The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 190

Sloane had lost track of time. It might have been two days, maybe three, or perhaps an eternity.

Time and distance held absolutely no meaning here anymore. There was only the endless continent, the endless black void, and the endless, bone-crushing cold.

She kept her head down. Her boot crunched into the snow, pulled free, and crunched down again.

Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Her movements were entirely mechanical, like a broken machine forcing its rusted gears to turn one last time.

Her mind was completely hollow.

She wasn't thinking about The White Lake. She wasn't wondering if they would survive. She wasn't thinking about anything at all. There was only the burn of her muscles, the ragged rhythm of her breathing, and the cold—a cold that started at the soles of her feet and pierced straight into her skull, freezing the marrow in her bones until she could no longer tell if she was walking or merely drifting as a ghost.

Then, out of nowhere, a vivid memory flashed into her mind.

A blistering summer day.

The pathway outside the university library. She had just walked out, struggling to balance a towering stack of textbooks. Sunlight filtered through the broad leaves of the sycamore trees, painting scattered pools of gold across the pavement. And when she looked up, she saw him.

He was standing across the courtyard, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was holding a thick academic journal, exuding an effortless, aristocratic elegance that made him look like a prince from another world.

He was talking to someone beside him, his brows furrowed slightly, his lips moving quickly as they debated a topic.

The sunlight caught the sharp angles of his face, casting perfect shadows across the bridge of his nose.

And then, he smiled. It was brief—just a faint curve of his lips, not quite reaching his eyes—but that single, fleeting expression hit her chest with the force of a physical blow.

She stood frozen on the pavement, clutching her books, completely paralyzed. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so violently she was terrified he would hear it.

She wanted to walk over. She wanted to say something, anything at all. But her feet felt glued to the concrete. She couldn't take a single step. All she could do was watch as he turned away, his silhouette disappearing into the shade of the sycamores, leaving the scattered gold sunlight empty once more.

That was the first time she ever saw Garrison. A memory burned into her soul for years.

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