It is the time of the year where her heart grows heavy again but also the time of the year where she is most compelled to write the ending of her new novel.

Popularly known by her pen-name, J.H Kang, Irene Bae, is an up and rising novelist who is known to give her characters heart-breaking endings but at the same time still manage to gain strong reviews from rating houses and fans alike. With heavy snow falling outside and a mug of hot cocoa at her desk, the writer had prepared to unleash her pent-up thoughts and emotions into her writing. Unlike many authors who had fully switched to typing out their stories on whatever electronic writing devices they own, Irene had stuck to using pen and paper to write out the ending for every story.

This day however, she felt exceptionally uneasy and unable to concentrate her mind. Multiple times, she would look out from her semi-frosted window and become distracted by the thick falling snow. It was yet another cold, harsh winter, one which would bring her sad memories.

**

Wendy had thoroughly regretted taking up the deal with Yeri. Despite the thick layer of clothing, she was still shivering uncontrollably in this inhumane weather and Wendy wondered if she had under-packed her travelling necessities. The journalist was pretty certain that she would not be able to make it back to Seoul in the same day because the journey to Ansan by train was already an arduous one. She scolded herself as she should have known better, this place was where she once lived until she had moved elsewhere. Wendy smiled at those fond memories. The numerous happy moments that had been shared with a special friend here… and she felt the familiar pain in her heart, as if it had been stabbed. It has been quite a while… The train jerked to a stop, snapping her out of her reverie and back to the situation.

Multiple times, the train was stalled because of the snow that had been piled up so thickly on the tracks and they train masters would not risk ploughing through the harmless-looking snow. As a result, the journey took forty minutes longer than usual because they had to get people to shovel the snow out of the way. This year’s winter was undoubtedly one of the harshest ever with heavy snowfalls and chilly drafts.  

Once out of the train, it was a nightmarish journey for Wendy as every step she took was a repetition of having to pull herself out of the thick snow and plunging her foot down into the same snow before her. Ansan, at this time of the year, had a certain gloomy feel to it. Like a town which had been abandoned by its inhabitants not too long ago. The lingering sense of human presence and the sense of detachment all felt at the same time.

Wendy had made sure that the piece of paper which contained the address was stuffed deeply into her pockets and she had taken multiple photos of the paper for fear of losing it. Despite her scares, she had to admit that she truly wanted to see her dream author even though he might turn out to be an old man or even one with a pot-belly. Wendy continued to recall of the scenes written by the author whom she has admired so greatly and wondered how the author could infuse so much emotions in the characters. A man like that could not have been too bad a person and no matter his appearance, Wendy will accept it wholeheartedly. The journalist began to snigger to herself, exhaling puffs of white smoke in the cold, it felt as though she was meeting her prospective husband, all nervous but happy at the same time. In her 25 years of living, Wendy has never had a romantic partner because she was not only a homebody but also… she has never felt anything special for any guys. Perhaps not until she picked up the first book by J.H Kang. Never had she felt such an instant connection with the fictional characters created by him and never had she been so absorbed in the fictional world and this meant a lot because Wendy was an avid reader since young and had read mountains of books. There were numerous good books that she had read however, J.H Kang was the only author that could write stories so well, it tugged at her heart strings.

Before long, the journalist arrived before the doorsteps of the author and she gulped nervously. With a shaking hand, she pressed the doorbell but there was no sound. The author must have led such a private life that he had not expected visitors at his house. This was what Wendy thought and she smiled. In a way, this author and her seemed somewhat similar. Drowned in the excitement of meeting the author, Wendy had totally forgotten about the fear she had about meeting him. Perhaps, her fears were also numbed by the cold, Wendy suddenly felt determined about meeting the author nonetheless. The journalist set her travel pack before the doorsteps and looked up. Seeing that the lights to the second story was , she was certain that the author must have been at home. With a deep breath, she mustered up her courage and knocked heavily on the door.

**

Irene, who had fallen asleep while watching the snow, woke up with her glasses askew on her face and she adjusted it clumsily. The writer had thought that she heard a set of urgent knocks in her dreams but as those knocks became louder and more urgent, she knew it was not simply a dream. What was it? Was it a post delivery from the publisher? She wondered. The writer remembered she had instructed clearly for the publishers to never ever knock on her door personally if it was not anything urgent. How could things be urgent when she had just submitted the 4th draft for the novel that was slated to be released one whole year after. The only thing that was missing was the ending, which she was currently working on.

Yet, she could not ignore those knocks especially when the weather was so unkindly. The poor post deliveryman would freeze his toes off in such a weather. Afraid of the cold drafts, Irene quickly snatched another oversize sweater to wear over herself. She paused midway, as she regarded the sweater and gave a sad smile before rushing downstairs to