that had once been full of her energy. She had slipped away in her sleep, just as she had wished, with a soft smile on her lips and his name written in a letter beside her.
It took him months to read it.
Now, standing on the bridge where it all began, Elias clenched the old letter in his hands. It was worn, the ink smudged from the times he had held it with tear-stained fingers. The words still cut him like ice.
My love, my Elias,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer there to tease you for waiting too long to read my words. It means you’re standing where I asked you to, on the first snow, because I know you. You keep your promises, even the ones that break your heart.
But please, don’t let this break you. Don’t stand still like a frozen river when you were meant to flow, to live, to love again.
I know it feels impossible now. I know you think I was your one great love, and maybe that’s true. But love isn’t about just one person, Elias. It’s about how much of yourself you give, how much light you bring into the world. And you, my darling, have so much light.
So promise me this—don’t just wait for me. Don’t turn our love into a ghost that haunts you. Find happiness, even if it’s without me. And when you do, tell me about it. Whisper it into the wind, and I’ll hear you. I promise.
Yours forever, even in the whispers of the snow.
Hanna.
Elias exhaled shakily, staring at the sky as snowflakes fell onto his lashes. He had spent the last year in a haze of grief, convinced that loving again would be a betrayal. But Hanna had never wanted his love to be a prison.
Just as he was about to turn away, footsteps crunched in the snow beside him. He looked up to see a woman, wrapped in a thick blue coat, standing a few feet away. She glanced at him, her dark eyes filled with understanding.
"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked, her voice soft, unintrusive.
Elias hesitated. Then, for the first time in a long time, he found himself smiling—just a little.
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just learning how to let go."
She nodded, as if she understood more than he had spoken. And for the first time since Hanna left, Elias felt something other than sorrow
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