Frost and Flame

Snow cascades relentlessly from the sky, blanketing the landscape of Hokkaido in icy silence. The blizzard isn’t merely weather; it’s a force of nature, isolating the resort from the outside world, turning it into an island of solitude. The air hums with tension as the wind howls like a restless spirit, rattling windows and piling snowdrifts against every door. Inside the resort, the atmosphere is a stark contrast to the storm outside. A fire crackles in the lobby’s hearth, but its warmth fails to reach the subdued faces of the stranded guests. Conversations are hushed, tinged with the unease of plans canceled and journeys delayed. The isolation is tangible, pressing down like the heavy snow on the rooftops. Sayaka arrives, bundled tightly against the cold, her scarf pulled high and her hat pulled low. Her eyes, the only part of her visible, flicker with a mix of exhaustion and determination. This trip wasn’t spontaneous; it was an escape—one she had meticulously planned to leave behind the chaos of her everyday life. As she checks in, she takes a moment to observe her surroundings. The resort is small and cozy, designed to be a retreat from the world. There’s a rustic charm to it—wood-paneled walls, snow-covered pine trees visible through the frosted windows, and the faint smell of mulled wine and cinnamon wafting from the kitchen. Her room is on the second floor, overlooking the snow-laden forest. She stands by the window, watching the storm rage on. The snowflakes blur together in a chaotic dance, mirroring the storm in her mind. She’s here to find peace, but as the wind howls and shadows of old memories creep in, she wonders if peace is something she can ever truly find. The blizzard becomes more than just a physical storm; it’s a metaphor for the turmoil within her. Each gust of wind feels like a whisper of the past, a reminder of decisions made and paths abandoned. Little does she know, someone from that past is already here, tucked away in a corner of the same resort, as introspective and isolated as the storm itself. This is the stage set for their fateful reunion—a storm outside and storms within, ready to collide in a place where time seems to stand still. — As the blizzard roars outside, the resort’s common areas remain a hub of quiet activity. Guests huddle in the lounge, flipping through books, sipping steaming drinks, or simply staring out the windows at the relentless storm. Amid this subdued gathering, one man stands apart—not in presence but in aura. Souta Kirishima occupies a small table by the far window, his back to the room and his focus entirely on the snowstorm outside. His posture is calm, his movements deliberate, yet there’s an unspoken barrier around him, a silent “do not disturb” that others instinctively respect. The window he gazes through is streaked with frost, framing his profile like a painting. His dark hair is slightly unkempt, and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw suggests he’s been here for days. There’s a notebook in front of him, open but untouched, and a cooling cup of coffee rests beside it. The faint lines of concentration on his face hint at a mind lost in thought—or perhaps memory. Souta has always preferred the quiet, finding solace in solitude. His job as a weather observer suits him perfectly—long hours alone, immersed in data and forecasts, with no need for the noise of social pleasantries. He tells himself he came to this resort to observe the storm up close, to study its patterns and behavior, but deep down, he knows there’s more to it than that. The resort reminds him of a life he once had—a life filled with warmth and chaos, laughter and love. It was a life he walked away from, believing it was for the best. Yet, as the snow falls and the wind sings its mournful tune, Souta finds himself questioning the choices he made. From his vantage point, he notices every detail of the storm: the way the snow drifts in patterns dictated by the wind, the way it piles against the trees like a heavy burden. But he also notices movement—a figure crossing the courtyard, wrapped in layers against the cold. The figure pauses, glancing up toward the building, and for a moment, their eyes meet. Souta stiffens, his breath catching as recognition floods through him. It’s Sayaka. The woman he thought he’d never see again. The woman he convinced himself he had left behind for good. He pulls back from the window, heart pounding. He’s not ready for this—not ready to face the storm brewing within him, far fiercer than the one outside. Yet, even as he turns away, a part of him knows that avoiding her is impossible. In a place this small, in the grip of a storm this relentless, paths are bound to cross. For now, he retreats into his solitude, pretending he hasn’t seen her. But the snowstorm has other plans. The First Glance—Inside the resort, the warmth from the fireplace contrasts sharply with the icy tension building between two unsuspecting souls. Sayaka Hoshino stands in the lobby, brushing snowflakes from her coat and letting the heat thaw her frozen hands. She scans the room out of habit, her eyes briefly meeting curious glances from strangers before moving on. It’s not until her gaze lingers on the far corner that something shifts. There, in the dim glow of the fireplace, she catches a profile she never thought she’d see again. Souta. Her breath catches, her heart skipping a beat. For a moment, the bustling activity of the resort fades, replaced by the roaring silence of memory. Years ago, that face was her anchor. She knew every line of it—the furrow in his brow when he was deep in thought, the way his lips quirked in a rare smile, the intensity of his gaze when he spoke of things he cared about. But now, there’s a distance in him, a guardedness that feels both familiar and foreign. Souta doesn’t look up. He’s hunched slightly, scribbling in the notebook in front of him. Or perhaps pretending to scribble. Sayaka can’t tell, but her instincts as a teacher notice the nervous energy in his posture, the way his hand pauses mid-word. He knows. He’s aware of her presence. Sayaka hesitates. Should she approach him? Pretend not to notice? A thousand questions whirl through her mind, each one colliding with the unspoken truth that she’s not ready to face him. But then, as if sensing her turmoil, Souta glanced up. Their eyes meet across the room, and for a moment, the world stops. The past rushes in like a tide, drowning them both in fragments of shared laughter, heated arguments, whispered promises, and the ache of things left unsaid. Souta’s face betrays nothing, but his eyes flicker with something she can’t quite name—surprise, maybe, or regret. Sayaka, ever the extrovert, forces a small smile, hoping it will mask the storm within her. Souta doesn’t smile back. Instead, he stands abruptly, gathering his notebook and coffee, and walks away without a word. Sayaka watches him go, her smile faltering. The distance between them feels greater than it ever did, even when they were miles apart. But now, trapped in the same resort, in the same blizzard, she knows one thing for certain. Running from the past is no longer an option. — That evening, the storm intensified, shaking the windows and burying the resort further under blankets of snow. Most guests retreat to their rooms, but Sayaka lingers by the common room’s fire, nursing a cup of tea and staring into the flames. The flickering light casts shadows that dance across her face, mirroring the turmoil in her heart. She remembers the last time she saw Souta—how his silence had cut deeper than any words ever could. She thought she had moved on, buried the memories beneath the weight of her responsibilities, her children, her career. But seeing him again has unearthed everything. Upstairs, Souta sits in his room, the notebook open on the desk before him. He'd written nothing, his pen frozen above the page. The storm outside is nothing compared to the one raging inside him. He remembers the way Sayaka looked at him earlier—half hopeful, half uncertain. The way she smiled as if trying to bridge the chasm he had created. He knew he should have stayed, said something, anything, but the words refused to come. In the silence of his room, the echoes of their past reverberate louder than ever. Their laughter, their arguments, the quiet moments that needed no words. And the final fight—the one that broke them, the one he still carries like an invisible scar. But what weighs on him most is the memory of their children. He wonders if they know he’s here, if Sayaka has told them anything. The thought twists something in his chest, a mixture of guilt and longing. Downstairs, Sayaka resolves to speak to him, to break through the wall of silence he’s built around himself. She doesn’t know what she’ll say or how he’ll react, but she knows they can’t keep avoiding each other. As the storm rages on, so does the quiet anticipation of their inevitable confrontation—a moment that will either heal old wounds or deepen them beyond repair. —