Snow fell quietly, covering everything in a thick, white blanket. Early morning light was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting a pale blue over the frozen world. The trees stood still, branches heavy with snow, while frost formed little patterns on the window of a dorm.

Inside, a boy sat alone by the window, his knees drawn close to his chest. His shoulders shook as he cried, his face hidden by messy blonde hair, tears slipping down his cheeks. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, letting the chill sink into his skin, anchoring him in the quiet.

Outside, snow kept falling, softening the edges of everything. The boy's tears came slowly, each one tracing a sadness he couldn't put into words, slipping silently down his cheeks as he stared into the quiet white morning. The world looked peaceful, wrapped in the stillness of snow, but inside, he felt raw and jagged.

"Alex… I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

His voice was a fragile whisper, barely reaching beyond his own ears, safely kept from anyone outside his dorm room.

'KNOCK'

'KNOCK'

A loud knock echoed through the room, pulling him abruptly from his sorrow. The boy drew in a sharp breath, quickly brushing the sleeve of his jersey across his face to hide the evidence of his grief.

"Come in," he called, struggling to strengthen his shaky voice, though it couldn't quite conceal his mourning.

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The door opened, and an old bearded man stepped inside, his eyes sharp yet kind. He took in the boy's red-rimmed eyes and damp sleeves without a word. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

"I thought you might need someone to talk to," the man said, easing into a nearby chair. "Sometimes, words help carry the weight."

The boy looked away, swallowing hard. The room felt heavy with silence until, finally, he nodded.

"Alex used to hate the snow because of how depressing it seemed", he said his voice barely above a whisper. "He'd say it made everything feel… frozen. Like nothing would ever grow again."

The old man nodded thoughtfully, letting the words settle.

"And yet, sometimes, the coldest seasons give way to the strongest growth," he replied gently. "Perhaps that's why we have winter—so we remember that even the hardest times pass."

The boy gave a faint, sad smile appreciating the words of the man, his gaze drifting to the window where snowflakes danced in silence.

"You cannot mourn forever Mr. Allard,"

The old man said, his tone firm yet kind. "Grief, like winter, has its season. But seasons change, and when they do, we must find the strength to move with them."

The boy looked down, his fingers tightening around the edges of his sleeves.

"It's just… Alex was all I had. He was more than just a brother to me."

 "I know," the man replied, his voice softening. "And he would want you to carry on, not to bury yourself in sorrow but to live in a way that honours his memory so please return to your home Mr Allard."

"Return home where family awaits you and help you in your grief."

The boy hesitated, his gaze drifting to the window, where snow still blanketed the world outside.

"Going back home would only worsen my grief."

The boy softly murmured; his voice barely audible. "Despite that, I still need answers."

The old man nodded slowly; his eyes filled with understanding.

"I know it's hard, but sometimes the answers we seek aren't found in isolation. Sometimes they come from those who've walked the same path, those who understand the weight of your pain."

"Sometimes, the only way through the darkness is to let others guide you back to the light Mr Allard."

"Damon…please call me Damon, Mr. Martin."