Each snowflake that graces the windowpane carries a silent story, a fleeting whisper in the cold winter night. The room is bathed in the gentle luminescence of a lone bedside lamp. Anna is sitting right here, right next to me, on our comfy bed. With the storybook cradled in my hands, I narrate to her the tales of ancient heroes and mysterious wonders. Little Red Riding Hood, Beauty and the Beast, Hansel and Gretel— despite being old, these are all among Anna’s most favorite. Like any other kid, she laughs during the whimsical moments and cries during the poignant scenes. Observing her reactions makes my heart swell; it’s something that transcends mere cuteness.
Yet, as the hands of time creep forward, the relentless tide of fatigue begins to claim her. Her eyelids flutter, waging a delicate battle against the lure of sleep. Slowly, and gracefully, she surrenders, her head finding solace on my shoulder.
And in that moment, as the snow outside weaves a tapestry of silence, the room becomes a sacred space. Her gentle breaths, rhythmic and soothing, whisper through the air.
“Big brother, can we stay like this... just a little longer?” Anna’s voice, frail and laced with the tendrils of sleep, breaks the silence.
This makes my heart swell in pain.
“Anna, I… I have to go. I have to find you.” My voice, raw and laden with unshed tears, trembles as I speak the words, the pain of leaving this dreamt sanctuary cutting through me.
The reality of our situation has been crashing over me like a relentless wave. Of course, I want to stay here like this forever. It’s such a tempting offer that I nearly gave in. But I know, my Anna, the real Anna, is still missing. The illusion of this peaceful moment is just that, an illusion, and every second spent here is a second stolen from the fight to bring her back.
“Don’t go… please. Just a little longer. Stay with me.”
Her trembling voice, her small and fragile hand clutch at my shirt. She’s sobbing.
And I am too. My vision blurs as tears flow freely, each drop is the pain in my soul crystallized. “I’m sorry, Anna… I’m sorry… ”
“Please, don’t leave me here alone.”
And each of her words is like a steel knife stabbing straight into my heart.
But I can’t. I have to leave, I have to fight for her.
“I love you, Anna. More than anything in this world,“ I caress her hair gently, whisper to her promises and apologies. “I will find you. I promise. Just hold on.”
And then, with a final, tearful glance, I step away from the bed, away from the dream. The warmth fading into the cold embrace of reality.
“Then… once you find her, can you promise to never let her go again?”
Anna’s voice unexpectedly reaches out, no longer pleading but seeking a solemn vow
“Of course,” I reply.
And with that, I push the door open, stepping through the threshold to an overwhelming brilliant light that swallows me whole.
Each snowflake that graces the windowpane carries a silent story, a fleeting whisper in the cold winter night. The room is bathed in the gentle luminescence of a lone bedside lamp. Anna is sitting right here, right next to me, on our comfy bed. With the storybook cradled in my hands, I narrate to her the tales of ancient heroes and mysterious wonders. Little Red Riding Hood, Beauty and the Beast, Hansel and Gretel— despite being old, these are all among Anna’s most favorite. Like any other kid, she laughs during the whimsical moments and cries during the poignant scenes. Observing her reactions makes my heart swell; it’s something that transcends mere cuteness.
Yet, as the hands of time creep forward, the relentless tide of fatigue begins to claim her. Her eyelids flutter, waging a delicate battle against the lure of sleep. Slowly, and gracefully, she surrenders, her head finding solace on my shoulder.
And in that moment, as the snow outside weaves a tapestry of silence, the room becomes a sacred space. Her gentle breaths, rhythmic and soothing, whisper through the air.
“Big brother, can we stay like this... just a little longer?” Anna’s voice, frail and laced with the tendrils of sleep, breaks the silence.
This makes my heart swell in pain.
“Anna, I… I have to go. I have to find you.” My voice, raw and laden with unshed tears, trembles as I speak the words, the pain of leaving this dreamt sanctuary cutting through me.
The reality of our situation has been crashing over me like a relentless wave. Of course, I want to stay here like this forever. It’s such a tempting offer that I nearly gave in. But I know, my Anna, the real Anna, is still missing. The illusion of this peaceful moment is just that, an illusion, and every second spent here is a second stolen from the fight to bring her back.
“Don’t go… please. Just a little longer. Stay with me.”
Her trembling voice, her small and fragile hand clutch at my shirt. She’s sobbing.
And I am too. My vision blurs as tears flow freely, each drop is the pain in my soul crystallized. “I’m sorry, Anna… I’m sorry… ”
“Please, don’t leave me here alone.”
And each of her words is like a steel knife stabbing straight into my heart.
But I can’t. I have to leave, I have to fight for her.
“I love you, Anna. More than anything in this world,“ I caress her hair gently, whisper to her promises and apologies. “I will find you. I promise. Just hold on.”
And then, with a final, tearful glance, I step away from the bed, away from the dream. The warmth fading into the cold embrace of reality.
“Then… once you find her, can you promise to never let her go again?”
Anna’s voice unexpectedly reaches out, no longer pleading but seeking a solemn vow
“Of course,” I reply.
And with that, I push the door open, stepping through the threshold to an overwhelming brilliant light that swallows me whole.
