I would choose you

PART 2. Home at last

The hours passed with surprising ease. We played word games and sang until our voices turned hoarse, shared leftover sweets and cold sandwiches, and tried to guess which towns we were passing through by the shape of the churches or the number of chimneys. The train rattled through open country, white with snow and stillness, and every so often we passed through tiny stations - wooden shelters no bigger than a bus stop, marked with place names.

As the sun slipped behind the hills, the window panes slowly dulled to black. August stopped playing the guitar and leaned back, head tipped against the frosted window. Nicole had curled into her coat, eyes half-closed. Max tucked his long hair behind one ear, and I could finally see his face.

When we reached the transfer station, it was full dark. The train groaned to a stop, and we climbed down onto the frozen platform, stamping our boots against the cold. There was no building to speak of, just a bench under a metal awning and a dim orange lamp buzzing quietly overhead. We had half an hour before the next train, and none of us felt like exploring.

So we stood there, huddled together like birds on a wire. Nicole pulled her scarf up to her nose and said it was the most beautiful sky she’d ever seen.

When the second train finally arrived - an even older model with benches that creaked like floorboards - we sank into our seats with a collective sigh. The heat inside was just enough to thaw our fingers, and the rhythm of the train lulled us quickly into silence. Within minutes, the girls had fallen asleep, leaning on each other like dominoes. Maria’s head slipped onto Nicole’s shoulder, and Nicole rested lightly against mine. Hannah slept across from us with her cheek against the window, her breath forming tiny clouds on the glass.

I also fell asleep.

The snow outside glowed beneath the moonlight, and the tracks ahead cut a smooth, narrow line through the wilderness.

When we arrived at the final station, Arthur gently shook each of us awake. The air outside was even colder than before - crisp and clean, with the sharp clarity that comes only after snowfall. The platform was deserted.

We expected to walk from there. Instead, Arthur told us to wait and disappeared down the snowy path leading to the houses. Ten minutes later, just when Hannah began pacing to stay warm, we saw him return through the darkness; walking in front of a horse-drawn carriage.

We all just stared for a moment, unsure if it was real or some kind of mirage conjured by exhaustion.

Arthur waved. “Meet Andrew,” he called out. “He’s driving us the rest of the way. I hope none of you are scared of horses!”

Andrew, a thickly-bearded man in a cap that looked older than all of us combined, gave a cheerful nod and motioned for us to climb aboard. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “We’ll be there before you freeze.”

The carriage was simple: wooden benches along the sides, heavy woolen blankets piled in the middle. Arthur jumped up front beside Andrew, naturally, and the rest of us tucked into the back, clutching the blankets like lifelines.

The moment the horses started moving, the wind hit our faces like a wave of ice. We had to squint, the cold biting at our noses and cheeks.

Sylvia sat between Hannah and Nicole, their shoulders pressed together under the blanket. Nicole’s cheeks were pink from the cold, but her eyes were bright, reflecting the light from the lanterns that swung gently from the front of the carriage.

Ahead of us, the road twisted through a forest, trees bowing low with the weight of snow. Every now and then, we caught a glimpse of the moon between the branches—huge and white, like a coin pressed into the sky.

“Are you sure we’re not in a dream?” Nicole whispered.

“I don’t care if we are,” I replied. “Don’t wake me.”

Arthur turned around from the driver’s seat, his face nearly glowing. “You lot look like a pile of Victorian ghosts back there. I'll ask Andrew to go faster.” Arthur grinned and turned back around, but not before adding, “I promise, you’ll love it.”

The longer we rode, the more the cold settled into our bones, but the more the excitement took hold. The kind of excitement that only comes when you’re doing something you didn’t expect, when you’re with people you like, going somewhere unknown, and the road feels like it belongs to no one but you.

After what felt like only a short time, we saw it - the lake house.

The house itself stood like a picture from a postcard: cozy and wooden, with steep gables and a wraparound porch dusted in snow.

Arthur jumped down first, shaking and stretching.

“Welcome to the castle,” he announced.

We climbed down, stiff-limbed and blinking. Our feet crunched on the snowy path as we made our way toward the porch.

The house was cold when we arrived. Our boots left wet trails on the floor as we shuffled in, too tired to care, already imagining blankets and heat and food. Arthur pulled a bunch of warm soft wool shoes for us to change into.

Inside, everything smelled like pine and something faintly sweet. The walls were a warm, honey-colored timber, and the windows were fogged slightly from the difference in temperature between our cold breath and the frozen glass.

Andrew, the driver, handed Arthur a cloth bag with dinner inside - something simple to tide us over until we could get to cooking ourselves. Arthur brought it straight to the kitchen, then knelt in front of the wood stove like he’d done it a thousand times. He lit the fire without a word, and we all stood around him in a semi-circle, watching as orange flames slowly flickered to life and began warming the room inch by inch.

Then, with the calm of someone completely at home, Arthur retrieved a bottle of red wine from the cabinet, poured it into a large iron pot, and added cinnamon sticks, slices of orange, and a heavy spoonful of honey. He placed the pot on the stove, and the scent filled the house almost instantly - rich and spiced, the smell of winter comfort.

When the wine had warmed, Arthur ladled it into mismatched mugs and pressed one into each of our hands. We carried them into the dining room, our fingers curling gratefully around the heat. By then, the fire was crackling, the room glowing in soft amber tones.

The meal was humble but perfect. A big pot of stewed meat and potatoes, thick with herbs, and two crusty loaves of bread still warm from Andrew’s oven. We didn’t speak much while we ate, just exchanged smiles and clinks of mugs, as if acknowledging that yes, this was exactly what we needed.

Afterward, with bellies full and cheeks flushed from mulled wine, we melted into a collective softness. Arthur stood and clapped his hands together gently.

“Tour time,” he announced, grinning. “Let me show you your temporary kingdom.”

The house was smaller than I’d expected. The first floor had a kitchen with a ceramic sink, a living room centered around the stove, a glass-walled patio that looked out onto the frozen lake like a room made of starlight, and a storage room full of winter clothes. Beneath the living room trapdoor was a big food cellar.

Upstairs, the hallway was narrow, lined with framed childhood drawings and soft creaking floorboards. The master bedroom was locked - Arthur’s parents’ room.

The next room belonged to his sisters: bunk beds, stuffed animals on the shelves, all in various shades of pink and purple. Maria and Hannah lit up as soon as they walked in.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Maria said, touching the little reading lamp shaped like a bunny.

Hannah nodded, already claiming the top bunk with a smile. “We’re staying here.”

Next to the stairs was a tiny room with just a queen-sized bed, several shelves with pillows behind the bed, a tiny desk, and one narrow window overlooking the woods. No space for anything else. It was very cozy.

“I want this one,” I said immediately.

Nicole stepped in behind me, her hands still wrapped around her mug. “It’s lovely,” she said, glancing at the small window.

“You can take it if you want,” I offered.

But she shook her head, smiling. “You called dibs first. I’ll take the next one.”

That room, hers, was done in dark red, with old maps pinned above the bed and a heavy curtain drawn across the window. Arthur said it used to belong to his older brother, who rarely visited now but had refused to let them repaint.

The last room on the floor was Arthur’s. At the back of it was a narrow staircase leading to the attic. We followed him up, ducking our heads under the beams, and found ourselves in a single wide room lined with mattresses. No beds - just quilts and a couple of lamps. That's where all the boys would be staying.

When we finally settled into our rooms, I realized it would be the first night I’d sleep alone since arriving at P. College. At first, I thought I would welcome the quiet, the privacy. But as I pulled the covers over myself and stared at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but feel the emptiness around me.

I pulled the handkerchief from Nicole out of my pocket and laid it on the small table beside the bed. The blue and yellow fabric caught the low moonlight in a way that made me feel a little less alone.

And as I lay there, listening to the muffled laughter of my friends echoing through the house, I found myself smiling.

It was only the first night. And morning always came faster when you had something to wake up for.