NOAH
Noah opened his eyes.
The room was dim, pale light slipping around the curtains.
For a moment he didn't know why his chest felt tight.
Then it hit—
December twenty–ninth.
Atlas's birthday.
His throat moved; the breath he took wasn't steady.
He pressed his lips together, jaw tightening as if holding something in place.
One hand lifted to his forehead, fingers resting there for a second—
not dramatic, just a quiet attempt to steady himself.
He exhaled slowly.
I'm not there.
He's celebrating without me… or pretending to.
Noah closed his eyes again, longer this time, as if keeping the memory from spilling out. A short, controlled breath escaped him—almost a sigh, almost not.
He turned his head toward the window.
Snow falling heavy, patient.
The trip we were supposed to take.
His chest warmed slightly. Sharp longing. Not like fire. Like breath held too long.
He whispered into the pillow, barely any sound:
"Atlas is on vacation now…"
Then his mother came to mind. Lydia.
Everyone continuing their routines. Only his had shattered.
Got up from the edge of the bed. Bare feet hit the carpet—brief shiver. Walked to the window. Outside, the world completely buried in white.
Opened it. Snowflakes hit his face; one caught on his eyelash. Wind cooled his cheeks fast. Stood like that for a few seconds—the cold shaking him without making it hurt.
Closed the window. Breathed deep.
Went downstairs.
Walking the corridor, made eye contact with a guard. Noah nodded; placed a brief, almost imperceptible warmth on his face.
Doing this automatically now. Mask fitting perfectly.
The gym. Walked on the treadmill for a few minutes. Switched to the bike. Then touched the weights—metal cold, hands freezing. Working his shoulders, thoughts accelerated:
Where is Atlas now? Is he thinking of me?
How did my life become this.
What kind of quiet loneliness is this...
Didn't look in the mirror. If he saw himself, he couldn't stand it.
Finished working out. Went upstairs, showered. Hot water running through his hair, kept his eyes closed for a while; the sound of water silencing the chaos in his mind.
Got dressed. Grabbed his book. Moved to the study.
A while later, the guard brought breakfast.
"Mr. Noah, your breakfast."
Noah looked at the table. Eggs getting cold. No appetite but still picked up the fork—had to seem "normal." Small bites... just for appearances.
Then opened the book. Hours passed. When he finished it, his fingers still on the corner of the page—like he didn't want to let go of the last sentence's weight.
Set the book on the table. Got his coat. Went outside.
Guard at the door warned:
"Snow's very slippery, please be careful."
Noah looked at the guard, smiled slightly—just with the corner of his lips:
"Thank you."
Walked. Snow making soft sounds under his feet.
Thought about how his life had collapsed. How alone he was.
Atlas's absence like a sharp knife. Every breath.
Lifted his head to the sky—snowflakes falling on his face.
Voice low:
"I had a life that was mine..."
Felt his chest tighten.
"Goddamn..." his breath breaking as he said it.
Walked toward the other side of the house. Heading toward the area with trees when the guard called from behind:
"That area's slippery, could be dangerous. Better not go there!"
Noah quickly wiped the irritation from his face. Turned, gave the guard a soft expression:
"Okay, you're right. Thank you."
Walking back to the house, his hands inside the coat completely cold. When he went inside, the warmth hit his face and his body trembled slightly.
Said to the female guard, "Could I get a coffee?" Voice calm, controlled.
When he entered the study, Sophie was there. Book in hand.
Sophie raised her head, slight smile:
"Hey Noah."
Noah responded with a slight nod.
"Hey."
Sophie raised the book in her hand.
"Did you finish it?"
Noah's eyes moved to her for a moment, then to the book.
"Yeah. This morning."
"I'm glad you finished it. What'd you think?"
"Better than I expected... The way people misunderstand each other is really clear."
Sophie raised her eyebrows slightly.
"So who do you think... was misunderstood the most?"
"Darcy. Because he seems cold from the outside."
The guard brought coffee and tea, set them on the table.
Sophie took her teacup.
"Do cold-seeming people interest you?"
Noah showed a brief smile.
"Sometimes. Quiet people usually hide more."
"Hmm... that's kind of like saying you're that way too."
"Maybe."
Sophie took a sip of her tea, looked at Noah.
"Elizabeth trusts her first impressions too much. Do you?"
Noah paused. Picked up his coffee cup, held it with both hands.
"No. First impressions are usually reflections of a person's own fears."
"Good perspective. So which is worse—misreading people or not reading them at all?"
Noah looked at the logs burning in the fireplace for a while.
"Misreading is worse... because if you don't realize it, you repeat the same mistake."
Sophie nodded.
"You read people well."
Noah took a sip of his coffee, didn't avoid her eyes.
"You do too."
Sophie laughed lightly.
"It's my job."
Sophie extended her hand as if pointing to the pages.
"Darcy hides his feelings a lot. Is that strength or weakness?"
"Strength. A person is strong as long as they can control their feelings."
"But doesn't hiding too much make you lonely?"
Noah looked at Sophie calmly.
"Loneliness is sometimes a safe place."
"Throughout the book everyone misunderstands each other. What do you do when you're misunderstood? Do you speak up?"
"Depends on the situation."
Sophie studied him carefully.
"So you withdraw."
"Sometimes yeah."
Sophie crossed her legs, studied Noah.
"So how do you choose who to trust?"
"People who haven't broken me."
Sophie smiled slightly when she heard this.
"I look more at behavior. Words can slip but behavior repeats."
Noah nodded.
"You're right about that."
Thomas and Richard. That's exactly why they're terrifying.
Sophie gestured with her hand as if holding the pages.
"Family pressure is huge in the book. What do you think about authority figures?"
Noah was silent for a moment, watched the snowflakes hitting the window.
"People who interfere too much in others' lives... aren't fair."
"How much say do you think you have in your own life?"
"Right now? Almost none."
Sophie stood up, walked to the window edge, leaned against it, looked at Noah.
"Darcy hides some things to protect the person he loves. How much can you hide for someone you love?"
"Enough to keep them safe."
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
"That's a very... loyal answer."
"Loyalty's important."
Sophie spoke in an innocent tone:
"So where did you see yourself most in the book?"
Noah took a short breath. Looked at the book on the table.
"Maybe... where Lizzy's undecided. How she sometimes has to suppress her feelings."
Sophie softened when she heard this.
"You suppress too."
Noah raised his eyes.
"Sometimes necessary."
If not now, when.
Noah asked the question like he was curious.
"What about you? Who in the story did you feel close to?"
Sophie raised her eyebrows slightly, like she wasn't expecting this question.
"Lizzy maybe. Her trying to read people's intentions is familiar to me."
Noah tilted his head.
"So... do you approach cold people? Like Darcy?"
Sophie smiled.
"Sometimes. But usually a person has to open up first."
"You're right."
Noah stood up, took his coffee and sat by the fireplace.
"How do you feel about someone lying to protect you?"
Sophie paused for a moment.
"If the intention's good... sometimes it's acceptable."
"That's interesting."
Sophie stood up, gathering her bag while looking at Noah.
"Want another book?"
Noah smiled slightly.
Calm, controlled, mask flawless.
"Sure. You pick."
"Okay," Sophie said. " I actually brought a few books—thought you might want something new."
Noah walked toward the window, slightly parted the curtain.
"You work even during the holidays," he said in a half-joking, half-observational tone.
Sophie smiled.
"I'm actually gone for a few days. Family visit. But I'll come back as soon as I return."
Noah just nodded.
No resentment, no emotion. Almost neutral.
Sophie left the room without saying anything else.
A few minutes later she came back with three books in hand.
Extended them toward Noah.
"Read whichever you want."
Noah looked at the books, then at Sophie.
"Thank you."
"See you January fifth," Sophie said.
"See you."
When the door closed, the room became silent again.
Noah looked at the books:
The Great Gatsby. Emma. The Remains of the Day.
Picked all of them up, examined the covers.
Then took a deep breath and set the books on the chair.
The door opened again.
A guard poked their head in.
"Where would you like your dinner, sir?"
Noah answered without thinking.
"Bring it to my room."
The guard bowed and left.
Noah took the books and went to his room.
Set them on the table.
Looked out the window; the garden lights had started turning on.
Door knocked again.
Dinner tray set on the table.
After the guard left, Noah looked at the tray.
If Sunny were here, he'd be with me now... Luna would be waiting at the table's edge.
Bitter warmth rose in his chest.
Took a piece of food, chewed without noticing.
Then his eyes moved to the books.
Picked up The Remains of the Day from the table and lay down on the bed.
Examined the book; the cover's texture, the sharp smell of the pages...
Then started reading.
Time passed.
Light changed.
Outside a door closed, someone walked, wind howled.
Noah set the book aside.
Rested his head against the bed's edge, closed his eyes.
What he'd read kept turning in his mind.
The silence lasted a bit too long.
The corners of his eyes warmed.
Then tears flowed—aimless, silent, not uncontrolled... just inevitable.
The chess book came to mind.
Dr. B's loneliness in the cell.
Noah pulled the pillow to his face.
His breath warmer inside the fabric, sharper.
I'm too much like this man... way too much.
After a while, thought turned to words—not spoken, but a sentence echoing inside:
God... how alone I am.
Pressed the pillow more.
How long can I keep this up…
No answer came.
The body finally surrendered.
Breath slowed.
Sleep, seeping through the thoughts, took him.