Snowdrifts of Fate
Edward, a solicitor of thirty-five, had never held any fondness for New Years Eve. For him, it was less a celebration and more a gruelling marathon.
There was always the rush, the frantic hunt for a perfect present for colleagues he barely tolerated, and, of course, the compulsory office party. That year, his firm had outdone itself by renting an entire country manor outside London.
Edward drove up in his polished black saloon, the cars interior filled with the sound of a podcast on taxation law, his mind rehearsing the plan: make a timely appearance, sip a single glass of prosecco, exchange polite words with the partners, and slip away home unnoticed.
By the time he arrived, the manor was already buzzing like an upset hive. Everywhere he turned, people in dazzling outfits performed exaggerated laughter, trying to manufacture festivity.
Edward accepted a glass of bubbly, stationed himself against the panelling like a sentry, and watched the twirling carousel of forced merriment with detached amusement. He felt like an alien, transported to a world whose unbreakable law was enforced jollity.
***
Then he saw her. The stranger wasnt the most striking, nor the loudest. She stood by a frosted bay window, a little apart from the throng, gazing out at the swirling snowstorm.
She wore a simple navy dress and held a glass of juice in her hand. She didnt look sad or isolatedinstead, she appeared comfortably lost in her own thoughts.
Edward mused that she looked almost exactly how he felt.
Not the best weather for returning home, is it? he ventured, stepping closer.
(It was the first thing that entered his mind.)
The woman turned and smiled. Not the rigid, over-bright smiles of others, but a truly warm smile.
Isnt it gorgeous, though? she replied, nodding towards the window. When Londons blanketed, it almost feels as if all our worries are buried beneath the snow.
Edward was taken aback. He had expected anything but that.
Im Edward, he introduced himself.
Bethany, she responded, shaking his hand. Im with the accounts. I think weve shared the lift a few times.
They fell quiet. The silence was not awkward but rather comforting, as if wrapping them both up.
Outside, the blizzard intensified. Over the tannoy, someone announced that the roads out were closed; everyone would have to stay the night.
A groan of mingled disappointment and panic swept through the hall.
Edward silently cursedhis careful plan had just collapsed.
So then, Mr. Solicitor, prepared for a night on a camp bed? Bethany asked with a twinkle in her eye.
My profession never prepared me for this, Edward chuckled. And you?
I always pack a good charger and a bookso Im equipped for any catastrophe, Bethany grinned.
That evening, stripped of routines and pretence, they found themselves talking.
Bethany confessed her love of old black-and-white films. Edward couldnt stand them, but promised to watch one if she would explain their appeal.
Edward admitted he dreamed of one day leaving law behind to open a small café. Bethany shyly revealed that she painted watercolours in secret and had shown her pictures to no one.
They perched together in a quiet corner, ignoring the revelry, drinking not prosecco but the hot tea Bethany had thoughtfully brought in a flask.
She told him about her tabby cat who loved to chase snowflakes on the sash window sill; he spoke of his grandmother, who painstakingly taught him how to bake honey cake.
At midnight, they didnt shout Happy New Year! as everyone else did. They simply looked into one anothers eyes.
Happy New Year, Edward, Bethany said gently.
Happy New Year, Bethany, he echoed.
That night, instead of sleeping in stately suites, they stayed together in a small lounge on two hastily prepared camp beds, set up for the stranded guests. Together, whispering until dawn, as the storm outside gradually faded.
In the morning, after the roads were finally cleared, they stepped out into a world freshly painted whitecalm, brilliant, sparkling beneath the low winter sun.
So, where to now? Edward asked.
Ill catch the bus. Home, Bethany replied.
I I could give you a lift.
Bethany turned to him, laughter bright in her eyes.
Suppose I said I rather like this quiet, frozen world? How about I walk to the nearest stop and enjoy it a bit longer?
Edward understood. This evening wasnt mere happenstance.
This was the beginning of something genuine at last.
Then Ill walk with you, he said, more certain than he remembered ever feeling.
And together, they made their way through undisturbed snow, side by side, on the first day of a new yearleaving behind two sets of footprints, leading into an unknown but hopeful future.
I still want to believe in thatAs they walked, their breath rose in shimmering clouds, laughter mingling with the hush of a world remade. Each step crunched crystalline beneath their soles, each silence felt rich and promising rather than empty. Trees bowed heavy with snow, sculpted into shapes they pointed out to each otherone looked like a cat, another a frost-caked ship sailing nowhere.
At a gate where the lane met the broader world, they paused. Bethany brushed a flake from Edwards shoulder, hesitated, and then quietly placed her mittened hand in his.
Strangest party Ive ever survived, she said, a smile glinting, and somehow the best.
He squeezed her hand. Privilege of solicitors company, no doubt.
Together, they walked on. For Edward, the worlds obligations receded as he listened to Bethanys voice, to the hush between words that held new possibility. The future no longer appeared as a meticulously managed schedule, but as a path emerging slowly ahead, marked only by the shared warmth of their footprints.
As they vanished into the shining expanse, it seemed to Edward that sometimes, only a snowstorm could sweep a life clean. And in its wake, something honest, fragile, and unexpected could be revealeda chance to begin again, side by side, hearts open to all that might come.
