Anita, did you hear what people are saying?"
The words hit her before she even set her bag down.
She froze, one hand still curled around the strap of her purse. Mara stood a few steps away, eyebrows drawn together, her voice low, but heavy enough to make Anita's stomach clench. Something about the way Mara looked at her said this wasn't casual gossip.
"Saying what?" Anita asked cautiously, forcing her voice to stay steady.
Mara hesitated, and that pause was enough to tighten Anita's chest.
"About you and Liam," Mara finally said.
Anita's breath hitched. "There is no 'me and Liam.'"
Mara's expression didn't change, but her eyes said it all. "Someone saw you two at the café. Another saw you at the fire pit the other night. And now… well, people are talking."
Anita sank against the counter, gripping the edge. "Talking about what exactly?"
Mara glanced around, then leaned closer. "That he might be leaving—and that you're involved."
Involved. The word landed like a weight in her chest. Not because it was untrue, but because the town had already started shaping their story without their consent. She hadn't even told Liam how she felt completely. And now everyone else assumed it for her.
"Who told you this?" she asked quietly.
Mara exhaled. "It didn't come from you. But someone from his side. Close enough that it spread fast."
That made her heart race. Not the idea that Liam might leave, but the thought that people were already shaping their future. She hadn't even had a proper conversation with him yet, and now there were stories being written without her.
"I didn't want this to be public," she murmured.
"No one ever does," Mara said. "Snowfall doesn't let things stay private for long."
Before Anita could respond, her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced down, and her stomach flipped.
Liam.
Mara followed her gaze. "That him?"
Anita nodded.
Mara softened. "Go. Before someone else decides the ending for you."
They met by the river, where the old mill cast long shadows across the snow-dusted ground. It wasn't romantic—not really—but it was neutral. Safe. Honest.
Liam was already there, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense. He looked up as she approached, and for the first time in days, relief flickered across his face.
"You heard," he said quietly.
"Yes," she said, exhaling slowly.
"I didn't want it to come out like this," he admitted.
"I know," she replied. "But it did."
Silence stretched between them, the river moving steadily beside them, indifferent to the human chaos it witnessed.
"I haven't made a decision yet," Liam said, voice low. "About leaving."
"But people think you have," Anita said, a pang tightening her chest.
"That's my fault," he murmured. "I mentioned it to someone I shouldn't have."
She nodded slowly, aware of the irony—how quickly the truth could slip away from them both, how easily assumptions could take over.
Snowflakes began to fall lightly, dusting his hair and shoulders. The world softened around them, but nothing softened the tension that hovered between them.
He stepped closer, careful, measuring the space between them. "What I didn't expect," he said finally, "was you getting pulled into this… all this mess."
Anita looked down for a moment, collecting herself. Then, eyes lifting, she met him. "That part was always going to happen."
He studied her, as if reading the truth in her expression. "So… what do we do?"
The question felt heavier than any words he could have spoken. She considered telling him everything—the fear, the longing, the way her chest ached every time he looked at her—but even she didn't have all the answers yet.
"I don't want to pretend anymore," she said softly. "Not with you."
Something shifted in his posture—a release, a quiet relief. "Me neither," he said. "Whatever happens next… I want it to be honest."
They didn't touch. They didn't promise anything. But standing there side by side, a subtle, invisible line had been crossed. One neither could undo, even if they tried.
The following day, the tension didn't leave them.
Anita couldn't focus at work, caught between replaying yesterday's conversation and worrying about the whispers she knew would reach her eventually. Every step down the street felt heavier. Every glance from a neighbor or a passerby seemed to carry judgment or curiosity.
By mid-afternoon, Mara appeared at her desk.
"You look like you've been carrying the weight of the river on your shoulders," Mara said, leaning casually. "What's really going on?"
Anita shook her head, trying to force a smile. "It's… complicated."
Mara's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Try me."
Anita hesitated, then shrugged. "People know. About Liam. About… us, in a way."
Mara's eyes widened. "They do?"
"Apparently." Anita laughed lightly, though it was hollow. "Snowfall has a way of leaking stories faster than the river floods in spring."
Mara gave her a knowing look. "Sounds like he didn't exactly keep it quiet either."
Anita chewed her lip. "He tried. I know he did. But someone always finds out."
Later that evening, she walked home along the frozen riverbank, snow crunching underfoot. The town was quieter now, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears and made your own thoughts sound louder.
Her phone buzzed again. Liam.
Can we meet? It's important.
Her chest tightened. "Important" could mean anything.
She arrived at the small park bench where they often met, already visible in the fading light. Liam was pacing, his breath fogging in the cold air.
"You shouldn't have come," he said as soon as he saw her, though his voice lacked conviction.
"I needed to," she said. "We need to talk."
He stopped pacing, sighing. "I know. I just… I didn't expect this to be so… complicated."
"It's never simple with people," she said quietly. "Especially when feelings are involved."
He looked down at his hands, then back at her. "I wanted to protect you—from gossip, from disappointment, from me. But I can't. I can't protect either of us if I keep hiding things."
Anita stepped closer, just a little. "Then don't hide anything. Not from me."
He nodded, eyes glinting with something between hope and fear. "I won't."
And in that moment, Anita realized the truth: no matter what the town said, no matter what stories were whispered, nothing would matter more than honesty. Not rumors. Not distance. Not fear.
They stood there, snow falling around them, both aware that once the weight of truth was carried, there was no going back.
And for the first time in a long while, Anita felt like she could finally breathe again—not because everything was resolved, but because for the first time, nothing was being hidden.