Snow Falls on the Silent Lonely Mountain

The class had organized a weekend picnic in the countryside—a perfect opportunity for the leads’ relationship to blossom. For my part, these group outings had always been something to sabotage. In the past, driven by jealousy and insecurity, I’d made sure Kathleen and Johnny were never left alone.

This time was different. I brought my new sketchpad, planning to find a quiet corner and paint. Jeremy didn’t show—too much trouble, he said—and I was perfectly happy with the peace and quiet.

At the picnic site, everyone split into groups. Kathleen, as class president, naturally became the center of attention. With gentle efficiency, she directed the others while Andrew hovered at her side like a loyal knight. Johnny was there too, quietly helping with the chores, his gaze drifting unconsciously toward Kathleen.

See? The pull of the plot was just that strong. Even with me—the biggest variable—choosing to step back, he was still instinctively drawn to his “light.”

I found a spot by a stream, far from the crowd, set up my easel, and lost myself in painting. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, the stream babbling softly. From a distance floated the laughter and chatter of my classmates. It was the most peaceful weekend I’d had in five lifetimes.

But the tranquility didn’t last.

A sharp cry pierced the air. I looked up just in time to see Kathleen, on a slope not far away, lose her footing. She was about to fall.

Andrew and Johnny were the closest to her. They lunged forward at the same instant.

Andrew caught Kathleen, steadying her. Johnny, on instinct, threw his arm out as a shield.

She didn’t fall, but Johnny’s arm caught on a thorny bush, leaving a long, bloody gash.

“Johnny, are you okay?” Kathleen asked, her voice shaky, her face etched with concern.

“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. His gaze fixed on her with a tenderness and protectiveness I knew all too well.

My heart gave a sharp, needle-like twinge—then the pain faded almost instantly.

See, Leah? That’s his instinct. No matter how much you do for him, Kathleen will always come first in his heart.

I turned back to my canvas and kept painting, as if nothing had happened.

A little while later, Johnny approached. He stood behind me, watching my work in silence for a long moment.

“Leah,” he finally said, his voice rough.

“What is it?” I didn’t turn around.

“My hand… it’s hurt.” He held out the bloody scratch, his tone carrying a hint of something almost like a plea—as if seeking comfort.

In the past, I would have been frantic, scrambling for the first-aid kit to bandage him up. Now, I just gave it a casual glance.

“Oh. Go find Kathleen. She brought a kit.”

He went rigid.

“You… you won’t help me?”

Setting down my brush, I finally turned and met his wounded gaze. “Johnny, why should I help you?” I asked, each word deliberate. “You got hurt protecting Kathleen. Shouldn’t *she* be the one most concerned about you?”

His face went deathly pale.

“I… I just…”

“You’re just used to it,” I finished for him. “Used to me giving everything for you, used to me always putting you first. So you think that even with your heart set on someone else, I should still orbit around you like before. Right?”

He had no answer. He could only stare at me, stunned.

I stood up, packed away my easel, and walked past him without a second look.

“Johnny, don’t come looking for me anymore. We’re not friends.”

In that moment, I saw it clearly—something in his clear eyes shattered.