Jel heard it behind him—a slow echo in the dirt, though he didn't bother looking back. There was nothing back there for him anyway.
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He kept his eyes locked on the path leading up into the hills, stepping carefully around the wet patches. He hated dragging mud into the cabin. It was a small, stupid thing to worry about, but when the rest of a life is falling apart, keeping the floors clean feels like the last shred of control left.
Down in the valley, the world was a constant noise—construction, shouting, people bumping into each other like static. That rattle was why he left. Jel was a dark, tall guy, quiet in nature, wearing his exhaustion right on his skin. One look at his face and people knew better than to ask questions. Leave me alone. That was what his whole posture screamed.
Moving out to the hills was supposed to bring peace. But distance didn't clear the head; it just turned down the background music until the noise inside took over.
It wasn't a movie narrator. It was just a tired, steady dialogue coming from somewhere deep behind his ribs—his own mind refusing to shut up.
He pushed the heavy wooden door open. The room smelled of cold ash and cedar. Without turning on a lamp, he walked straight to the shelf and looked at the photograph resting in the dim gray shadow from the window. Her face. Steady, warm, and completely gone.
A cold shiver crawled down his spine. The air in the room felt heavy, pressing down on his chest until breathing took actual effort. He slammed his palm against the rough log wall, his fingers curling tight into the wood.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking against the empty walls. "Why her? Why did it have to end like this?"
He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against his arm as the words spilled out of him in a low, broken mumble to the empty room.
“I just wanted quiet,” he muttered to himself, the sound of his own voice strange in the dark. “I thought running out here would make everything go blank. But the silence isn't a cure. It's just a mirror. Carrying this truth around—seeing everything for what it really is—it's heavier than I thought. I'm just tired of fighting the walls in my own head.”
Jel rubbed his temples as the memories battered against his ribs. He felt like a stranded sailor staring out at a black ocean, terrified to touch the wheel again. He wasn't ready to weather another storm. But standing there in the dark, staring at the empty space she left behind, he realized he didn't have to fix everything tonight. He just had to make it through the dark.