Page 7 of Johan.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Oma, the sound piercing through the cold, making it feel even more real. “Engaged?” Her surprise is clear, her voice almost a whisper. “But to whom, Hannah?”

“To Ludovic Goschen’s daughter,” I say hesitantly, feeling as if by speaking about them, I’m cementing a reality I’m not ready to accept.

Oma gasps, and I can hear the shock in her voice, the way it trembles slightly. “Ludovic? Amelia’s Ludovic? Oh God, why on earth would Johan do that?”

I glance around the garden, making sure I'm still alone, then lower my voice even more, the cold making my words feel heavier somehow. “It's complicated. He’s being forced into this engagement. There are several reasons, but I can’t talk about them over the phone. It's not safe.”

There’s another pause, filled with her concern, the kind of pause that makes me feel the gravity of the situation even more. “Oh, my dear,” Oma finally says, her voice laced with worry. “That sounds dreadful. Be careful, won’t you?”

“I will, I promise,” I assure her, though the weight of that promise feels like a heavy burden. I pause, trying to find the right words to express how I’m feeling, but all I can manage is a sigh, my breath clouding in the air. “It’s just… tough, you know. I really liked him, and Mom did nothing to help except criticize me.”

Oma, always sensing when I need a change in mood, tries to lighten the conversation. “Do you have any plans this weekend?I could come over and see you. I bought a property in the Cotswolds and need to go there to inspect the estate.”

Her words bring warmth to my chest, a smile finally breaking through the cold that has settled over me. The thought of seeing her, of escaping everything for a bit, feels like a small beacon of hope. “I’d love that. It’ll be good to see you.”

“Then it’s settled. I'll arrange my flight and send you the address,” she says, her voice warm and filled with reassurance.

As I consider ending the call, an idea comes to me, one that feels like it could be a turning point. “Oma?”

“Yes?” she replies, a note of curiosity in her tone.

“Do you think I can…eh, invite Johan to spend the weekend with us? Maybe it’d be good for you to meet him, too.”

The silence that follows is longer this time, the seconds dragging out as I wait for her response, the cold seeping deeper into my bones. Finally, she speaks, her voice gentle and understanding. “Sure. After all, he’s the one who needs our support.”

Relief floods through me, warming me from the inside out. “Thank you for being so understanding, Oma. I knew I could count on you.”

“Of course, darling,” she replies, her words full of the love and support I needed to hear. “Well, see you soon.”

“See you soon, Oma. Love you,” I say, feeling a sense of peace I haven’t felt in days.

“Love you too, darling. Take care until then,” she responds, and with that, we end the call.

I sit there for a moment longer, the cold no longer bothering me as much, letting the quiet of the garden wash over me. The thought of Oma’s visit brings a sense of calm, a flicker of hope that maybe, with her wisdom, we can find a way to help Johan out of his situation.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I rise from the bench, gathering my things and heading back into the dimming light of the campus. The world feels a little less overwhelming now, and I feel ready to face whatever comes next.

As I leave the quiet sanctuary of the garden, the cold air hits me with an unexpected force, sharper and more biting than before. The wind has picked up, swirling through the campus with a ferocity that makes me instinctively hunch my shoulders against it. It howls through the bare branches overhead, making the trees creak and groan, their skeletal forms swaying under the gusts. The few remaining leaves are torn from their branches, sent spiraling through the air in a chaotic dance before being scattered across the frozen ground.

The wind pushes against me as I walk, almost as if it’s trying to force me back into the shelter of the garden. I pull my coat tighter, the fabric flapping wildly around my legs, and wish I had something more to protect my face from the bitter cold. Each breath comes out in a visible puff, quickly snatched away by the wind before it can even fade.

Ahead, through the blur of wind-whipped leaves and dust, I spot Conrad cycling along the path that winds through the campus green. Even from a distance, I can see him struggling slightly, his body leaning into the wind as he pedals against the relentless gusts. When he sees me, he slows down, braking smoothly despite the slippery path beneath his wheels. The wind tugs at his bike, but he manages to maintain control, stepping off with that effortless ease that always seems to surround him.

“Hey, Hannah!” he calls out, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the wind. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and his hair is tousled wildly by the gusts. “How are you holding up?” His voice carries a warmth that stands in stark contrast to the icy wind swirling around us.

I manage a small smile, though it feels stiff against the cold that’s numbing my face. “I’m alright, thanks,” I reply, my words nearly lost to the wind. “Just a lot going on right now.” I reach up to brush away a strand of hair that the wind has blown across my face, but it’s stubborn, sticking to my cheek with the cold.

Conrad nods, wheeling his bike over to the nearby rack. The frosted metal glistens as the wind rattles it against the steel frame. He secures it with a sturdy lock, the cold metal clinking sharply, the sound nearly drowned out by the howling wind.

“I was just about to grab something to eat before hitting the library to work on my master. Would you like to join me?” His voice is louder now, almost shouting to cut through the wind’s roar. He then adds quickly, “It’s just a casual friendly meetup, nothing more,” perhaps remembering the last time we made similar plans, which I had to cancel.

The memory of that flickers briefly in my mind, but it’s overshadowed by the thought of escaping this brutal wind for a while. The idea of a warm meal, of sitting indoors where the wind can’t reach, feels like a much-needed relief.

“That sounds great, actually,” I reply, feeling a surge of gratitude for the invitation. “Thanks for the invite.”

Conrad’s smile widens, his breath forming small clouds that are quickly torn apart by the wind. “Of course. And I promise, no heavy topics—just a break from everything.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, my spirits lifting slightly at the thought of a simple, warm meal away from the cold. We start walking together towards his parked bike, the wind still pushing against us, but somehow it feels less harsh with him beside me.

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