Part 1: Losing My Way
I opened my eyes slowly, as though a heavy weight rested on my lids. The first thing I felt was the cold, rough texture of dry leaves pressed against my cheek and arm. The ground beneath me felt frozen, and my breath formed white mist in the chill. I looked around—everything was shades of gray, green, and brown; trees loomed overhead, their shadows lengthening as the sun began to set.
I used both hands to pull myself up, my legs trembling slightly. There was a low humming sound in my head—not painful, but something I could not explain, like metal striking against metal. I coughed, and a few strands of grass and small fragments of dry leaves fell from my mouth. I wiped my nose and lips, and then I noticed my gloves: stained with dirt, holes worn through at the fingertips.
I scanned my surroundings: the ground was parched, littered with fallen branches and small stones. No sign of a path, no sign of other people. The wind blew against my face, its cold cutting right through my jacket. My feet were freezing too, and my hat sat low and heavy on my head. I reached to touch my forehead—no wound, no bump—but I still could not understand how I had come to be here.
Then came a moment of fear. My bag was gone. Everything I had—water, food, a flashlight, a map, climbing gear—all of it was gone. I checked my pockets and found only a small knife with a dull blade. Nothing else. I paused to catch my breath, but the wind grew stronger, and the clouds above seemed to sink lower. The sun was setting; if rain came, things would only get worse.
I could not remember how I had ended up here. I tried to recall the last clear memory I had—but there was nothing. Just darkness, like a dream that fades before you can grasp it. I took a deep breath and forced myself not to panic. I have to keep moving, I told myself. Find a way through. Find shelter before night falls completely.
My gaze fell on the edge of a ridge, where the land sloped gently downward. Perhaps there was a stream there, or a trail, or any sign of people. I began to make my way down slowly, but before I went far, I stopped and looked back one last time. Then I called out, my voice breaking the silence:
"ALEX! ALEEEEX!"
My voice echoed through the forest, thrown back to me as if the trees themselves were answering. But there was no reply. No sound but the wind, the rustle of leaves, and that distant humming in my head.
I listened closely, waiting for any sign—anything at all. Silence. Only silence, save for the wind moving through the branches. They must be searching for me on the other side of the mountain. It’s so cold… I buttoned my collar all the way and cupped my hands over my nose and mouth to warm the air I breathed. Where was my shawl? I must have lost it when I fell—but I could not go back to look for it. I had no idea where to begin searching, and daylight was slipping away. I had to make the most of what little light remained.
I started down the slope, my steps steady and sure.
Slowly, the cold wind and the rhythm of walking cleared my mind. Fragments of memory began to return… We had left camp while the stars still hung between the clouds, planning to reach the summit before noon. Tents and heavy supplies had been left behind—we would collect them on the way back—so we could travel light. We moved fast, and everyone was an experienced climber. But before we reached the top, something happened. Someone was hurt. We had to stop. The details were still hazy, but one thing was clear: I had to keep going.
I walked carefully—perhaps too carefully. I moved quickly downhill, gripping tree trunks to steady myself, sometimes pushing off to change direction, searching for any trail or landmark while I could still see. My fear faded, replaced by focus:
Focus, I told myself.
Deep, purposeful strides, almost leaping, leaning to keep my balance, stepping carefully on clumps of yellow grass that softened the fall of my feet.
Movement felt steadying. I kept walking. I stopped to catch my breath—strange, but I did not feel tired, or even warm. Only cold. It struck me as odd that the climb up had taken hours and exhausted me, yet the descent felt like it had barely begun. I called out again:
"ALEX! ALEEEEX!"
Part 2: The Way Back
Nothing. Not even an echo answered. I could not understand why they had not heard me fall. Perhaps I had shouted so loudly earlier that my voice had given out. Was he still angry with me? What if something had happened to him?
The temperature dropped further. Above, heavy clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled—once, then again.
I thought back to the lightning from the night before. We had sat around the fire sharing stories, and the storm had seemed so far away, like trouble in another world.
“I don’t think it will reach us—this mountain has its own weather,” Alex had said. “You have to respect it; it changes in an instant.”
I had teased him then, grinning.
“Changes in an instant? Is that what you tell everyone you meet?” I had laughed, holding up a piece of fruit on a stick as if offering it to him.
“Only those who are worth it,” he had smiled, looking straight into my eyes. “Where are you going?”
“Just to fix my boot. And get more of this fruit—last one,” I had answered.
That memory brought a sharp, stinging pain to my lip, chapped and dark from the cold—but it was worth remembering. There was a metallic taste in my mouth, and a faint sweetness—like regret, like a promise made and never kept. I knew why. Hours earlier, while it was still light, we had argued over something that now seemed so small. I could not say who was at fault, and I had done nothing to make things right. Now I did not know if we would ever get the chance. What happened to “We’ll talk it all through and fix this”? It was gone. I must not let myself grieve. I had to find the trail, or find camp. Worst case, I would reach the base of the mountain and wait there for them.
That was the problem—I did not know which way led down. Alex had always been the one to find the path; I had just followed. I could have used the GPS on my phone, but it was in my bag. My bag was gone.
If only I had stopped for a moment… I had fallen behind the group, walking alone. I did not want to speak to Alex. I did not want to hear whatever he had to say. I focused instead on the strain of the climb. Halfway up a rocky stretch, my boot felt loose. Just a minute, I thought—but someone ahead had made a joke, and the others laughed. They did not hear me. I told myself I would catch up. They were nearing a narrow ledge and moving slowly to get across.
I sat on a large rock, took off my boot, and adjusted my sock. I drank a little water. From where I sat, I took in the view: clouds stretched out like land far below; in the bright midday sun, I could see the trees covering the valley; and behind me, the mountain—proud, towering, unyielding, endless. That was why I climbed. There was no forest up here, only waist-high golden grass and loose stones that rolled underfoot and hurt with every step. I could no longer see the others, but I could still hear them. Someone called my name.
I hurried, tying a double knot in the laces—done.
“Why does it always have to be double knots?” I muttered, annoyed, as I tightened it one last time. I tossed the boot into my bag, frustrated.
“Because otherwise you’ll be stopping to tie it ten times on the way up,” Alex had said, smiling, peeking in from outside the tent. I was angry—he was always right about these things. “Come on, hurry up—the ghost stories are starting.” And I had deliberately… pitched the tent facing inward instead of out.
He was gone before I could throw the boot at him.
Of course it was not facing the wrong way! Or was it? Was there some rule that the tent door should face the fire, not the dark? I was sure that was something they taught hikers. But if the roof and trees blocked the view, how could I see the stars without the firelight blinding me… What if I slept with my head out, looking up at the sky? Fine—I had done it. But I would never admit it to him.
From where I stood, the drop did not look as wide as it had from far away—only ten meters across—but it grew deeper further down, opening out into forest. Loose sand filled the middle, rocks lined both sides. The real danger was on the far side: a sheer cliff face, hidden from where I stood. It looked easy to cross—firm footing would be enough—but that was where the danger lay. And this was the way the others had gone. I could hear their voices above me, laughing. They would be waiting. I hurried to catch up.
“I’m coming! Wait for me!” I called.
I gripped a rock for support and pulled myself up—only for it to crumble in my hands. I fell backward, sliding down through sand and loose stones.
“You took too long,” Alex said.
“I couldn’t find the fruit… and there won’t be a fire without it,” I whispered, so as not to interrupt the guide speaking.
I saw a faint, sad smile beneath his sharp look—and I smiled back. We had different priorities, but we balanced each other, didn’t we? We fit together.
And we had always been together—one for the other.
Now I had never felt so alone. The cold bit deep, my arms shaking. The mountain was fading into shadow. I looked up, searching for hope through the branches; below, clouds churned like a stormy sea, ready to break. No stars, no moon—the sky was closed. Only moments remained before darkness fell completely. I pushed through brush until I reached the dry bed of a stream, rocks forming its floor. Further down, a large fallen tree blocked the path. I recognized it! We had rested here this morning!
I pulled myself up using both hands, rested, and ducked beneath it—but the wood was more rotten than I remembered. It splintered under my weight and gave way. I tumbled down, curling to protect my head from rocks, sliding faster over dry pine needles and moss until I slipped out of sight of the trail. I woke confused, in a place I did not know.
I raised my fists to the sky and shouted in anger and despair:
"IS ANYONE THERE?"
My voice was swallowed by the gray woods—only an uneasy silence answered. Then, far off, thunder rolled, as if the sky itself had replied.
Part 3: Light in the Dark
I spun around—no landmark looked familiar. Shadows deepened by the moment. I circled twice, breathless and lost. I pressed my hands to my head and sat on a fallen log, trying to steady myself. My heart hammered so hard I thought it would burst. Sitting still was no help. I knelt and breathed deeply—one, two, five—wiping away tears that fell onto the dry pine needles.
Slowly, my breathing steadied. There was still time. I stood and kept walking, down and further down.
“And so they walked in silence, deeper into the dark… hearing nothing. Nothing moved. It was as if the world itself had stopped.”
The guide’s voice was barely a whisper. Everyone sat listening, tense, waiting. The fruit roasting over the fire had burned and fallen into the embers, forgotten. The guide spoke again, each word deliberate:
“When they reached the clearing near the fire, they knew they were safe—that whatever followed them would not dare come near the light. They looked at one another, afraid but hopeful. Six had returned,” the guide said.
“Six?” someone breathed, barely audible over the crackling wood.
Another voice spoke, slow and heavy…
“But… there are only… five of us…”
“FIVE!” the guide shouted, throwing a handful of powder into the flames. A burst of light flared, blindingly bright, and the whole clearing lit up in an instant.
Everyone gasped. I jumped back and fell from where I sat.
I laughed.
I laughed softly when I saw what looked like a camp ahead—hope so bright I almost missed what I stepped on. I bent to look: a small round stone, and in its center, crumbled ash. I crushed it between my fingers; it fell apart easily. Remains of an old fire—long dead, not from tonight. And there… a tent! Real!
"IS ANYONE THERE?" I called loudly. "I NEED HELP! IS THERE ANYONE?"
Only lightning answered, flashing through the clouds directly above. In its brief glow, I saw everything—and my smile died. I waited for the next flash. It came. This was not our camp. An old tent, tattered, wind-torn, abandoned long ago. I sank to my knees beside the stones. I felt hollow—no tears would come.
"Please, Alex…" I whispered, head bowed. "Where are you?"
I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, numb to the pain. I did not cry.
"Help me… please…" I begged the dark. "I don’t want to be just a memory."
Lightning after lightning showed the storm drawing closer—but still no rain. In one flash, I saw something that made my heart race: the tent door faced away from the valley—upward, toward the trail we had climbed. That was it! I remembered they had set up camp higher up, near the path.
I would not give up. There was still time to find out. I moved down the slope, staying low, using each flash to see where I stepped, then waiting in the dark—shivering, heartbroken—until the next flash lit the way. I do not know how long I walked like this, until my boots found hard, level ground. I knelt to touch the surface—"paved road!"—my feet so cold I could barely feel them. I had made it. But the houses still seemed so far away. We had walked for an hour before leaving the road to camp. Three or four kilometers. So far.
I took a few more steps to the right, hope stirring. Then I froze—something pricked through me. My heart raced. I held out a hand, feeling blindly. Dizzy. Freezing. A cold wind pulled me forward, but I stood fast. Lightning flared—and I stood paralyzed. Before me stretched a sheer drop. I could not tell how deep it went; treetops far below rose no higher than my head. My toes were inches from the edge.
I stepped back, shaking, and covered my mouth to muffle a scream, breathing in short, shallow gasps. If I started crying, I would never stop.
"Why is this happening?" I whispered, fighting back tears.
A memory broke through the fear:
"My child…" That thought cleared everything. "All of this… my child…" They were the first thing I thought of. My child…
Part 4: The Loop
I had to get back—to hold them. Their face, their laugh, the thought of them waiting for me—that was what drove me on. I gathered every last ounce of strength. You will get out of this. You will make it. For them. I repeated it over and over, each step heavier than the last.
The road wound endlessly around the mountain. I had thought it would be faster, safer, than the dark forest—but every step brought doubt. Are you sure this is the way? What if you get lost again? Ten steps… twelve… stop—wait, listen—hold my breath—until lightning shows the way. Each flash reveals the path; each return to dark brings fear.
Slowly, I felt it: I was not alone. I could not see it, but I
felt it—something following. Behind me, between the trees, in every shadow. Whispers seemed to drift on the wind, waiting for me to pause, to rest… to fall behind. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Keep going. Hope was my light—but fear stayed right there, breathing down my neck.
The cold deepened, every muscle aching more. I could not waste a single moment. Each flash of lightning was a gift—showing me the way, keeping hope alive. When the light faded, I would be swallowed whole by darkness.
And then—through exhaustion and dread—I saw it. Faint, far-off, but real: lights. Houses. People. A smile broke across my face—trembling, tears spilling over at last. Almost there. I’m almost there.
But the road curved sharply—and the lights vanished. I stopped, breathless. No. It can’t be gone. The urge to cut through the woods was strong—it would save so much distance—but I hesitated. What if I get lost again? What if that was the last glimpse I get? I stayed on the road—longer, yes, but safer.
They reappeared—closer this time. Hope sang in my chest—but fear sang louder. What if they disappear again? What if I’m imagining them? I hurried, nearly running—and slipped. My face scraped the earth, my shoulder throbbing. And then I heard it—a soft laugh, right behind me. I don’t know what it was—wind, my own mind, or something else—but my heart stopped. I stepped backward, shaking from head to toe. The lightning came less often now; most of the time I stood in total blackness.
Still—slowly, cautiously, refusing to give up—I kept moving. Hope was frayed, but not gone. Fear walked every step with me—but the thought of my child was stronger. I will get there. I will see them again.
My heart soared when I saw Alex—then froze in my chest when I saw who was in his arms.
Standing beside him, held close, was someone who looked exactly like me. My breath caught in my throat. The shape of the face, the way they stood—like looking into a mirror. But it wasn’t me. They were taller, their hair streaked with gold that matched Alex’s eyes—their features finer, softer, cleaner. Older… but not a child anymore. Years had passed.
My mind reeled, trying to make sense of it. This can’t be. How? My hands trembled at my sides. That was my child—the little one I’d left at home, my reason for fighting, my hope—standing there grown, a young woman. Eighteen years old, it seemed. All those years I’d missed—all the moments we should have shared—written across her face.
I looked around at the others—no one saw me. It was as if I wasn’t there. A shadow. A breath passing through a doorway. Alex—my Alex—held her close, protecting her, looking at her with a love that should have been mine.
Why can’t they see me? Why is she the one he holds?
I wanted to shout, to ask—but my voice was trapped in my throat. The hope that had pulled me down the mountain, the strength that had carried me through cold and pain—all of it vanished. A terrible silence settled in its place. I looked at my hands, my clothes—I felt unreal. A ghost searching for a body, while the life that should have been mine unfolded right in front of me, belonging to someone else.
Alex stepped forward—not toward me, but toward where I stood. My heart lifted. He’ll know me. He will see me when no one else does. I opened my arms, ready to hold him, ready to say I was here, I was safe—but his gaze passed straight through me, toward the door, toward nothing.
He couldn’t see me.
I woke with a gasp—confused, disoriented, shivering. Not just from cold—but from a hollow, terrifying dread.
I pushed myself up from the pile of dry leaves where I’d woken—my arms heavy, my hands feeling distant. That humming sound was back in my head—louder now, like a great bell ringing inside my mind, blurring everything around me. The wind and rustling leaves sounded far away, as if coming from another world.
I coughed, brushing grass from my mouth, and looked around. Same dry ground, same towering trees, same dim gray light. But something was different.
A chilling thought settled over me: It’s starting again. Everything—the road, the lights, Alex, the girl who was me—was it all a dream? Or was I trapped in a loop I couldn’t escape?
Confusion deepened into something dark and bottomless. I didn’t know what was real anymore. But beneath it all flickered a tiny spark—if this is repeating, then this time I can find a way out. I can find the truth. I can find my way back to my child.
I looked up at the sky, clouds churning like a storm-tossed sea. The sun was sinking. I had to move. But how? Which way? Fear lingered—but hope, small as it was, urged me forward. Don’t give up.
Part 5: Back to You
It was happening all over again.
The thought hit me like cold water. I was back where I started—same bed of leaves, same bitter cold, same approaching night. But I wasn’t the same person who woke up the first time. I carried the memory now—the weight of what I’d seen, the hug I never got, the face of my child grown up without me.
I wouldn’t start from nothing this time.
I stood slowly, no longer rushing. I brushed the leaves from my face and really looked—properly—at everything around me. Where did I go wrong before? I remembered it all: the descent, the crossing, the lights, the way they looked at me as if I didn’t exist. And then I saw what I’d missed. Before I’d turned toward the road, there was another path to the left—narrow, choked with tall grass, unused.
That’s where I’ll go.
I didn’t wait. I set off at once—fast but careful. The humming was still there, but it no longer confused me. It was a reminder: Stay alert. Don’t get lost.
When lightning flashed, I saw it—the path. Steeper, narrower, tangled with roots and stones—but heading somewhere else. Not toward the road. Toward the mountain’s hidden side.
As I walked, the memory stayed bright—Alex older, my child grown. This isn’t a dream, I told myself. It’s real. And I will reach it before it ends.
Wind tore at me, shadows deepening—but I wasn’t alone. The memory of them was my light.
After what felt like hours, I reached a clearing. In the center burned a small fire—not too big, not too small—and around it… no one yet. But there were signs: fire rings, stacked wood, words scrawled in the dirt before the wind could erase them:
We are waiting.
I sank to my knees, and this time the tears came freely—not from despair, but from hope. They hadn’t forgotten. They were waiting.
A voice drifted on the wind—near, but not too close.
“There they are…”
I looked up—and saw him. Alex. He wasn’t turned away. He was looking straight at me—no surprise, no fear, only welcome.
“You’re not late,” he said, soft but clear. “We’ve just been waiting.”
I walked toward him, slowly, and nothing stood in my way. No shadows, no walls, no invisible barrier. When I drew near, I saw who stood beside him—my child. Looking at me with tears in their eyes and a smile full of love.
“Mother…” they called—and in that word was every lost year, every moment of love that never faded.
I opened my arms—and this time, they were real. Warm, alive, holding me back.
I held them tight—Alex on my left, my child on my right—and the cold, the fear, the loneliness all melted away. Every embrace was a return: return of lost time, lost moments, love that endured even through the dark.
“I thought… I’d never see you again,” my child whispered against my shoulder, voice trembling. “We waited. We always hoped.”
I pulled back just enough to see them—their face, their eyes, every part of them that was me and Alex both. They grew up without me—but I could see our love raised them, hope that I would come back. I brushed their cheek. “I’m here,” I promised. “I will never leave you again.”
Alex reached for my hand—rough from hardship, but warm and steady. He looked at me with no questions, no doubts—only love.
“I knew you’d find your way,” he said gently. “Even when you couldn’t see the path, I felt you coming. Our love showed you the way home.”
We sat together by the fire—all three of us, finally—and shared everything: how they searched through every turn of the mountain, how they waited through every dark night, and my journey—the fear, the hope, the strength that came from thinking of them.
When I looked up, the clouds had parted. Stars shone clear and bright, as if celebrating. The wind sighed softly, like a lullaby.
No need to hurry now. No need to fear. We were together—whole, safe, found.
I held their hands—my child’s in my right, Alex’s in my left—and smiled, a smile of peace I hadn’t known in so long.
“Let us never be apart again,” I said.
They answered together, holding me closer:
“Never again.”
At last—I was home.
