Chapter 1
A week before the wedding, my fiancé, Randy Miller, told me he had to go on a business trip to Scanpia.
I was covering for a colleague at the airport's VIP counter when I checked his passport information. But the system said he was headed to Bayaka, not Scanpia.
His ex-girlfriend was there with him, and a handwritten itinerary card was sticking out of his suitcase.
It was Randy's handwriting: [To make up for the snow she missed ten years ago.]
*****
A week before the wedding, Randy told me he had to go on a business trip to Scanpia.
That morning, I got up at 6:30, ironed his black coat, and slipped his document holder into the outside pocket of his briefcase.
He stood by the door, changing his shoes, and adjusting his cuffs. His tone was as steady as ever.
"I'll be gone for three days. You'll have to handle the wedding stuff for now. I'll go over the details with you when I get back," he said.
I handed him his thermos and asked what time he'd be landing that night.
"A little after nine. I'll text you when I land," Randy replied.
I nodded, not thinking much of it.
Randy was a partner at an architecture firm, so last-minute business trips were part of the deal.
We'd been together for five years, and he rarely lied to me.
Or maybe he did, and I never noticed.
At 2:40 PM, one of my colleagues at the international departure VIP counter suddenly came down with a high fever.
Our supervisor asked in the group chat if anyone could cover for half a day.
I'd finished dealing with some messed-up luggage, so I said I could.
I'd been working in airport ground services for seven years, rotating through international check-in, VIP services, and handling flight cancellations and rescheduling.
My coworkers joked that I was like a jack-of-all-trades around, always filling in wherever someone was missing.
When I sat down at the VIP counter, the screen showed the next passenger's information. [Name: Randy Miller.]
And the ID number matched his, too.
I stared at the screen for several seconds, wondering if my sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on me after all those late nights with the wedding plans.
But the destination wasn't Scanpia.
It was Notyria City, Bayaka.
Before I could process it, a shadow suddenly loomed over the counter.
Randy was standing in front of me, wearing the coat I'd ironed for him that morning.
Next to him stood a woman with long hair, wearing a white sweater. She looked a bit pale, holding a passport.
I knew her.
She was Rhea Smith, Randy's first love from college.
One time, when his old phone was syncing photos, I accidentally caught a glimpse of her profile.
Randy snatched his phone back, deleted the photo in a flash, and muttered, "She's from way back."
But now, that girl from the past was standing in front of me, about to fly to Bayaka with Randy.
Rhea recognized me first.
She glanced at my name tag and then looked at Randy, her voice soft as she spoke, "Is she your fiancée?"
Randy's face changed for a moment.
For a second, he didn't look at Rhea or say anything. He locked eyes with me.
He lowered his voice and said, "Nicole, process our check-in first. When I get back, I'll explain everything to you."
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and suddenly, the airport AC felt harsh, like it was slicing against my skin.
There were still passengers waiting behind them.
I couldn't lose my cool at the counter, and I couldn't let my personal drama mess with my job.
So I checked their IDs, confirmed their flight, printed their boarding passes, and slapped the luggage tags onto their bags.
Not a single question left my lips the whole time.
When I was done, I handed their IDs and boarding passes back.
"Mr. Miller, Ms. Smith, have a pleasant flight," I said.
Randy's hand froze in midair.
I bet he'd never heard me call him that before.
I didn't call him Randy or the name I used to call him.
Now, I called him Mr. Miller.
Rhea's luggage was 4.5 pounds over the limit.
I reminded her that she'd need to take some stuff out or pay the overweight fee.
She mumbled an apology and crouched down to open her suitcase.
Her suitcase was packed with all sorts of things: a thick coat, a scarf, a thermos, a medicine box, and a light gray camera bag.
As she was digging around for her power bank, a red scarf slipped out from a side pocket.
After that, a folded itinerary card tumbled out, too.
I was going through the motions, reminding her to keep her ID and personal stuff together.
But the card happened to open up at the perfect angle, and the handwriting was too familiar.
It was Randy's handwriting.
[Day 1: After landing, head straight to the hotel to rest. She gets cold easily, so make sure the hotel turns on the heat in advance.
[Day 2: Take photos by the Fokast River. The red scarf is in the suitcase. Don't forget the camera.
[Day 3: Go see the snow and make up for the snow she never got to see ten years ago.
[The last line read: Don't let her cry.]
When I saw those words, it felt like something was slowly pressing down on my chest.
It wasn't heavy.
But it felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Three years ago, I'd sent Randy a North Wekins travel guide, too.
Back then, we'd picked out our future home, and I came across a video of a snowy landscape. I was so excited that I sent him the link right away.
I said, "Once we're married, how about we go to Bayaka and see the snow?"
He left me hanging for ages before replying. "Stop dreaming about things that aren't realistic.
"We haven't even started paying off the mortgage on our future home."
I felt a bit disappointed, but I sent him a meme in response.
Later, I deleted that travel guide.
It wasn't that I didn't want to go anymore.
I was afraid I'd sound unreasonable if I brought it up again.
Now I finally realized that what was unrealistic wasn't Bayaka, or the snow, or even that red scarf.
What was unrealistic was thinking I could wait around until he was finally willing.
Rhea quickly grabbed the itinerary card and shoved it back into her suitcase.
She seemed to realize I'd seen it, and her hands fumbled a bit, flustered.