Lanterns in the Fog

Room 314...

Inside, the suite was plunged into semi-darkness. The storm clouds beyond the curtained balcony windows blocked out most of the daylight; a dull, bluish glow seeped in. The walls were decorated in old-world pastel wallpaper, and plush burgundy carpeting muffled their footsteps. The air smelled faintly of mildew and must. It was eerily familiar – and painfully intimate.

Dahlia sank onto the edge of the large king-sized bed. The crisp white sheets now held a few spots of dust and dirt from the collapse. Callum rifled through the minibar cabinets and found canned peaches, granola bars, and small bottles of water. 

"You okay?" he asked, placing the supplies on a small antique table. His voice was flat, clipped. 

Dahlia unwrapped an energy bar and took a bite. "My arm's throbbing. But still breathing fine." She touched the fresh bandage gently. 

Callum merely nodded. "Good. We need to ration these," he said, distributing water bottles. Then he walked over to the door, pushing his back against it. He flinched — even leaning on it hurt his back. Under his fingers, the door frame shuddered slightly as if still unsettled by the collapse.

Hours passed in silence. Callum stayed near the door, occasionally shining the flashlight down the dark hallway. Dahlia unfolded on the opposite side of the bed and tried the radio again. Static hissed into the quiet room. She switched it off, eyes fixed on a chipped wooden nightstand between two armchairs.

Moonlight filtered through ragged curtains, casting pale lines across a carved initial on the nightstand: C ♥ D, Est. 20XX. She traced the initials with her fingertip. In that moment, memories bubbled up like the fresh spring beneath the earth. 

Callum noticed her and cleared his throat. "It's still there?" He said quietly. 

"Yes," Dahlia whispered, absently fingering the initials. She turned her head to a frayed armchair. The cushion had an indentation that still held the shape of her body from earlier nights. She pressed her hand into the crumbly fabric. "You used to love that chair," she said softly. 

"I loved watching you read there." Dahlia continued, turning to look at Callum and smiling.

Callum set down a heavy metal pipe he'd used earlier to pry at the door. He didn't answer. Instead, he shuffled toward the bed. "You can take the bed," he said firmly, without looking at her. "I'll stay by the door." 

Dahlia lifted her gaze, searching his face. "You used to love that bed," she said gently. Callum inhaled sharply. "Used to," he whispered, eyes on the shadowy corridor.

As darkness fell outside, the flickering generator light in the hallway started to die. Eventually, it sputtered and went out, plunging them into blackness. 

Callum clicked on the flashlight he'd taken from the lobby kit and passed it to Dahlia. She waited. He sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the door frame. His face was tired but expressionless. She took the flashlight, set it on the bedside table, and crawled under the covers. The mattress dipped with the imprint of his absence. Their breath was the only sound except for the faint, steady hum of some distant building ventilation system. 

Dahlia closed her eyes on the comfortable pillow, but sleep did not come easily. She listened to Callum's even breathing. The bed creaked every so often as she moved, adjusting. She whimpered quietly about the wound in her arm that still ached.

The silence was a chasm – a reminder of the distance grown between them.

---

One year ago, same room, same bed...

Laughter spilled from the small kitchenette as Callum, wearing an apron absurdly covered in tomato sauce, twirled spaghetti onto two plates. Soft jazz spilled from a tiny speaker on the counter. Dahlia was searching frantically through their suitcases, trying to put together a dress she had left wrinkled, still giggling under her breath. 

"You almost forgot," she teased, pulling the fabric smooth. 

"No way," he laughed. "Our first anniversary deserves a surprise." He turned, revealing a tidy bouquet of wildflowers behind his back. Dahlia's eyes lit up. 

"Happy anniversary," he said, handing her the bouquet with a grin. The scent of eucalyptus filled the room. That night they dined by candlelight. On the TV, soft instrumental music played. Callum clinked his wine glass against hers. "To us," he whispered. 

They danced barefoot in the living area, wine in hand. Dahlia stepped on a small bronze bell on his wrist, revealing a vintage watch she had bought for him as a surprise. "It's beautiful," he breathed, eyes shining. 

She grinned and counted the change that had jingled in her pocket as he slid the watch on her wrist. 

After dinner, they stumbled onto the bedroom, colliding into warm, honest lovemaking. The air was sweet with first-year memories. 

---

Back to present...

Dahlia sat up on the bed and wiped her tearful eyes. A folded yellow candle stub lay on the nightstand, half-burned. The carving on the wood was worn – the edges of C ♥ D fading. Dahlia pressed her finger against the wood grain. "I won't forget," she whispered. Callum had curled against the door and fallen asleep. 

He twitched in a dream, likely remembering some joke from that night. For the moment, the distance between them felt smaller.