Letting You Go in Alaska

Chapter 3: Thaw

Hale's Pov

I don't plan where I'm going. I just walk.

The cold settles around me the moment I step outside, quieter now than it was earlier, like the day is slowly folding into something softer. The cabin lights behind me glow faintly, warm against the deepening blue of the sky.

I keep my hands in my pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the wind, letting my steps carry me without thinking too much about direction. It's easier that way—not thinking, not deciding, just... moving.

A few minutes pass before something feels off. I slow down, then stop, my hand instinctively reaching for the strap that should be resting against my shoulder.

Nothing.

"...right," I exhale quietly, glancing back toward the cabin. "My camera."

I must've left it.

For a moment, I consider just leaving it there, but I don't. I turn around.

The walk back feels shorter.

Or maybe I'm just more aware now.

The sky is darker than it was earlier, the light fading faster than I expected. When I pass by the small café near the cabin, I catch sight of familiar figures through the glass—Sophie, Hannah, and someone else I don't recognize.

They're sitting close together, cups of coffee in their hands, laughter spilling out of them—warm, easy, alive. The kind of sound that doesn't carry weight.

Sophie notices me first and waves immediately, like she doesn't hesitate with anything. I nod back, a small smile forming without effort.

Hannah follows with a softer wave, and I return it before continuing on.

The door to the cabin creaks softly as I step inside. Warmth wraps around me again, but it feels different now—quieter, heavier. I walk down the hallway, and then I see her.

Elara.

She's standing near the corner, like she just stepped out or is about to leave, one hand lightly brushing against her sleeve as if she hasn't fully decided what to do next. I pause—not because I have to, but because something in me does.

She looks up.

And smiles.

Bright. Natural. Effortless.

It's the kind of smile that doesn't ask for anything, doesn't expect anything. It just... exists.

I feel myself respond before I think about it, a faint smile forming as I nod slightly.

"Hey," she says, her voice light but grounded, like she's already comfortable in this place. "What's up? Did you have a walk?"

I nod once. "Yeah."

Simple. Automatic.

She hums softly, tilting her head like she's reading something between the lines, like she's trying to figure out more than what I said. "I see... enjoying the coldness of Alaska as well, huh?"

I pause.

Do I?

The question lingers longer than it should. Enjoying. Is that what this is?

I think about the walk earlier. The silence. The way everything felt... quieter. Lighter. Not better. Just... different.

I let out a small breath, my lips curving just a little.

"Well..." I say quietly, "maybe I do."

It feels unfamiliar, but not wrong.

She smiles again, softer this time, like she understands something I didn't say. Like that answer is enough—and somehow, it is.

There's a brief pause that doesn't feel awkward. Just... there.

"I just forgot something," I add, shifting slightly. "I'll head out again."

"Alright," she says, nodding. "Don't stay out too long. It's getting colder."

There's a hint of concern there. Not heavy. Not intrusive. Just... present.

"I won't."

Another small pause follows before I step past her, and for a brief moment, I feel it—the warmth she leaves behind. It lingers longer than it should, subtle but noticeable, like something out of place in a space like this.

I don't stop to think about it.

I shouldn't.

I head into my room and find my camera exactly where I left it. I pick it up, checking it briefly out of habit, then grab a few hand warmers and slip them into my pockets.

I should rest. I know that.

But the silence inside feels worse than the cold outside.

So I leave again.

This time, I walk further—away from the cabin, away from the light. The path stretches into dimness, my breath visible with every exhale, disappearing just as quickly as it forms. The world feels quieter the further I go, like everything unnecessary is being stripped away.

My thoughts drift back—to the Philippines, to home, to everything I left behind.

The voices don't come all at once. They never do. They arrive in fragments—familiar, repeated, worn into me over time.

"Why can't you just do something practical?"

"Do you even have a plan?"

"Art won't get you anywhere."

My jaw tightens. My hands curl inside my pockets until my fingers press into my palms. "I know," I mutter, my voice low at first, almost controlled. "I know, alright?"

A beat passes.

"...so why does it still feel like I don't?"

The words slip out before I can stop them.

"I know what I'm doing," I add, quieter this time, like I'm trying to convince someone—maybe them, maybe myself. "I know what I want... I just—"

My breath catches.

"I just can't prove it the way you want me to."

The next words come out sharper.

"I know, alright?!"

It breaks out louder than I expect, my voice cracking slightly as it hits the open air.

Of course I know.

That's the problem.

I keep walking, faster now, my steps heavier and uneven, like I'm trying to outrun something that's been following me for years.

"Then what do you want from me?" I mutter under my breath. "How much more do I have to do for it to be enough?"

There's no answer.

There never is.

But the questions stay.

They always do.

Until I stop—not because I decide to, but because I can't keep going like that.

I pull out my phone. 6:30 PM. It's already dark.

"I should go back," I say quietly, the words automatic.

I don't move.

Instead, I look up—and everything... stops.

The sky stretches endlessly above me, alive with color—green, blue, hints of violet. The northern lights ripple across the darkness, shifting slowly, like something breathing above me.

My breath catches.

"...what the hell..." I whisper, barely audible.

I take a step forward without realizing, my eyes following the movement. My chest tightens—not painfully, but overwhelmingly.

It's beautiful.

Not in a way that demands anything.

Not in a way that judges.

Just... there.

"Nothing expects anything from me here," I murmur, almost in disbelief. "It just... exists."

I close my eyes and spread my arms slightly, like I can hold onto the moment, like I can feel something other than pressure.

And then—

it breaks.

Everything.

The weight.

The exhaustion.

The constant feeling of not being enough.

"I'M NOT RUNNING!!"

The words rip out of me, louder than anything I've said in a long time.

"I JUST— I JUST NEEDED A BREAK!!"

My voice echoes into the open space, swallowed by the night.

"I JUST WANTED TO BREATHE FOR ONCE!!"

The words come faster now, raw, unfiltered.

"WHY IS THAT SO WRONG?!"

My chest tightens, my throat burning.

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST—"

My voice cracks.

"—UNDERSTAND ME...!"

Silence answers.

But I keep going.

"I'M TIRED!!"

The word tears out of me.

"I'M SO TIRED OF TRYING TO BE WHAT YOU WANT!!"

My voice shakes, uneven, but I don't stop.

"I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING I'M OKAY WITH IT!!"

The next breath comes sharp.

"I'M TIRED OF FEELING LIKE I'M NEVER ENOUGH!!"

Everything collapses into silence the moment the last word leaves me.

All that's left is my breathing—uneven, shaking, too loud in the quiet around me.

I stand there, shoulders trembling, the cold finally catching up to me, seeping into my skin, grounding me in a way nothing else has.

"...damn it..." I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Why is it always like this...?"

I wipe my face, but it doesn't matter. It's already out.

Everything I've been holding in.

Gone.

Or at least... lighter.

I take a shaky breath, then another, forcing it to steady.

"...it's not wrong, right?" I murmur, quieter now. "Wanting something for myself... that's not wrong."

No answer comes.

I don't need one.

I look up again.

The northern lights are still there—unaffected, unbothered, beautiful.

Like none of that mattered.

Or maybe... like it didn't need to.

"...I deserve to be happy too, don't I?"

The words come out softer this time—not shouted, not forced—just honest.

I lift my camera with slightly trembling hands, frame the sky, and press the shutter.

Click.

The moment freezes—proof that this exists, that I was here, that this... happened.

I take another shot.

Then another.

Slower now.

More deliberate.

"Don't forget this," I murmur. "Don't forget how this feels."

I lower the camera.

The cold settles back in—real, grounding, steady.

I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs, holding it there for a second before letting it go.

"...yeah," I exhale slowly. "That's enough for today."

I glance once more at the sky, then turn.

"I should head back."

This time, I walk—not rushed, not aimless—just steady.

Not because I have to.

But because, for the first time in a while...

I feel a little lighter.

*****

The walk back isn't rushed. I don't need it to be.

Each step feels different now—not empty, not light, but less heavy than before. The tightness in my chest has eased, replaced by something quieter, something steadier.

My breathing comes easier, no longer caught halfway between holding in and letting go. I exhale slowly, watching the faint cloud of air disappear in front of me.

I murmur under my breath that it helped. Not everything, not completely—but enough. At least for now.

I slip my hands into my pockets, the warmth from the hand warmers settling in. The cold still bites, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

It feels grounding—like something that reminds me I'm still here, still moving.

For the first time since I arrived, I don't feel like I'm running. I'm just walking, and maybe that's enough.

Lights begin to appear in the distance as I approach the cabin—warm, scattered, steady.

My gaze lingers on them a little longer than it should, and I find myself thinking that this trip might actually be worth it.

The thought is unfamiliar, but it doesn't feel wrong.

The quiet stretches, but it doesn't press against me the same way. My thoughts don't race; they don't pile up. They just... settle.

Then I hear laughter.

Soft at first, then clearer—carried easily through the cold air. It doesn't sound forced or careful. It sounds real.

I slow as the source comes into view: a small fire glowing against the dark, marshmallows held over it, smoke curling upward in thin lines.

Around it—Elara, Sophie, Hannah, and the other girl I saw with them earlier.

They sit close together, bundled against the cold, their laughter overlapping, interrupting, continuing anyway. It's messy and unfiltered, but it works. It feels... alive.

I stop a few steps away, not close enough to interrupt—just enough to see.

For a moment, I watch.

Sophie talks with her hands, reenacting something with too much enthusiasm. Hannah tries to object, fails halfway, and ends up laughing into her sleeve.

The other girl leans back with a small shake of her head, a smile she's trying not to show.

And Elara—she's at the center of it, laughing like she doesn't need permission to. Bright. Effortless. Like she belongs there.

I catch myself smiling and murmur that it's good for them. There's no bitterness in it—just something softer. I admit, quietly, that I envy that. I find myself wishing I could be like that too.

The thought settles in my chest—present, but not heavy.

I shift my weight, already thinking about slipping past without being noticed.

But then Elara looks up.

Our eyes meet.

She smiles immediately.

"Hale!"

She stands without hesitation, brushing her hands together before jogging over, her steps quick but steady. "Hale, it's you! Hello! How was your walk?"

I blink, caught off guard by how easily she says my name, like we've known each other longer than we have. I manage a faint smile.

"It was... good," I say after a brief pause.

She studies my face, her expression softening—not intrusive, just attentive. "Are you okay?"

There's a small beat where I consider brushing it off. Then I exhale.

"Yeah," I answer, the smile coming a little easier. "I think I am." I hesitate, then add, quieter, "I just... got some things out."

Her brows lift slightly, not in surprise—more like she's registering it. She nods once.

"Well," she says gently, "good for you."

No follow-up questions. No pressure to explain. Just acceptance.

She gestures back toward the fire. "Come on. Join us. It's warmer there!"

"I don't want to—" I start, then stop when she lightly tugs at my sleeve, not forceful—just insistent enough that refusing feels unnecessary.

"...okay," I concede.

We walk back together. The warmth reaches us before we sit, the fire crackling softly, filling the gaps between voices.

Sophie spots me first. "Oh! Hale! You came back!"

Hannah looks up with a small smile. "Hi, Hale."

I nod. "Hello."

Elara glances between us and laughs. "You already know each other? That makes this easier."

"Something like that," I reply.

The other girl straightens and offers her hand. "Laine. Nice to meet you."

I take it. "Hale. Likewise."

Her handshake is firm—confident. She lets go and settles back, reaching for a marshmallow stick.

"Sit," Sophie says, shifting to make space. "You're just in time."

I lower myself onto the log, careful, like I'm stepping into something I'm not used to.

The conversation resumes without effort.

"And then she literally ran into him," Sophie says, pointing at Hannah.

"I did not run," Hannah protests, though she's smiling. "You were the one rushing me!"

"I said walk faster, not launch yourself!"

Laine huffs a quiet laugh. "Same difference."

I let out a small chuckle. It comes easier than I expect.

Sophie turns to me. "You didn't even react that much."

"I did catch her," I say.

"That's true," Hannah admits, glancing at me. "Thank you... again."

"You're welcome."

Elara leans closer to the fire, turning her marshmallow slowly.

"See? Not so bad, right?" she says, a quick glance in my direction that feels pointed without being obvious.

"Not bad," I answer.

The conversation flows—Sophie filling the space, Laine balancing it with quieter comments, Hannah adding in between laughs, and Elara tying it together without trying.

I don't talk much—just enough to stay part of it. But I stay, and I listen, and for once it doesn't feel like I'm standing outside of something. It feels like I'm included, even if only a little.

I watch the way their words overlap, the way their laughter comes without hesitation, and I realize that this is what it looks like—something simple, something easy, something I've never really had.

I expect the thought to sting when I admit that I want this too.

It doesn't.

Maybe because, right now, I'm already here.

I shift slightly, feeling the warmth of the fire against the cold air, the contrast grounding me. I tell myself that this is enough—at least for now.

My gaze drifts back to Elara.

She laughs again, bright and unrestrained, shoulders relaxing as she leans into the moment. When she catches me looking, she just smiles—like it's nothing—and turns back to the group.

Something settles in my chest then—not heavy, not overwhelming, just... warm.

I look away before I can overthink it and let the moment be what it is. I stay. I listen. I let myself belong, even if it's only for a moment.

Because right now, this feels nice.

And for once, I don't hate it.

*****

End of Chapter 3