Page 36 of The Heart of Winter

Did Winter also tell him about it? Blinking nervously, I studied my father’s face, waiting for him to comment on it, but he was silent.

Just to try it, I muttered, "Did he mention something about a dress code?"

Father glanced at me blankly. "What?"

"Nothing, never mind."

Then suddenly he stood, and just like that, stormed out.

What’s gotten into him today?

Once he left, I stared down at the drawing, at the contours of the face I was pulling out of nothingness.

Winter badmouthed me to my father. But he didn’t tell him about the drawings!

The question was: why?

And me? What the hell was wrong with me?

Why, instead of just leaving the spiteful director alone, did I want… want… I just wanted him to look at me without this fucking hatred. That was it! How wonderful it would be if things were just normal. Was that really too much to ask?

***

The next day, I made sure to avoid Winter at all costs.

Once, I spotted him coming down the hallway from the opposite direction. Our eyes met. I stopped, turned on my heel, and went back to the employee lounge. I only came out once I was sure he had passed.

Another time, I saw him by the elevator.

Our eyes met. I stopped. Turned around. Took the stairs instead.

‘Leave him alone’, Father said. Fine. If that’s how it was going to be, then so be it.

At the end of the workday, I took the elevator down. I still had to pick up a folder from reception, something a sick employee’s partner had dropped off for Manager Lorens. There was a short line at the reception desk, so I waited.

That’s when I saw Winter again.

He was standing by the glass wall that separated the lobby from the parking lot, phone in hand. His whole posture radiated tension. I sensed it immediately, as if the whole room had gone silent. No one else registered, just Winter.

My mortal enemy, the fucking snitch.

And I knew he’d been waiting for his Uber for a while. How did I know that? Don’t ask.

Winter seemed aware of my presence too, because suddenly, he turned around like he could physically feel my gaze on him. His eyes landed on me, standing still in line.

His lips were pursed, his eyebrows furrowed. Intense frustration.

He leaned over his screen, tapping it. Thanks to my hearing, I caught it, he swore under his breath. Did his Uber cancel on him?

Something pushed me out of the line, almost like it wasn’t even my decision. My legs just moved toward him.

I was breaking my father’s direct order.

And Winter’s.

"Director, I know you don’t want to interact with me, and my father graciously relayed your complaint, so I’m well aware I should not do it, but I see your Uber is late, and you seem in a hurry. If I can give you a ride anywhere—"

"No, thank you."

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