Dear Love: The Spring I May Never See

"Is the video good?"

A deep voice broke the silence, accompanying the steady steps of a man who opened the door without knocking. His black shoes made soft contact with the deep red carpet, the faint sound still echoing in the room, filled with a stifling atmosphere.

The walls and tables were adorned with bright red hues, the fabric serving as a base for chains, handcuffs, and other shiny tools under the cold white light. In the middle of the room, four camera lenses were lined up, pointed at the large bed with tangled sheets-traces of chaos still clung to its surface.

In front of a small screen, a muscular man stood, grinning with satisfaction. The echoes of groans and soft sobs from the video filled the room, the woman in the recording trembling helplessly. Tears stained her cheeks as her eyes radiated an overwhelming despair that seemed to swallow the last remnants of hope.

"Nice, right?" he asked, glancing at the man in the doorway while pointing at the screen. "The masochists will definitely pay a lot for this."

There was no answer. Only a thin smile on the face of the man standing tall in an immaculate black suit. His golden-brown eyes remained fixed on the screen, emanating a frightening calm.

"I don't care about the buyers." His voice was flat, yet firm, as if it slipped through the air like a sharp knife. "If the result is good..." His gaze stayed locked on the screen, following each gasp that cut through the silence. "You can make another video with her."

The muscular man chuckled lightly, his eyes sparkling wildly. "I look forward to it!"

The dark-skinned man stood and walked toward the bathroom, his strong, trained body displaying remarkable contours. "Her cries are beautiful; you'd be missing out if you don't try it," he said before disappearing, the sound of water splashing following shortly after.

When he returned, the room was submerged in silence. The bed in the center of the room still held the traces of the figure lying beneath the thick blanket, unmoving since their brief encounter that night.

The man stepped closer, a cold smile curling on his lips. "Ann," he called softly but with certainty. "You even cried with satisfaction, didn't you? Don't worry; I'll send the video once it's done. So, make sure you remember your beautiful face in this recording."

Without waiting for a response, he began packing up his equipment, leaving the room in darkness. The remaining light vanished, leaving the room enveloped in a red shadow that swallowed every corner.

On the bed, the red blanket swelled, shielding the small body trembling in silence. Her breath was shallow, as if trying to blend with the surrounding stillness.

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing dark but clear irises, sweeping the room with an empty gaze. Tears flowed quietly down her cheeks, carrying a bittersweet beauty in every drop.

She moved slowly, pain slicing through each step toward the bathroom. As cold water touched her reddened skin, her swollen lips pressed together tightly. Her gaze was vacant, staring at the bathroom ceiling, her voice barely audible among the splashing water.

"I miss Grandma..."

At 5:00 AM, in front of a large mirror, Ann's small reflection gazed back solemnly. The thick black hoodie covered her shoulders, paired with pants hidden beneath a dark green skirt. Her face, once radiant, was now pale and empty-without traces of tears, only a frozen silence.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as if trying to fill the emptiness inside her. After a few seconds, her trembling hand reached for the strap of her bag lying on the floor. Without a word, Ann stepped out of the hotel room, leaving the quiet space that now held its own dark secrets.

"Look! Room 510!"

"She's out."

"Which one is she?"

"Shhh... Quiet down."

Whispers from the hotel staff traveled softly among them.

"It's her... the one in the black hoodie!"

Curious eyes fixated on Ann as she walked quickly, her face hidden beneath a large brown scarf. Her stride was firm and unwavering, as if the pain she carried couldn't stop her determination.

"Haa... she must be living luxuriously with many men," muttered one of them.

"Disgusting!"

"Quiet! The hotel owner can hear you," snapped a stern-faced woman with a sharp gaze.

Just like that, their whispers ceased. The staff left with their heads bowed, but one word continued to echo in Ann's mind.

Disgusting.

Her once steady steps began to slow as she entered a narrow, dark alley. Morning snow fell gently, dancing under the dim streetlights, creating soft shadows around her feet. The sound of her footsteps, muffled by the snow, felt soothing, gradually easing the anxiety that consumed her thoughts.

At the end of the hidden alley stood a large trash can, standing firm as the only shield from the outside world. Ann curled behind its shadow, her small body tightly folded in her arms and legs. The cold air pierced her skin, but the warmth of her own body was enough to stave off the chill. In this corner-though dirty and silent-she felt safe, far from the judging eyes of people.

"Dad... Grandma..." she whispered weakly, burying her face in the scarf that shielded her from the freezing air. Her empty eyes stared at the snow stuck to her boots.

It all started a year ago when her grandmother fell ill. The hospital bills slowly suffocated her family. Without a word or complaint, Ann dropped out of school-her decision kept a secret from her grandmother. Every night, she left small notes full of lies.

"I'm going out to play with friends."

In reality, Ann struggled with part-time jobs to help her father.

Though exhausted, she always smiled during each shift, working hard to earn a little better wages and tips. But everything collapsed when her father suddenly passed away due to a brain aneurysm. The delayed medical response cost her the last person who had been her anchor in life.

The unending debt forced Ann to sign a contract with Jake, a heartless man from the Thorpe family-a wealthy family that had dominated for generations.

Now, Ann fought alone, taking care of her grandmother, still lying in the hospital.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Unhurried, unhesitant-just the steady rhythm, unaffected by the cold snow. Two meters from where Ann sat, the steps stopped.

A pair of long legs in shiny black shoes stood there, silent, without a greeting. Ann didn't turn. She simply took a quiet breath, letting the cold air bite at her lungs. She pulled her scarf tighter, hiding her face from the world-including from him. But somehow, his presence brought an odd sense of security.

No gaze met hers, and no words were spoken. The silence between them wasn't emptiness but a story left untold.

Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...

The vibration of Ann's old phone flickered the light from its cracked screen. She took a deep breath, then stood tall despite the cold seeping into her bones. "It's time."

Ann walked past the man, a figure who had never been more than a faint shadow in her life. There was no attempt to sneak a glance, not even a brief one, at the face behind the expensive suit and leather shoes that looked so flawless under the dim glow of the streetlights. Her head remained down, her eyes fixed on the frozen ground, hardened by the cold of the night.

The man, as always, stood in his place, silent and unmoving, as if his presence were nothing more than a statue that adorned the silence of the alley. No words were spoken, and no gestures were made to imply any connection between them.

The cold wind slipped between them, carrying the scent of snow that never seemed to melt the distance between them. It was as if the silence itself was an invisible bond, yet real-a form of communication they both understood, but without words.

Ann continued walking, her steps steady but slow, leaving prints in the snow that were soon covered again by the white flakes falling from the sky. Once again, they parted without a single word, like two shadows that briefly crossed the same world-side by side for a moment, then vanishing without a trace.

The silence in the alley remained, a mute witness to their nameless encounters.

A timely bus took her to the large hospital with the best services, and a large sign reading "Montan Hospital" could be seen even from a hundred meters away.

After getting off the bus and walking a few meters from the bus stop toward the warm entrance of the hospital, she headed straight for the ICU ward where her grandmother was being treated. However, oddly enough, the familiar soft figure she longed for was no longer in the ward she frequently visited, replaced by someone she didn't know.

"Sorry to disturb you. I hope your family recovers soon," Ann said softly, turning slowly and walking away.

The people sitting in the ward were initially surprised but quickly calmed down and packed up to leave, as visitors were limited to two people.

Ann walked past each open ward, occasionally peeking into those that had curtains drawn. The sounds of infusion pumps and ventilators echoed through the ICU. Not finding her grandmother, Ann finally made her way to the nurse station and politely asked, "Excuse me, I can't find my grandmother. Her name is Lulu Walters, 74 years old. Could you help me find her ward?"

The nurse, dressed in light blue scrubs, exchanged looks with her colleagues. Their smiles vanished upon hearing the request, but one of them quickly smiled and said, "Please wait a moment. I'll check the medical records."

"Thank you." Ann stood still, watching the nurse as she glanced at the computer screen.

About two minutes passed, and the sound of paper slowly coming out of the printer broke Ann's reverie. She looked up, turned her head, and saw a nurse walking toward her with a calm stride. The nurse exhaled softly, a faint scent of alcohol lingering in the air as her delicate hand extended a piece of paper toward Ann.

"Sorry for the late notice. We contacted your number on November 12, but it seems there was an issue-"

"Sorry, I may have missed it. So, where is she?" The voice broke off, as Ann's face turned pale as snow, her cheeks reddening. Her nose and ears felt stiff, even though the room was warm; her body couldn't process the comfort.

The nurse gently patted Ann's small shoulder, her eyes shifting to the piece of paper that Ann was now clutching tightly in her hands, which were trembling. Ann lowered her gaze, her fingers shaking as she opened the letter-a real piece of paper recording the unavoidable news.

Her slender fingers trembled violently, almost unable to hold the paper. Her lips were clenched, her eyes vacant, as though the world that had once been so alive had now disappeared. After a moment, her breath caught, and her voice was barely audible. "Has she been buried?"

The nurse looked on anxiously, watching Ann suddenly become trapped in silence, no longer giving them the warm gaze she once had. "The address is on the letter, and-" The sentence stopped when Ann turned, her steps quick and silent. The nurse could only sigh as she watched Ann disappear behind the door. The room returned to its busy state, the activities continuing, but nothing could alter the atmosphere wrapped in silence.

***

"Call this number if you need help; don't stay outside too long; the snow is heavy!" A male driver shouted loudly at the girl who was running after receiving his business card. The elderly driver just sighed, closed his car window, and drove off.

Ann walked slowly, searching for the grave with her grandmother's name. She followed the information on the worn piece of paper, moving further until her eyes found her grandmother's lonely grave. She knelt down and bowed her head.

"Grandma..." The single word slipped from Ann's lips, faltering, hanging in the air. There was nothing more she could say. All that she wanted to express, all that she wanted to ask, was now buried with the one who should have heard it. Only that one word-and it was enough to tear her heart into tiny fragments that could never be put back together.

"Why? Why? I've been waiting for you!"

She had imagined this day-the day when she could sit beside her grandmother, talking without hurry, without the fear that their time together was running out. She wanted to tell her everything: about the hardships they faced, about her father, who never complained even as the world kept weighing him down. She wanted to beg her grandmother to hold on so they could leave this city together and live out simple days in a small village, far from the bustle of suffering.

But all of that was just a dream. A dream now buried with her grandmother's body. Reality hit her-flat and cold. After her grandmother's departure, there was nothing left to fight for. All her suffering, all her sacrifices... for what?

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, Grandma, please forgive me..."

Ann fell to her knees before the simple grave, her hands trembling as they touched the still-wet earth. Her tears flowed without stopping, soaking her cheeks, frozen by the cold air. She bowed, letting the pain she had been holding back break free in the silence. In her heart, she spoke with desperation, with shattered hope, as if her grandmother could hear every word she poured out.

But only silence answered, leaving Ann alone with a wound that could never be healed.

Buzz... buzz... buzz...

Her phone vibrated, the screen displaying a phone number starting with 0027. Ann didn't answer and didn't even look at the phone in her hand. She took a deep breath and stepped away from the grave, the snow continuing to fall, turning her black hoodie white. Her sharp fingers pulled on the gloves she had taken from the pocket of her hoodie.

On the quiet, long road, she found an old bus stop. She sat and leaned against the sturdy wall, covered with various legal and illegal flyers.

By 7:11 a.m., the sun began to show its warmth. However, Ann chose to stay in her shabby house, a place that had once witnessed the happiness of her family. But now, she was the only one left-her father and grandmother had gone far away, while her mother had long since left to live happily with her rich family.

"Please let me disappear!" Ann muttered, her face feeling warm, her head spinning.

She had always thought of herself as a child of snow, believing that even if she slept outside, she wouldn't get sick the next day. Ann usually made compresses only for herself when she felt ill, but this time, she had no desire to care for herself.

Bang... bang... bang...

Loud knocks echoed on the door, shaking the whole room. The sound was followed by a low, familiar voice-cold and full of threat.

"Ann, open the door. I know you're in there."

The knock echoed, heavy and sharp, striking the old wooden door like a hammer trying to shatter what little peace remained in the small house. Ann flinched, her swollen, tired eyes barely opening as she glanced toward the door, just a few steps from her bed. The house seemed to shake with every blow, the walls vibrating with the force of each impact.

She pulled her right hand over her ear, trying to block out the sound, then curled her body deeper into the blanket. The thick fabric became a protective shell, a place where she hoped to vanish, to become invisible, like a snail retreating from danger.

For the past year, her life had turned into hell. That man-the source of all her suffering-had appeared like a storm, ripping away her happiness and dragging her into an ever-growing circle of darkness. All the sacrifices she had made to protect her family seemed in vain. Her struggle felt fragile, like paper ready to tear at any moment.

The voice of that man came from behind the door, his whisper cold and deadly. "Ann! If you don't open this door, you'll regret it!"

Ann pressed the blanket tighter against her ears. The sound of his voice made the hairs on her neck stand on end, like the hiss of a snake ready to strike. She didn't want to see his face again, not now, not ever. Her body trembled, but she stayed still, hoping he would give up.

A kick slammed into the door, hard, jolting her. "Fine..." His voice shifted to a more menacing tone, cold but full of certainty. "Sleep in your shell, Ann. I'll prepare a big surprise for you."

The words hung in the air like toxic mist, seeping through the blanket around Ann's body. She knew he wasn't joking. She knew that tonight-or tomorrow-something terrible would happen.

When the sound of his footsteps slowly faded into the distance, Ann finally loosened her grip on her head, trying to take a deep breath to calm herself. Her eyes closed, struggling to force her body into sleep, even though she knew it might only be an illusion. Time seemed to stretch, and after almost an hour, her mind remained clouded with dark thoughts, weighing down her eyelids, which refused to close fully.

She gave in. With a sudden movement, Ann tossed the blanket aside. The cold air touched her skin, but she didn't care. Her slow footsteps took her to the narrow bathroom, dimly lit by the faint yellow light of an old lamp.

There, an old mirror hung above the sink. Its cracks formed a spiderweb pattern, with the center of the cracks looking like the mark of a blow. Ann stood still for a moment, staring at her distorted reflection. Her face looked paler, fractured like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit together.

The mirror had been there since she was little. The cracks had long been a part of that bathroom, but Ann had never known how they appeared. No one ever explained, and she never asked. It was just one of the little mysteries she let slide, one of many in the house.

She washed her face. The cold water made her shiver for a moment. Afterward, she brushed her teeth without much effort, her gaze drifting to the soap and shampoo nearly used up on the small shelf. In a simple motion, she used them until they were gone, then tossed the empty bottles into the trash with a "clink" that broke the silence.

That house, though small, held everything-warmth, the chill of silence, fading memories, and unanswered mysteries. Ann glanced briefly toward the living room. She knew her mother had long gone, taking her brother with her. The villagers always gossiped about their family, calling her brother the child of an affair. But Ann didn't care.

Every time memories of them surfaced, her stomach turned. Not from sadness, but from disgust at the people who betrayed her family, at the blurred faces in her memory that she had never really known.

She put on a thick jacket and her favorite blue hoodie, packing away a few old things she had-one by one, photos that could be counted on her fingers. Maybe after she left, the house would be filled with dust or even flattened to the ground.

"Bless you!" Ann opened her father's dusty drawer. Her small hand grabbed a tissue and pressed it to her nose, trying to reduce the dust. Inside that little drawer, she found a family photo. Five people smiled at the camera, with her father's handwriting on the edges of the photo. She recognized her father and grandmother's names, but the adult woman holding her seemed unfamiliar. It said a name: Ellen Walters.

Her small eyes shifted to a photo of her father holding a young girl, around one or two years old. It said a name: "Sherry Walters!" Ann murmured.

"What are they like now?" Ann asked the empty room. She gave a faint smile and placed the photo in her bag.

"Finally!" Ann muttered, standing and placing the bag near the door. The bag felt light, no more than a few clothes and the things she had kept all this time. But that was fine. She didn't need much.

The long night had arrived. The night she would leave the madness of the city behind. Her heart had long been broken, and now, she hoped to find peace elsewhere-maybe with a new family, maybe just a hope she hadn't known.

"Haha..." She let out a short laugh, more to herself, then pulled the brown scarf around her neck. Her eyes fixed on the wooden door before her, and her hand rose to open the door handle.

However, her movement stopped. Her hand hung in the air, shaking lightly, as a memory surfaced. A blurry face flashed in her mind-someone she might never see again if she left. Her chest felt heavy, as though a weight was pressing down on her heart, making it hard to breathe.

She took a deep breath, lowered her hand slowly, and took a step back. She left the bag where it was. Calmly, Ann grabbed her mask, scarf, and gloves, then stepped out into the cold of the night.

Her small feet ran along the city streets, passing through crowds of people who didn't recognize her. They glanced briefly but quickly forgot her. They didn't know, and maybe they never would, how important this night was to her. She just wanted to make sure of one thing-that everything would end well, without leaving regrets in her heart.

Her breath was heavy, and white mist billowed from her mouth, disappearing into the freezing air. After a few minutes, she slowed down, her steps becoming more relaxed as she reached a narrow alley.

Ann stepped into the dim shadow, finding the usual corner she visited. There, she slowly sat down, hugging her knees tightly, letting her head droop. Her eyes closed, her body stiff, as if waiting for someone to come. There was no sound except for the distant rustling behind her. But she knew... she just had to wait, as usual.

The clock read 9:33 PM. The temperature in City M had dropped to -4 degrees, but the girl, with skin as white as snow, sat still without showing any signs of being cold. Her face remained calm, as though the snow itself was part of her.

The narrow alley where she sat was a little warmer than the main streets exposed to the wind and snow. Small white particles fell, drifting into the alley, like salt scattered across the ground. The light snow covered the path in front of her feet, but Ann didn't move. She just hugged her knees, letting time pass.

Ann took a deep breath. She knew this wasn't their usual meeting time. They almost always met at 5:00 AM, when the first frozen dew appeared in the air.

But tonight, she felt the need to try.

"I'll wait one more hour," she thought, resting her head on her knees. Her body shrank as though trying to fight off the cold, even though she didn't appear to be affected by the low temperature.

The silence of the night was broken by the vibration of her phone.

Buzz...

Ann slowly lifted her head, her eyes fixed on the small light from the phone's screen, which then went dark. She tapped the screen twice with her gloved fingers and read the notification that appeared. Her eyes were glued to the message. In an instant, the silence returned to the alley. The snow continued to fall, and for a few seconds, the world seemed to stand still.

[Your gift is ready, Room 510!]