Being alone and far away from the loud city was actually a lot better than you thought it would be. It was scary at first, especially the nights, when every little noise made you look to see what caused it, making you alert and even more aware that you were on your own in the middle of nowhere. Nonetheless, it was quite peaceful, spending the days alone with no obligations at all, devoting all of your time to yourself and doing things that you loved. Perhaps it was because you chose to live this way for a while, knowing friends and family waited at home, but you didn't feel lonely at all—not yet.

It had been nearly a week since you'd arrived to the little cabin at the edge of the forest near Leadville, a small town in Colorado. After spending all of your days and sometimes even nights around people in the always noisy and crowded New York, being here, isolated, was truly refreshing. You had no doubt after a while it would become boring, but for now, this was exactly what you needed.

Writer's block had never hit you so hard before. Obviously, it wasn't the first time you struggled with it – you've had bad days and even weeks before – but it had been months since you'd written anything that didn't land in the trash can. Exhausted was a poor choice of words to describe what you felt: you were drained, burned out, and people constantly asking about your carrier didn't help at all. Moving to the middle of nowhere, even knowing it was temporary, somehow just felt right. In this place, you'd found the solace you were searching for so long.

The mornings passed pretty much the same way. After waking up, you spent a little more time just staying in bed, enjoying the absolute idleness. A little bit later, you turned some music on, humming or even singing loudly to yourself while you took a refreshing shower, before slipping into some warm leggings and a comfortable sweater. You loved to sit on the porch with a cup of coffee or tea and some delicious breakfast, admiring your surroundings. It was the time of the year when the leaves slowly turned every shade of yellow, orange and red; the sun still giving off just enough heat to warm you up. The earthy, fresh smells filled your nostrils as the wind was blowing.

When you finished your breakfast, you went back to the house. It was a roomy cabin with a comfortable couch, a fireplace, a tiny kitchen and a bathroom downstairs, and with one bedroom in the roof space. Many soft cushions, plaids and blankets covered the sofa and every chair, making the place even cozier. Between the fireplace and the window, there was a little nook with a comfortable chair and a small table—which quickly became your favourite spot to write. You plopped down there, tapping your fingers softly on the table while you waited for the document to open, when your phone started to ring. A grin lifted your lips when you saw your best friend's name on the screen.

"Hey, Bonnie."

"Ah, so you're still alive," she said, only half-jokingly, making you roll your eyes. Ever since you announced the plan to retreat a little and stay alone in the forest, Bonnie was terrified something is going to happen to you. Her mission was to remind you of every horror movie that involved cabins and lake houses.

"We've talked about this…" you breathed out, turning around to look through the window. "Can't you just support me instead of trying to scare me to death? I'll be fine."

The little pause told you she was suffering hard holding back a comment, and you bit back a smile, hearing her sighing. "Alright, alright. How's your writing going?"

You looked back over your shoulder, glancing at the flashing cursor in the empty word document. "Wonderful."

"Great," Bonnie's answer came immediately, and you could hear the bright smile behind her words. "Finish that book soon and come home to us."

"That's not so easy."

And it wasn't. Even though you felt much better in the past few days, you still couldn't find the right words to continue your book. But it had been only a few days since you came here, and you didn't want to give up just yet. Telling this to Bonnie was also not an option—she would definitely try to talk you out of staying longer if she saw it didn't help you yet.

Later that day, long after you finished talking with Bonnie but you were still staring through the window instead of writing, you shut your laptop down. If sitting inside the house, shutting yourself off from everything didn't help, maybe a little walk outside will. You put on your boots and grabbed your backpack, before leaving the cabin.

Instead of the road that led down to the town, you chose to walk on the path near your house. It was a hiking trail that brought you even deeper into the woods, but considering you saw tourists walking nearby from time to time, you didn't worry. Sooner than you expected, you felt the beneficial effects of the nature. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, yet loud from the birds and colourful from the autumn leaves. You reached a part with many birch trees; bark white as snow and leaves brilliant yellow, covering the thin path you were walking on, making it took like a golden river. You walked in deeper when you heard the sound of a fast running brook, and when you'd finally found it, you followed it downstream. Only when you reached the edge of the forest, you realized the sun was getting dangerously low in the sky. It was October, after all; nightfall came sooner than in the summer.

Now with quicker steps, you walked back into the deeper parts of the forest, left the brook—except this time, you couldn't find the path. You went left, because you could've sworn you came from that way, but it didn't seem familiar at all. Still not panicking, you turned around to walk to the other way, but after a good ten minutes of wandering, you had to admit you had absolutely no idea where you were.

You felt your pulse quicken but you took a deep breath, pulling your phone out of your pocket. "Oh, are you kidding me?" the words left your lips loudly when you saw there were no signals. Figures. You looked around and shook your head, shivering from the rising wind; the air was colder up here. Leaves were falling like rain drops while you marched through the woods, trying to find a way out, which seemed absolutely hopeless. You groaned to yourself, Bonnie's words echoing in your head on repeat. You're going to get killed and buried in the middle of the forest, or ripped into pieces by a bear—what a great way to go.

Soon, you were almost running, trying not to think every branch was an axe murderer, you caught a glimpse of a cabin. It definitely wasn't the place where you stayed, but it meant you were getting closer to some civilization, which lifted a huge weight off your shoulders. The cottage was so deep inside the forest you doubted anyone lived there, but when you walked past it, now with slower steps, you realized how wrong you were.

When you saw the man who walked up from the basement with an axe in his hand, your first instinct was to take a step back. His head was down, but he looked up at the noise when your feet cracked and then broke a branch. Your eyes widened a bit and you didn't move, and the stranger, seeing you standing there motionless, took a few steps closer.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

You opened your mouth but the words stuck on your throat. He smiled a little and put the axe down, realizing he probably looked rather intimidating like this, before wiped his hands on his jeans and raised his palms. "I don't mean to hurt you. My name is Steve Rogers and I live here. Are you lost?"

A shaky breath left your lips, immediately followed by a nervous chuckle, but you stepped closer, too. Somehow, the way he talked was calming, effortlessly putting you at ease. "I-uh, yes. I'm sorry. I have no idea where I am."

"Well," Steve started, taking one last step towards you. While you were already shivering in a sweater, he was only wearing a red flannel shirt with the sleeves loosely rolled up, and he didn't look like the chilly air would bother him. "Do you know where you're heading? Maybe I can help you get there."

"Yes," you nodded, taking off your backpack and searching for the map you hoped was still there. An old man gave it to you where you rented the car; he even marked the place with a pen where your cabin was. "It's called Woodhaven," you pointed your fingers at the little circle on the map while Steve looked at you, smiling.

"You have a map and you still got lost?"

Glancing up at him, you bit back a sigh. He was the first person you met since you've came here, and you immediately made a fool of yourself. "I can't do anything with it if I have no idea where I am."

Steve leaned closer to have a quick look at the map, pushing his grown, dark blond hair back as he furrowed his brows in concentration. He smelled like sawdust. "It's not so far away from here," he looked at you with a small nod. "Let me walk you back, it's getting dark."

You hesitated first, but decided to accept his offer; if he was a serial killer, saying no wouldn't stop him anyway. "Thank you."

There was a path nearby that he showed you, but led you through the woods instead, saying it was quicker to reach your place this way. The first few minutes of your walk passed in awkward silence. It had been a long time since Steve talked to anyone—of course he met his colleagues every day and his friends visited him from time to time, but holding a conversation with a new person, a complete stranger, no longer seemed as easy as it once was. Living alone isolated had its disadvantages, and while Steve was fully aware he chose to live this way all those years ago, situations like this one made him uncomfortable. Despite that, he was the one who spoke first, eager to know the answer of one question, "What were you doing out there alone?"

"I'm a writer," the answer came instantly without you thinking through what you wanted to say, leaving Steve confused. Only when you looked up at him, seeing the frown that creased his forehead, you realized how stupid you must have sounded. Stupid, or someone who just wanted to show off. "I mean," you chuckled to yourself, putting a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "I'm a writer but I'm having a hard time lately. I thought coming here alone would help to clear my head out and focus better," you shrugged with a smile. "Does it sound crazy?"

"Trust me, it doesn't," his smile didn't reach his eyes, and the shift in his tone made you wonder if there was something that drove him out there too. Well, there probably was—who would choose to live like this, so far away from everything? "Would I have read anything you've written?"

"Well, I have only one published book and a few short stories," you said. "What do you read?"

"A bit of everything," Steve shrugged. "High fantasy, classics, but history mostly. Anything I can get from the library in the town. It's very small."

"I write crime stories," you looked up at him. "Maybe you can find a copy in that library."

Steve smiled. "It would be easier if I knew your name."

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your cheeks getting warm. When you reached his house you were too nervous, then so relieved to find someone you completely forgot to introduce yourself. Steve wasn't surprised you were afraid of him when you first saw him—his hair and his beard was grown and messy lately, his cheeks dirty after a long day at work, and he was pretty sure his locks were covered with sawdust. Suddenly, he felt the urge to run his fingers through his hair to wipe the wood dust out of it, but he resisted.

Just after you finally gave him your name, you caught a glimpse of your cabin. "Finally," you said after a relieved sigh. "I thought I was going to die in the middle of the forest."

Steve smiled, but didn't say anything. The sun already went down behind the mountains when you finally reached the edge of the forest. "Do you live there?" you asked, looking back over your shoulder to the direction where his house was. You couldn't see it from here—it was very deep in the forest. "Alone?"

"Not alone," he said. "With my dog."

You just stepped up to the porch, and couldn't hold back a gasp. "You have a dog?"

"Yes. And he's very friendly, so if you want to see him…" Steve trailed off, and he wasn't sure why he offered that. The last thing he wanted was a stranger in his house; he wasn't accustomed to making friends lately. The excited sparkle in your eyes was worth it, he decided.

"I'd love to," you crossed your arms against the cold. "But I really don't want to bother you."

"You wouldn't," Steve shook his head. "How long are you going to stay here for?"

You sighed, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. "As long as it takes. Hopefully just a couple months."

Steve tried to hide his surprise at your words. Staying out here alone for months would drive the most people crazy, besides, in his eyes, you didn't look like someone who was accustomed to any extreme living circumstances. He didn't want to sound rude and scare the only person away who lived close to him though, so he only said, "Winters are though here. If you need any help… with anything… you know where to find me."

You smiled. He seemed so genuinely honest and helpful and it surprised you—after all, you lived in a big city where people were too busy with themselves to help to each other.

Later that night, when Steve lied in bed, exhausted from a long day's work but still wide awake, he was thinking of you. He thought about your smile—nervous, honest. He thought about the smell of your perfume—sweet, fresh, something flowery. Eyes, lost. And first time in a long time, he felt lonely.