Frozen isn't mine.
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"Attention passengers. The last Blue Line Train to Arendelle is now arriving." The announcement comes in repeat before twin headlights are seen approaching the station.
You love winter season. It doesn't necessarily mean that you like the cold air. In your opinion, winter has the best scenery at night and day. The falling snow is your favorite part, thanks to the fluffy snowflakes from the sky that you feel you can forgive the harsh cold temperature tonight.
It's cold but it's okay since the first snow falls tonight.
It's a special night. Or it was supposed to be. You were about to go to family dinner when your job is calling. The risk of being a news caster is this. Sacrificing holiday whenever there is news happening.
You love your job. Almost. Someday you will love your job. Maybe.
"The door is closing. Mind your step."
You step into the train and observe the quiet scenery. There are more than empty seats than usual. You are not surprised since it's holiday night and there are less people who take the last train to Arendelle than those back to Corona. Blue Line Train is commuter's train. The train is passing Dunbroch Station - Notredame Station - Maldone Station - and the last stop is Arendelle station. People usually packed the train in rush hour in the morning and after work, not in the middle of the night.
As a reporter, you love the train at this kind of hour. Usually, you will spend an hour of journey to read, finishing your work, or simply gaze at the beautiful scenery outside the window. Blue Line Train has the best route and best scenery of all the 8 lines that are spread over the entire country.
On snowy night the scenery outside the train is magical.
You decide that you will sit on the last car. The last car is often the most forgettable car on the train. It has worn out seats and slightly dusty window. People rarely choose to sit there since the wagon is the farthest one from the station exit gates. However, you love the vintage and calm atmosphere in the last wagon.
You can write your unfinished articles while gazing the night scenery through the window.
Then you walk, open the last connecting door then close it behind you.
What you expected was uninhabited wagon with empty seats. What you see is not quite like that.
On the corner, furthest seat of the car there is a woman.
Your first impression of her is that the woman has very pretty hair. It's white... no, silver... You can't put what color is it and you decide that it's the color of the falling snow.
You like it.
As the sound of connecting door closing, she doesn't even look at your direction.
Three seconds since you set your sight on her and you already knew that you won't be able to forget her after tonight. Looking at the woman is like reading a very beautiful poem.
You can't stop.
Your second impression of her is the woman's solstice dress. She wears a thin white short-sleeve dress, the kinds of women would wear in Arendelle's summer's solstice festival. The Arendelle's solstice festival is an annual masquerade dance festival that always been held on seventh month in the year.
She wears a pretty summer dress in this cold winter. Yet she is not shivering slightest. She is sitting, back straight, eyes look distant and you wonder what kind of color her eyes have.
Perhaps they are blue? Your imagination alone is not enough.
You wear a triple layer of clothes under your green coat and you are still shivering. Yesterday you did your weather report on Corona's news channel. The winter season this year is the coldest winter in 30 years.
Who the hell is that woman?
You take five long steps forward. Three more and you will get to her. But something makes you stop.
The girl hasn't looking at your direction yet.
You sit three seats away from her. The row of seats is meant for elderly and disables people yet the woman sits on it without a care in the world. The car is empty anyway.
Perhaps she is a ghost. A beautiful ghost in the last train. Then other possibilities are popping up inside your head about who the girl might be.
A ghost? Too beautiful. Beside, the woman is not floating around like the ghost in horror movies.
An angel? You smile, almost laughing at the idea. Angel will fly and won't bother using a train to travel. Aren't angels supposed to have halos above their head and wings on their back?
You check the woman's head for any halo. There is none. Her back too, she looks humanly.
You are being ridiculous and have to stop guessing.
You dart your gaze elsewhere before the woman busted you staring. Instead, you settle to observe the mysterious woman in summer dress through the glass of train's window. The dark night scenery has become a perfect background for reflecting the woman's face.
The woman is an enigma. A poem of both winter and summer.
"Entering Dunbroch Station. Dunbroch Station. The doors will open on both sides..."
The train's speaker's announcement breaks your line of thoughts. You blink and look at the side, to the woman on your left.
She doesn't even move an inch. You think she is too alive to be a beautiful looking statue.
Not a ghost, not an angel, and certainly not a statue. The poem has yet had a name.
The train's mechanical doors are closing with wheeze.
You can't hold your curiosity and then you move closer to her. You are now one seat away from the woman whose hair color reminds you of falling snow. You are sitting restlessly and your toes are curling inside your shoes. The woman cannot be so clueless to not even tilting her head to your direction.
Somehow the temperature inside the car drops and you feel like three layers of garments are not enough. Even the windows are slowly covered with thin frost.
You hug yourself, desperate for more warmth. Your gaze wanders again to the woman in summer dress.
You even can see your mist of breath but the woman is still sitting perfectly on her seat.
She is not human. You decide. Whatever she is, you are still wondering about the color of her eyes.
The train screeches, your body is knocked by the sudden force toward the woman. You can't control it as you have poor reflex and poor grade in P.E. The only sport you can do the best is run. Right now, having a skill of running doesn't help you preventing your body knocks into the woman.
You fall on top of her to the train's floor. It feels like hitting an ice block since the moment your skin contacts with hers, you feel like you have touched the earth's freezing point. You never been in North Pole before, you never know the coldest of cold, but you feel that if the hell is made of ice, it would feel like this.
You do freeze. Perhaps become an ice statue. Or all of it just happened in your thought.
Whatever that has transpired, you do not really understand.
Because you see them. They are blue.
The color of her eyes is ice blue. They are strangely fitting with the snow-like color of her hair.
Everything about this woman screams cold elements yet it is indeed weird that all you feel about her is warmth.
The ice cold skin under your fingertips gradually turns warmer. It's like you have broken a spell. The gaze that previously refused to look at your direction now has focused only on you. The rigid posture like statue the woman maintained before has come loose as she is now breathing heavily under you.
Snow colored hair, Ice blue eyes, cold pale skin, and...
You never notice that her lips are darling red. No. You did notice... is that you are sure that she had pale color lips before.
The darling red tastes like spring.
You know since you just realized you are kissing her. Or she is kissing you. You don't remember how or who started the kiss. You don't care.
Again, it's the warmest feeling you have ever felt.
Cold and warm... the girl in summer dress is a total paradox.
A Goddess? No. This woman is surely too full of temptation to be a deity.
"Entering Maldone Station. Maldone Station. The doors will open on the right side..."
The announcement breaks the kiss between you and her. Maldone comes faster than usual.
Your gazes intertwine again. You fear that if you look away from her, she will disappear with the falling snow outside. She too, locks her gaze with yours.
Blue blue blue... who are you? You should've asked that question. Instead...
"Aren't you cold?" A different question comes out of your mouth. A mouth that yearns a touch from a darling red.
She smiles and for a moment you forget your name.
"The cold never bothers me... Anna." Her voice rings like a beautiful melody in snowy night. She mentions your name like it's a pray. Sacred, precious...
A winter girl. Something says inside your head. A winter girl in summer dress. The poem has had a name. Elsa.
"You know me." Not a question.
"For a long time." Her icy blue eyes are gleaming of what you guess is hopeful anticipation.
"...Dream?"
"Memories. Broken pieces. You. The clearest piece in my head."
Something clicks and falls into their rightful places.
"I know you..." Uncertain. Wavering.
"Eventually." It's neither a no or a yes.
You take your time to say another sentence.
"... You love snow." Undoubted. Firm.
"And chocolate." She adds like it's the most crucial information she has to remind you about her.
You will need a thousand of reminders, a million pages of post-its, and perhaps a very thick diary. Because you promise yourself that you won't forget about her again.
The winter girl in white summer dress is snowing. She makes it snow with her smile.
"Say... at the next station..."
"You mean the last station?" Gently her touch is trailing on your lips. Like a wish.
You kiss her smile, granting her wish.
"Yeah at there... say, do you want to build a snowman?"
It's a promise. For forever.
"Entering the last station. Arendelle station. The doors will open on the left side..."
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This one is a bit different. Tell me if you like it :) Yes, there are few puzzles in this story.