Chapter 4: Lost and Found in the Mountains

Michael came home to see my suitcase in the living room. "Where are you going?"

"Travel. Hiking."

I answered with excitement.

"Alone?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

He went back to his room. I checked my gear and mapped out the trip. Suddenly, Michael texted:

#Safety tips for solo women travelers#

Me: _>_

Husband: #Be careful hiking#

Husband: #Road traffic safety tips#

Husband: #Scenic spot price warnings#

Me: ...so?

Husband: No other reason, just worried about your safety.

Me: Okay, got it.

Husband: It’s different out there—lots of strangers. Pay attention, don’t stare at your phone all the time.

Me: Understood.

Husband: Better to bring someone.

Me: True. But I don’t want a group tour. Should I crash my parents’ vacation? (thinking)

Husband: ...

I sighed at my phone. Seeing him so persistent, I decided to bring him along.

The green Amtrak train cut across the plateau, sky a brilliant blue, clouds crisp and white.

We followed the crowd off the train, luggage in tow, planning to stay at a guesthouse at the foot of the mountain. I was tired from the trip, ready to hike tomorrow. But Michael kept wandering off, nearly getting us lost.

I wanted to sneak off and check the route, but in the end, we found the guesthouse before dark.

Given his history, I asked, "Michael, are you directionally challenged?"

"..."

Got it—he admitted it.

At the mountaintop, I gasped, breath turning to white mist, the wind biting, air nearly frozen.

"Want me to take a picture?"

"No."

I don’t care for photos. I want the feeling, not just the image.

"Pictures are for the eyes, memories for the mind—but memories bring sadness. I prefer living in the moment."

Clouds swirled, ridges cut sharp as knives, ravines deep and majestic, snow blindingly cold. The mountains stretched endlessly, worn by time but still towering.

"You jump, I jump!"

A young couple laughed nearby, bringing Titanic romance to the snowy peak.

"If I die, don’t rush to find someone else—at least not right away."

The girl’s voice wavered with tears; the boy hugged her, whispering comfort.

I got curious and asked Michael, "If you were Jack and saw Rose survive and marry, what would you think?"

If Michael really never dated, this was a tough one.

He scratched his head, meeting my eyes. "I don’t know. I can’t answer."

"Didn’t you say true empathy doesn’t exist? Hypotheticals mean nothing to me."

His hair was tousled, wind-blown over his brows and eyes.

"True."

I whispered.

As a kid, Rose’s ending shocked me. How could she marry again after such a love?

Looking back, maybe I missed the point.

From start to finish, what she wanted was freedom.

"Which is scarier—death or life?"

He leaned on the railing, looking up, hair wild in the wind. "With no attachments, there’s nothing to fear."

Help!

Was this his true nature, finally unleashed?

Michael wore a loose black satin shirt, walking with confidence, chest barely visible, Adam’s apple prominent, lips full, hair neat.

Honestly, that was more tempting than being shirtless.

Was he trying to seduce me? I couldn’t be sure.

I wiped my mouth quickly—drooling would be embarrassing.

Boo hoo.

He’s my husband—I get to look every day.

I used every word I knew to compliment him, making this aloof man blush.

He finally gave up, covering my mouth with his hand.

I pulled his hand away, mock-angry. "Handsome but won’t let me compliment you?"

He blushed deeper.

In a great mood, I dragged him out for pizza.

Michael: "?"

Before he realized it, we were at the pizza place.

I handed him the menu. "Order whatever you want—my treat!"

The food came fast, filling the table. Steam curled between us. I laughed as he dipped food in spicy sauce, even though he couldn’t handle spice.

Tomato sauce made the best lipstick—vivid, natural, like blood.

I was stuffed, barely able to talk, just kept eating: pepperoni, mushrooms, sausage. This was living!

After eating and drinking, I could barely walk without leaning on Michael.

The pizza place was a subway stop away, but I begged him to walk home to help digest.

"Don’t worry, I know the way."

"Follow me."

The evening breeze cooled us off, but the pizza smell lingered.

"Lillian."

He called my name, voice warm enough to melt the air.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever liked someone?"

"I’ve been moved plenty of times."

We walked side by side, his face hidden in the dark, quietly listening as I spoke. The cold wind carried my words.

"Sometimes it’s a stranger’s glance, a simple touch, someone whispering in my ear—those moments move me. I’m not heartless; no matter how cold, I can’t be unmoved forever."

"Those feelings are like a spark—just a faint current running through me."

I paused, looked at him, smiling. "Like just now, when you called my name."

The streetlights blurred the night, the mood perfect for rambling.

"But that spark never reaches my brain; it fizzles out fast. My logic always wins, and any heat gets snuffed out."

I don’t know when it started or why. I just let it be.

"No one’s ever truly gotten to me. So, no—I’ve never really liked anyone."

I was shocked at my own fickleness. I’m not loyal, just selfish and obsessive.

Better not to hurt anyone else.

I’m super sensitive but pretend not to be, letting things go unless they spiral out of control.

We reached a streetlight. Michael’s tall figure was backlit, ears red, eyes blinking, unreadable.

Honestly, I do believe in love. How could I not?

It’s a noble thing, meant to be pure—not to be touched lightly.

I took a deep breath. "Let’s both take a breather."

After that talk, I moved back to my old place.