Mystic Love

A pair of footprints stretched across the snow-covered ground.

As far as the eye could see, an endless row of dots suggested a path on the flat, featureless plain.

The small footprints, initially wavering as if unsure which way to go, eventually proceeded straight ahead and vanished into the thin mist.

The mist surrounding the area seemed to absorb even the sound, creating an uncomfortable silence. The scene, too sparse to be called a snowy landscape, felt almost unreal.

Once I go through this mist . . .

The moment I quietly murmured that, I thought I heard a whispering voice from behind me, and I was at a loss for words. I looked behind me.

But there was no one there. There couldn't be anyone there.

Was I hearing things? Was it the whisper of a ghost? A chill ran down my spine. I felt as though something was pushing me forward, so I gently stepped one foot onto the snow.

The snow was soft, and my shoe sank into it with a dry sound. It was deeper than I had expected, almost trapping my leg.

A chill brushed against my cheeks.

As I inhaled, the air was so cold it made me cough. I tried to breathe slowly, afraid to disturb the air, the white mist of each exhale disappearing quickly.

Why is there so much white everywhere?

I felt a sense of anxiety.

The pure white made me restless. Staring at it made me feel as if my body could be swallowed by an endless void.

I must hurry.

Despite my urgency, the mist disoriented me, slowing me down.

Any warmth I had was being drained from my body through my feet. The cold clung to my throat, and I was gripped by a disturbing sense that the mist was playing with me, toying with my mind.

It was so mysterious.

In such uncertain surroundings, without landmarks to guide them, one could quickly become lost.

I continued following the evenly spaced footprints in the snow; they were like unfamiliar characters printed on a stark white page, my own steps adding to the story.

New prints overlapped the old.

It was a pattern with an endless repetition.

While following the tracks in the snow, I unconsciously counted them. Numbers are appealing, comforting at a time like this.

Especially at a time like this.

If I didn't do this, my fragile psyche couldn't stay calm. The immense void would quickly crush me with anxiety. Forgetting to think, judge, or interpret, I focused only on counting, and at least for that moment, the anxiety slightly subsided.

Two hundred seventeen, two hundred eighteen, two hundred nineteen, two hundred twenty . . .

I stumbled on what must have been a stone beneath the snow but quickly regained my balance.

Such a tiny fragment of a stone, small enough to fit comfortably in my palm, was enough to disturb my mind. It felt like an omen of dire misfortune, causing my breath to become erratic.

I looked out at the vast expanse ahead.

I was starting to get frustrated that the scenery hadn't changed at all, even after walking so far. Maybe I was walking straight, but in reality, I was just going around in circles. An unpleasant thought crossed my mind.

How is an open plain different from a maze?

In this plain with no landmarks, how was I going to reach the destination? How was I supposed to know I was on the right path when I couldn't distinguish the start from the end? What if there was no end at all?

Without even realizing I was lost, I might wander forever. That would have been the worst—or best maze—just like how a plain white puzzle is the most difficult jigsaw puzzle.

I've heard somewhere about a maze made from a single straight line—straight lines could be frustrating, too.

It's an incredibly frightening idea, isn't it?

If people can get lost even on a straight line, how can they escape such a maze? In that place, the very concept of being lost becomes something entirely different.

My thoughts sank deeper and deeper.

When I was young, my friends used to call me lost.

Of course, it was probably just a trivial joke that the person would forget the moment they said it.

Still, it sounded like it had a ring of truth to it. I felt as if I was being told I had no choice but to continue to be confused for the rest of my life.

The moment I remembered those words, I shivered. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. It was such a shock.

Even now, when I think back to that time, I feel indescribably complicated emotions.

For some reason, I couldn't forget that one word.

Now that I think about it, perhaps I never truly escaped the maze I got lost in at back then.

As I walked, my thoughts wandered aimlessly.

How long had I been walking?

My body heat had been completely drained, and I couldn't feel my hands or feet. I no longer knew where I was going or why. Still, driven by an unfounded sense of mission on my strange solo march, I continued counting footprints.