HIBERNATION

“Hibernation” Short Story

The wind blows insanely today. The sound of the window being slapped disturbs Mom’s speech about family love. Tom stands up to close the window. He can hear Max’s whisper, You sneaky bastard. He chuckles.

 

He heads straight to his room. The roasted turkey is bumping in his full stomach with the tedious Christmas music playlist. He lies on his bed, the biggest red flag to me is someone sitting on my bed without taking a bath first. In his ears, Charlotte’s voice suddenly replays.

How long has it been since they last texted each other? Can’t remember. He stares at their chat window, lifting the keyboard. The blinking cursor waits for him, patient but merciless. He hesitates, fingers suspended—then hits the leave icon.

 

He rubs his hair in irritation. If she fancies him enough, she’ll text him. She takes the initiative every time, doesn’t she? That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about her, but he can’t text her first. He can’t be too obvious, can he? He should keep himself safe in the friend’s zone.

 

He opens her profile, wondering what song she’s put on recently. He scrolls down the page with her voice stuck in his ears—her laugh, her smile, her saccharine but unruffled voice.

 

There wasn’t any song in her profile. However, something catches his eye. He presses his thumb to the screen and drags upward. The content settles on the screen, but his thumb doesn’t move. It stays there, pressed flat, as though something has glued it to the surface.

 

That was a picture under her account. A back view of a guy with puffy brown hair. He doesn’t know when his thumb initiates. It clicks the post and swipes left. More pictures are revealed, one by one.

 

The smile she wore while leaning on his shoulder, the way their hands were clasped so tightly, the way she touched his head, threading her fingers through his hair. The text of the post is plain: just two emojis — a dog and a hand, as if someone is petting a puppy. Music plays automatically from the post; he recognises it was the song she showed him when they hung out last time.

 

He understood her implication, honestly. The way she imagined her relationship would be, the intimacy she wanted from a golden retriever-type boyfriend, and the depth of her love could be. He got it. Totally. But he is the kind of bird that needs hibernation. A bird fearing the weight of the snow would wet its feathers, break its wings, and affect its flying direction. At least for now.

 

He knows she will probably move on one day; he knows he isn’t supposed to have any feelings since he is the one who said he didn’t want to be in a relationship; he knows he didn’t have any position to request her to do anything.

 

But why does his heart drop so rapidly? It hurts too much, overestimation.

 

Would that be better if he didn’t say that in advance? What would happen if he gave her, or them, more time to prove, to persuade himself to be secure enough to invest? What if he didn’t say anything and they continued to get attached? When she asked him why he didn’t want a relationship, was he honest enough with her?

 

His thumb depicted the shape of her smile on the post. What can I do if you leave me when you see the hidden side of me? If I stop acting like the person you would like me to be, what will you do then? When fear drives me back into my cave, will I see you again outside, waiting in the same spot?

 

He doesn’t realise he’s talking to himself until a pigeon crashes into his window.

 

*

 

She slept too early. 9 pm. She woke up when the music stopped. The time on her phone was 11:50, fair enough. The long day didn’t end automatically like Spotify, which was a little bit unfair.

 

She saw him read the message she sent in the afternoon before they met. That was an unimportant message — nws. She didn’t expect him to read. Turning over with embracing her doll tightly, his voice overlapping with the music she just turned on.

 

“I am not ready for a relationship. You are pretty and nice, but…do you know what I mean?”

 

What exactly do you mean? After hanging out a couple of times, after staying in my place and remaining close, what the hell do you mean? The manner you chose to sit with me instead of your friend, the smile and the eye contact we shared, the little sparks in those awkward, tender moments when we just stared at each other… Are you telling me all of that was fake? Did they all only exist in my imagination?

 

She should have questioned him this way. But she just grinned. A bright, impeccable, gentle smile. Like she always did. She groaned, unlocked her phone and tapped the white icon with a sigh.

 

…Two of cups and lover! They are the best cards for relationships. Based on the prediction, you’re going to have a lovely date. Enjoy and come back to me afterwards!

 

Those cards she used to believe in now were hurting her eyes. Could you help me predict our future again? Sure! The results are the hermit, the tower, and justice…. The stream of content scrolled upward across the screen. She couldn’t understand why the prediction suddenly turned from positive to negative, only because of a date.

 

Unfair. That was so unfair. Tears slid down her cheeks. A day ago, before they met, all tarot results indicated that things between them could work. It said he was a slow burner, that she should understand his pace, and it even painted a happy, bright future that was too vivid to force it out of her brain.

 

Will I encounter someone better after letting go of him? You will, definitely. When? The card can’t promise you. I’m not going to take it. TELL ME WHEN! Sorry, you’re out of free messages today.

 

She pushed herself upright in bed; the plate and cup from dinner were still sitting on her desk, untouched. She walked to the bathroom, looking into the mirror and found the messy girl with puffy eyes. She laughed so loud that everything, including water in her body, woke up and escaped from her eyes.

 

Did I do something wrong? Did I push him too much, so he retreated? Or did he think I was not good enough for him? If he’d intended to keep a distance from me, why did he hang out with me? Why did he ask to come to my room? Why…. No reply. The messages couldn’t be sent due to the limitation. She threw herself against the wall, slowly slid down to the floor, and hugged her legs to her chest as though she were a pangolin.

 

*

 

He is meditating when Max comes in.

“What exactly does it help?”

“Introspect yourself.”

“Wow…you’re a saint now, huh?”

He stands up, grabbing his phone from the bedside table. Max is lying on his bed beside him.

“Nah. Just a hermit.”

Max shrugs. He listens to Max talking about Alice — how she reacted when he didn’t text her after work, what she said when he chatted with other girls, etc.

 

He renews the home page; Charlotte’s post appears at the top.

 

“Why did you decide to date her?”

“What?”

“I mean, if a relationship is that stressful.”

Max studies him for a beat, then a small grin breaks through, as if he’s remembering something soft.

“Because knowing someone is always there with you feels good,” he pauses, “and staying by their side feels just as right.”

 

Max leaves. The song in Charlotte’s post plays repeatedly. He taps twice on her post, and a red heart jumps out.

 

The pigeon which crashed into his window a moment ago is extending its wings on the window ledge. Snow wets a part of its feather. It waves its wings and flies into the snowing sky. Tom puts down the curtain.

 

Maybe one day he will be well-prepared enough to step out of the cave and end his hibernation.

 

Maybe one day, instead of hoping someone is always there, waiting for him, he will also be ready to accompany her. There must be one day.

 

*

 

She pauses when the notification pops up. Tom likes your post. She swipes it out.

 

Those memories, and the warmth of his hands, are still alive in her mind with startling clarity.

 

She talked to several girlfriends about him after that day. They said you need to love yourself first and you’ll only encounter love when you are not looking for it. They mentioned that effortlessly, as though it were reasonable to ask a donkey to run without letting it take a bite of a carrot.

 

GODDAMN FOCUS ON YOURSELF! How long had she been doing that? She wanted to shout BULLSHIT at everyone who said that to her. You are too good for them and they know they need to treat you seriously. That is why they retreated. She should’ve shouted at that silly app, also.

 

Perhaps if she stayed with Tom long enough, he would change his mind. Perhaps she needed to be patient enough to let him feel that she is secure. Perhaps she should…. She came up with millions of scenarios, but she didn’t take any action.

 

She had feelings for him, indeed. Nevertheless, the moment she looked at her reflection in the mirror, that pair of puffy eyes reminded her that this wasn’t the thing she wanted. She stepped back to her cave. The entrance was open to him, but he didn’t enter either.

 

She started using concealer as part of her eye makeup, wearing a watermelon-scented fragrance even though winter hadn’t left. Then one ordinary day, a sudden urge washed through her — to throw the concealer away. She let the impulse guide her.

 

Then she met Eric. She feels comfortable talking to him at first, then when she realises, he’s already sitting next to her in her cave for a while. It’s strange. She hugs his arm, and he lowers his head, looking at her with a warm smile. She’s never known a relationship could be that simple, that natural.

 

Perhaps all she needs to do is stop waiting for someone to wake up from hibernation and walk out of her cave. Then she will find out there are many creatures awake in winter.

 

The Christmas film is shown on TV; she exchanges long kisses with Eric. “Merry Christmas,” they say to each other at the same time.