There was snow on the ground, snow that once was white but had turned gray and brown and black because it had been trampled on over and over again.
It was a path that many lovers had taken, from the beginning of time until the end. For some, it was a path of dreams, and for them the snow was white and shining, and one lover helped the other to cross over, or the two would cross together, hand-in-hand.
For them, it was the path where they said goodbye.
She couldn't believe he'd died. He couldn't either. Neither of them had expected it. Ran hadn't even known the truth. Instead, she'd mourned twice – once for the 7-year-old boy who'd been hit by a car, and again for the man she'd loved and the future that could never be.
When they'd met, she hadn't asked questions, and he didn't give her answers. Explanations were too late, and though they could wonder forever, nothing would reverse the choices that they had picked. Reasons became trivial, what they had done wrong lost in the emotions they'd never had a chance to say.
I love you.
Don't leave me.
Be happy.
Goodbye.
Their meeting had been too short, too brief, and they'd walked away with broken souls and broken hearts. They'd walked away and never looked back, one towards the light and one towards the dark.
Neither noticed the red thread, stretched thin but still there, binding their pinkies tightly together. Neither noticed the glimmer of hope, Fate's promise that someday, she would reunite them in death as she could not do in life.