Hokkaido, Fresh Snow
Chapter 8 – Hokkaido, Fresh Snow
The first breath Isabelle took in Hokkaido hurt.
Not because it was painful.
Because it was too clean.
Cold air sliced into her lungs like truth–sharp, honest, unforgiving.
She stood outside New Chitose Airport with her scarf pulled up to her nose, blinking rapidly like a city girl who had forgotten what seasons felt like.
Singapore had never prepared her for this.
Singapore was humidity and neon.
Hokkaido was quiet.
White.
And so cold it felt like the world had been rinsed.
Crystal squealed beside her.
“BELLE LOOK,” she shouted, as if Isabelle might miss the existence of snow. “SNOWWWWWW!”
Ivan, struggling with his luggage, glared. “Stop screaming. People are looking.”
Crystal screamed again just to spite him.
Aleem stood slightly behind them, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.
He watched Isabelle.
Not the snow.
Her.
Isabelle pretended not to notice.
Because being watched felt complicated.
Because being watched by Aleem wasn’t threatening.
It was… steady.
And steadiness made her chest tighten in ways she didn’t know how to name.
They took the train into Sapporo.
Crystal pressed her face to the window, narrating every passing landscape as if she was a tour guide.
“Look at the trees! Look at the roofs! Look at the white! Oh my god this is like K-drama!”
Ivan muttered, “It’s not Korea.”
Crystal whipped around. “Same vibe.”
“It is literally not the same vibe.”
Aleem sat across from them, occasionally responding to Crystal with small nods.
Isabelle sat by the window.
The world outside was soft.
Snow layered rooftops like frosting.
Fields stretched out in pale silence.
It felt like the kind of place where grief could disappear.
Or become louder.
Isabelle didn’t know which.
She watched her reflection in the glass.
Her face looked different.
Not prettier.
Not uglier.
Just… older.
Like heartbreak had rewired her.
Crystal leaned in suddenly.
“Belle,” she whispered dramatically, eyes sparkling. “We’re going to heal so hard on this trip.”
Isabelle huffed. “Heal so hard?”
Crystal nodded. “Yes. We’re going to weaponize healing. We’re going to glow up emotionally. Your ex will regret.”
Ivan groaned. “Can you stop making everything about revenge?”
Crystal gasped. “It’s not revenge. It’s… poetic justice.”
Isabelle almost laughed.
Almost.
But the thought of her ex surfaced, uninvited.
Her stomach tightened.
She looked away quickly.
Aleem’s eyes flicked to her.
The smallest shift.
A quiet awareness.
He didn’t ask.
He didn’t bring it up.
He just looked back out the window, giving her space to settle.
Isabelle pressed her palm against the cold glass.
Breath.
In.
Out.
Their hotel in Sapporo was small but cozy.
Crystal declared their room “so Japanese-core.”
Ivan complained about the lack of space.
They dropped their luggage, then immediately went out again because Crystal claimed sleep was “a waste of Hokkaido.”
They walked through the city as evening fell.
Sapporo’s lights were gentler than Singapore’s.
Not harsh.
Not loud.
Just… warm.
Snow crunched under their shoes.
Isabelle flinched at the sound at first.
Then found herself liking it.
A reminder that she was somewhere else.
A reminder that time could move forward.
Crystal dragged them to a famous ramen shop.
Ivan complained about the queue.
Crystal complained about Ivan complaining.
Aleem stood behind Isabelle in the line.
Close enough to feel his presence.
Far enough to respect her space.
Isabelle adjusted her scarf.
Aleem spoke quietly.
“You okay with crowds?”
Isabelle blinked.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s… okay.”
Aleem nodded.
“If you need to step out, just tell me.”
Isabelle’s chest tightened.
Just tell me.
The words carried no weight of obligation.
No sigh.
No annoyance.
Just an open door.
Isabelle swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They ate ramen.
Crystal moaned dramatically over the broth.
Ivan pretended not to be impressed.
Aleem ate quietly.
Isabelle watched him.
He looked… relaxed.
Not tense like he was in Singapore.
Maybe the cold did that.
Maybe distance did.
Or maybe being here–away from the routines of caring for her–allowed him to breathe too.
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
The thought surprised her:
I’m not the only one healing.
That night, they walked through a park.
Trees stood bare and skeletal against the snowy ground.
Streetlights glowed soft and amber.
Crystal ran ahead, trying to film slow-motion snow videos.
Ivan followed behind her reluctantly, complaining that his fingers were freezing.
Isabelle walked behind them with Aleem.
Again.
It happened naturally.
As if the world kept arranging them this way.
Isabelle’s breath came out in white puffs.
She pulled her gloves tighter.
Aleem glanced at her.
“You cold?”
Isabelle shrugged. “A bit.”
Aleem nodded.
He unzipped his jacket slightly, reached into an inner pocket, and pulled out a heat pack.
He offered it to her.
Isabelle blinked. “You brought that?”
Aleem shrugged, like it was nothing.
“Planning,” he said.
Isabelle stared at the heat pack.
It was such a small thing.
But it made her chest tighten.
“You think of everything,” she murmured.
Aleem’s gaze stayed forward.
“Not everything,” he said quietly.
Isabelle looked at him.
His voice had shifted.
Not sad.
Just honest.
Aleem continued,
“I didn’t think of this trip when you were breaking,” he said. “I only thought of getting you through the day.”
Isabelle’s throat tightened.
Aleem’s words were simple.
But they held the shape of his care.
Day by day.
Step by step.
No dramatic promises.
Just survival.
Isabelle swallowed.
“I’m sorry I–”
Aleem cut in gently.
“Don’t,” he said.
Isabelle exhaled.
She took the heat pack.
Warmth spread into her gloves.
For a moment, her chest loosened.
Then the park opened into a wide space.
A couple stood near a tree, taking photos.
The girl leaned into the boy.
The boy kissed her forehead.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
Her lungs tightened.
The old ache surged.
Not rage.
Not betrayal.
Just grief.
The quiet kind.
She stopped walking.
Aleem noticed immediately.
He didn’t look at the couple.
He looked at Isabelle.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Isabelle tried to answer.
Her throat closed.
The couple laughed.
The sound cut through her.
Isabelle’s eyes burned.
Aleem’s voice stayed calm.
“Do you want to go back?”
Isabelle swallowed.
She wanted to say yes.
She wanted to hide.
But something inside her–the new part of her that had been growing quietly these months–pushed back.
No.
Not again.
Not always running.
Isabelle’s breath trembled.
She shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “I… I want to stay.”
Aleem’s gaze softened.
He nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Just like that.
No praise.
No celebration.
Just permission.
They continued walking.
Isabelle’s chest still hurt.
But the pain didn’t knock her down.
It moved with her.
And that was different.
Back at the hotel, Isabelle took a long shower.
Hot water steamed the mirror.
She stared at her reflection until her features blurred.
She thought about the couple.
She thought about her ex.
She thought about how grief followed her even across borders.
Then she thought about Aleem.
How he didn’t rush.
How he didn’t fix.
How he simply stayed beside her while she decided.
Isabelle pressed her palm against the fogged mirror.
A dangerous thought surfaced again.
If this is what steadiness feels like…
She swallowed.
Boundaries.
Friendship.
Still.
She turned off the water.
Wrapped herself in a towel.
And when she stepped out, Crystal was already in bed scrolling through photos.
“Belle,” Crystal said sleepily. “Tomorrow we go Otaru okay? Romantic canal. Healing vibes.”
Ivan, from the other bed, groaned. “Stop saying healing.”
Crystal mumbled, “Shut up.”
Isabelle smiled faintly.
She lay down.
Outside the window, Sapporo’s lights glowed against the snow.
The world was quiet.
And for the first time in a long time, Isabelle fell asleep without fear.
Not because she was fully healed.
But because she was somewhere new.
Because ABIX was here.
And because, in the background–steady as a heartbeat–
Aleem was still watching over her in the only way he knew:
quietly.
respectfully.
one step at a time.