Morning arrived quietly.
The sky outside was a dull gray, already heavy with the weight of the storm to come. I woke up not to the sound of my alarm, but to the soft hum of the radiator struggling to heat the room. Cold had crept in through the windows overnight, and my breath fogged slightly as I sat up.
Everything felt slower that morning.
I slipped out of bed and began my routine—shower, coffee, dress, pack. The kind of pattern I could do with my eyes closed. But there was something different in the air. Not just the chill, but a stillness I couldn't name.
I pulled out my thicker winter jacket from the hallway closet. The snowstorm had been in the forecast for days, and it was finally beginning to feel real. I layered up, gloves and scarf in place, then grabbed my keys.
Outside, the world looked asleep. A few flakes drifted lazily down, not yet a storm but a warning. As I walked to my car, the silence pressed in—no dogs barking, no neighbors warming up their engines, no children trudging to school. Just me, the cold, and the distant whisper of wind.
The drive to work was unusually quiet. Traffic lights changed for no one. I stopped at a red light and glanced around—empty sidewalks, closed shops, a man with a hood pulled tight over his head disappearing around a corner.
Maybe everyone else had stayed home. Maybe they had the luxury of choosing comfort over commitment. But I had a desk, a name badge, and a sense of duty that refused to let me skip a day.
A sudden blare of a horn snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Hey, what are you waiting for? It's green already!" a truck driver behind me shouted.
I blinked. The light had changed. I pressed the gas and moved forward, muttering an apology he would never hear.
The office building stood still, its windows reflecting the gray sky like the eyes of a tired giant. The parking lot was nearly empty. Only three other cars were there—proof that I wasn't the only one foolish enough to come in.
Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed faintly. The heater blew warm air with a dry wheeze, but it couldn't quite keep up with the cold that clung to the walls.
"Hey, look who actually showed up," a voice called from the hallway.
I turned. It was Jenna, from HR—mid-thirties, glasses, always carried a mug with something hot. She looked wrapped in five layers.
"Morning," I said with a half-smile.
She walked up beside me, rubbing her hands. "You're brave. Or stupid."
"Probably both," I replied. "Didn't feel right staying home."
Jenna chuckled and nodded toward the mostly empty floor. "Don't think it would've mattered. Half the staff called in or are working from home. The rest of us are either too responsible or too bored."
We stepped into the break room. The coffee machine was already gurgling with a fresh pot.
"I heard the storm's going to hit harder than they thought," she added, pouring herself a cup. "Might turn into a whiteout this evening."
"I've got my jacket," I said. "Should be fine."
Jenna gave me a look. Not disbelief—something softer. Concern. "Just... don't stay too late, alright?"
Before I could answer, another voice joined us.
"There's the man of the hour," said Gary Hinton, my supervisor. His tie was crooked and his coat was still on.
"Morning, sir."
"I figured you'd show," Gary said. "Reliable as always." Then he looked around the empty break room. "Not that there's much left to manage today. You good to handle the claim follow-ups?"
"Yeah. I'll clear what I can."
Gary nodded. "Alright. Don't push yourself. We'll probably close early if the wind picks up."
As he walked off, Jenna turned back to me. "See? Even the boss says don't push it."
I gave her a small nod. "Yeah."
But deep down, I knew I would stay. Maybe not late—but long enough. There was something about quiet office hours that brought a strange peace. No meetings. No noise. Just me, my screen, and the ticking of the clock.
The afternoon dragged like wet cloth.
Outside, the sky had darkened to a steel blue. The light that filtered through the office windows was dim and pale, like the world had turned down its brightness. Snow had started falling—not a soft flurry but a steady, driving curtain of white. I watched it build along the edge of the windows, creeping upward like cold fingers.
The office floor was nearly silent. A few people still lingered—phones buzzing quietly, keyboards tapping in half-hearted rhythm. Even Jenna had packed up early, waving a quick goodbye before disappearing behind the door with her scarf wrapped high.
By three-thirty, I was the only one left in my section.
My inbox was nearly clear. I stared at the screen, eyes tired, head faintly aching from the fluorescent glow. Outside, the storm had fully arrived. Visibility was dropping fast. The cars in the lot had become shapeless shadows beneath the snow.
A part of me wanted to stay. The office was warm. Still. Familiar.
But the storm wasn't going to wait.
I shut my laptop, gathered my bag, and pulled on my jacket. Thick gloves, wool scarf, hat. When I stepped out into the hallway, it was already quiet enough that I could hear the faint rattle of wind pressing against the building. Like it was trying to find a way in.
I passed Gary's door on the way out. It was half open. He was sitting inside, coat off, sleeves rolled up, scribbling notes with a half-finished coffee next to him.
He looked up as I paused.
"You heading out?" he asked.
"Yeah. Don't want to get stuck in this."
Gary nodded slowly. "Be careful out there. Roads are already icing over in some parts. You got winter tires?"
I smiled faintly. "Yeah. And snow chains in the trunk, just in case."
He studied me for a second, then gave a soft chuckle. "You're the kind of guy who always plans ahead. I like that."
I shrugged. "Doesn't always help."
Gary leaned back in his chair. "Well, you make it through the night, we'll grab a drink sometime. When the snow melts. First round's on me."
"Sure. I'll hold you to that."
With a final nod, I left the building.
The cold hit like a wall.
The moment I stepped outside, the wind slammed into me—icy, cutting, relentless. Snow swirled around like smoke, dancing in chaotic spirals, stinging every exposed patch of skin. The lot was barely visible beyond ten feet.
I trudged toward my car, boots crunching over layers of frozen slush. It took both hands to brush away the buildup from the windshield. My gloves were soaked in seconds.
When the engine finally started, I let the heater blast at full power. It would take time to warm up. Time I didn't have.
The road out of the lot was already half-covered. Street lights flickered on earlier than usual, glowing weakly in the thickening white. My wipers struggled to keep up.
I drove carefully. Twenty miles per hour. No sudden turns. No brakes on corners. I repeated the same things I always told myself during winter driving. Rules. Safety.
But this wasn't a normal storm.
By the time I reached the edge of town, snow had begun to win. The road ahead was nearly invisible. My headlights bounced off the falling sheets of white like beams in a blizzard.
I took a slow turn onto a narrow road—the last stretch before reaching my neighborhood.
That's when it happened.
A shape in the road. Dark. Sudden.
I swerved.
The tires lost grip.
The world spun sideways.
My body was thrown against the door as the car skidded into a snowbank. The sound was dull—a soft crunch followed by silence. The engine stuttered, then died.
I sat there, frozen—not just from the cold, but from shock.
Then the cold came back. Hard.
I tried the ignition. Nothing.
I looked at my phone. No signal.
My breath came faster.
I grabbed my bag, pulled my jacket tighter, and stepped out into the storm. The wind screamed against me, pulling at my coat, freezing my face, icing my eyelashes. I could barely see ten feet in front of me.
I didn't know how far I was from Apartement. A mile? Maybe less. Maybe more. It didn't matter. I had to move.
I walked.
Each step was a war.
The snow swallowed my legs up to the knees. My boots slipped. My lungs burned. My hands began to go numb, even through the gloves.
The world was all white. Blinding white. Endless white.
There was no sound but the wind and my own breathing.
His breath came out in sharp clouds.His body trembled violently, every step a battle against the bitter cold seeping into his bones.
"Am I going to freeze to death?" he muttered, teeth chattering.
The snow beneath him blurred as his vision faded. Exhausted and numb, he collapsed to the ground, unable to go further. The world around him was fading to white.
As his eyes fluttered shut, a single whisper escaped his lips—a quiet plea cast into the storm.
"I hope... I get another chance."