Frozen Goodbye – It wasn’t a new beginning. It was a long-delayed goodbye.

• By Dr. AK Rana

Frozen Goodbye – In a remote, snow-draped town, a woman in her 40s lived a life of quiet routine. Every morning, she rose before the sun, cooked meals for two, and brewed two cups of tea. With one cup in hand, she would step outside to sit on the old swing in her yard, her gaze fixed on the gate as if waiting for someone. The swing creaked softly in the stillness; a sound lost in the whisper of falling snow.

The golden rays of the sun tried to break through the dense fog, their warmth subdued by the cold. The scene was beautiful but heartbreaking, much like her life.

Her husband had left years ago, frustrated by what he called her “lifeless” demeanour. Her children, now grown and successful, rarely called. She had been a good mother, ensuring they had everything they needed, but she never asked for their time in return.

No one understood her sadness, and no one asked. They only handed her a card for counselling, as if her grief could be boxed away in an hour-long session.

Years passed, days went by, and life kept moving forward, dragging her along like a reluctant passenger. She tried to hope, tried to catch up with the world rushing ahead, but with each passing moment, she found herself standing still, left behind by the tide of time.

To the world, she showed no remorse, no vulnerability. She was a successful woman, her name recognized in literary circles, her bank account brimming with wealth. She had everything and yet nothing. But never, not once, did she cry. She carried her tears like fragile glass, knowing that if she let them spill, they would shatter her completely.

Her soul, burdened by years of unspoken grief and unanswered questions, grew weary. The load was too much to bear, and she knew it was time to let go. That was when she made the decision to bid goodbye to the life she had known and retreat to a winter-filled village—one he had once described in passing, a place untouched by the chaos of the world.

It wasn’t a new beginning. It was the quiet end of an old story.

She washed the little house she had purchased, scrubbing every corner until it gleamed. She put everything in its place, neatly, as if preparing the stage for a final act. And then, for the first time in decades, she let go.

The tears came like a storm, like a flood that had been dammed too long. They fell relentlessly, each one a needle piercing the walls of her heart, tearing through the fortress she had built around her pain. She cried for days, her sobs echoing in the empty rooms, mingling with the sound of the wind and the snow outside. She cried for him, for herself, for the life that could have been, for the love she had lost before she even realized its worth.

Twenty years earlier, she had been a practical young woman who kept her emotions tightly guarded. He had been her opposite—full of passion, his heart wide open. They were an odd pair, but he loved her fiercely, and she found comfort in his warmth. His dark eyes often searched for solace in the chaos of the world, while she, with her dreams of fame and glamour, yearned for something beyond their quiet love.

People who are opposites aren’t usually meant to be, but why is it that they often find solace in each other? Perhaps it’s the balance they bring, the way one fills the voids the other leaves behind. Or maybe it’s the simple, inexplicable pull of their differences that draws them together.

Even when her heart broke as she walked away from him, with a final goodbye she vowed never to undo, she didn’t shed a single tear. Not because she didn’t love him, but because she feared that if he saw her pain, he would never let her go. She kept her head high, her steps deliberate, each one heavier than the last. She didn’t turn back, not even to meet his gaze—those dark eyes, brimming with love and pleading for her to stay. She knew that if she had, she would have been unable to leave.

It had been one of those nights when winter seemed endless, its cold seeping into the soul. The wind howled like a grieving widow, and the snow fell in relentless waves, blanketing the world in an unforgiving stillness. Inside her warm room, she had been wrapped in silence, her pride a fortress as impenetrable as the frost-covered walls outside.

He had come, trembling but determined, his breath visible in ghostly plumes under the dim streetlight. The night clung to him, the snow catching in his dark hair and settling on his shoulders like a shroud. He stood there, his figure barely visible against the storm, waiting for a sign—for the light in her window to flicker on, for her silhouette to emerge.

But the window stayed dark.

He had knocked once, then twice, his frozen knuckles scraping against the wood. The sound was carried away by the wind, lost to the storm. Hours passed. His resolve kept him rooted there, his eyes fixed on the door, his heart clinging to a hope that grew fainter with every ticking second.

Inside, she lay in her bed, the phone by her side. She had silenced it earlier, unwilling to let his calls disturb her. She told herself it was better this way, that he would leave eventually. She closed her eyes to the world, unaware that outside, the world was closing its eyes to him.

When the first light of dawn pierced the clouds, she rose, her heart lighter now that the night had passed. She looked outside, expecting emptiness, expecting that he had gone.

But what she found was a patch of untouched snow where he had stood. His shadow lingered there; an impression carved by his final breaths. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest as the phone rang.

A voice on the other end broke the brittle silence:

“He didn’t make it.”

The words splintered through her like glass. She dropped the phone, its echo like a sharp cry against the frost-laden air. She didn’t need to hear more. She knew. That day she didn’t let any tear fall down her eyes, because she had no right to ease that burning pain in her heart.

The thoughts circled endlessly in her mind, sharp as icicles hanging precariously from the eaves of her memory. She saw him in her dreams, standing by the gate, smiling despite the cold. She imagined him calling out her name, his voice breaking through the wind, his arms open wide. She had robbed herself of that embrace, of the chance to hold him one last time.

The snow was no longer just snow—it was a graveyard of apologies unsaid, of love unclaimed.

Now, in the quiet solitude of her remote village, she lived with his memory. She prepared two cups of tea, two plates of food, and listened for his footsteps in the night.

She had carried the weight of her regret for decades, burying it beneath success and routine. Years passed, days went by, and life moved forward. But she remained frozen in time, standing still while the world around her changed. She became a woman admired by strangers but unnoticed by those she had loved most. She showed no remorse to the world, yet inside, she was crumbling. She knew if she ever let the tears fall, if she ever acknowledged the pain, it would shatter her completely.

When her soul could no longer bear the weight, she chose to leave everything behind. It wasn’t a new beginning. It was a long-delayed goodbye.

The first day in that village, after cleaning the house and arranging everything just so, she broke. For the first time in years, she let the tears fall—tears that had been like needles pricking her heart, tears she could no longer contain.

She clutched an old hoodie of his, its once-familiar warmth now just a memory against the chill of her solitude. Tears streamed down her face; her sobs muffled by the silence of the snow-covered village.

“Only if I could say that I loved him and that I am so sorry,” she whispered through her tears. Her voice cracked as she finally allowed herself to utter the words she had held inside for years.

Her regret lived with her in that house, in the rhythm of her days and in the quiet moments she spent staring at the gate. And yet, she stayed, waiting for something—or someone—who would never return.

Villagers often found her draped in snow, as if trying to feel what he had felt that night. They would carry her inside, whispering about her strange habits, her tragic beauty, her unfathomable sorrow.

One morning, as she sat on the swing, the snow falling softly around her, she closed her eyes. “I feel cold when I see snow,” she had once told him.

“Why would you?” he had replied, pulling her close. “You’ll never feel cold with me.”

Her arms tightened around the old hoodie she always wore, the only piece of him she had left.

Next morning, she was gone. They found her swing empty, the snow untouched except for a single set of footprints leading to the gate.

Some say she finally let go. Others say he came back for her, just as she had always dreamed.

But those who knew her story believed she had found him in the glistening white snow, his arms warm, his love eternal.

And for the first time in twenty years, she didn’t feel cold.

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“Frozen Goodbye”

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also read Bond of life chapter -3