Neither I nor a painter could ever depict the cold and darkness of a morning. A painter could only color, and I could only tell. But God was not like that; He could draw, paint, and express Himself through holy texts. The truth is, a human is weak; yet, they could easily erase themselves from God's painting.

***

The young woman left her house in the early hours of the morning. She walked silently down the cold, dark street. When she turned right at the end of the road and came out onto the avenue, there was still no one. She had hoped at least a few cars would pass, so she continued walking on the sidewalk. Her hands were in her coat pockets; as she walked with quick steps, a familiar voice suddenly stopped her:

“You forgot your gloves!”

She turned her head and saw the man sitting on the opposite sidewalk, watching her. If she had continued straight at the end of the road, or had never left the house, this moment would never have happened. She was happy to see him, but she didn’t like this coincidence. Because this wasn't like winning the lottery; it was more like having a supernatural power. Those around her would have thought she was crazy; she wasn't lucky.

The young woman stood in place for a while, silently, without looking back. Neither of them moved. Finally, her knees gave way against her will, and she sat down on the sidewalk. She pulled her knees to her chest, clasped her hands, and hid her head. She no longer wanted to carry her head; she wanted to tuck it under her arm and walk with only her body. If she buried her hands in the soil, there would be nothing left to think about.

“You forgot your gloves.”

After the repeated sentence, the young woman waited for him to say something else, but silence prevailed. She raised her head from its hiding place, looked at him, and said:

“I know.”

The man took a cigarette pack from his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it. He exhaled the smoke slowly, saying:

“It's cold, you know.”

“I’m not cold,” the young woman replied in a quiet, ordinary voice.

The man finished his cigarette, threw it on the ground, and crushed it with his foot. Then he slowly stood up, turned his back, and began to walk away. The young woman paused for a few seconds, then jumped up and ran after him.

The street quickly fell away behind them. The man's shadow glided ahead, and the woman, out of breath, tried to catch up. The stone path under her feet suddenly changed. The young woman stumbled and realized she was no longer on a street; she was in a forest. Trees reached toward the sky, their branches intertwined. A cold wind blew through the leaves. The man was still moving forward; the young woman continued to run to keep from losing sight of him.

She finally caught up to him by a roaring river. The man was watching the river. The young woman took her last steps and touched his shoulder.

The man slowly turned. His face was pale in the forest light; there was no familiar flicker in his eyes. He seemed real in every detail, but the woman felt her heart constrict. She took one more step; they were almost nose to nose. She reached out to touch his face. But her fingers passed through a cold emptiness instead of skin.

The woman flinched. "You... you're not real."

The man's eyes were looking at her, but there was no worldly spark within them. His lips moved, but no sound came out. At that moment, a strong wind blew. Leaves spun and flew, scattering everywhere. They both looked in the direction the leaves were coming from. The wind intensified; a roar rose in her ears. The leaves struck her face, blocking her view. Suddenly, she was thrown to the ground.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, a terrifying tornado appeared before her. The man was walking directly into it.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice trembling with fear. "Don't you see what's coming?" she shouted again and again, trying to get his attention.

But the man didn't hear. The young woman wanted to follow him, but she was too afraid to cross the river. The moment the man entered the tornado, the vortex pulled him in as well. The young woman remained on her knees, watching his disappearance.

"You didn't see it..." she said, her voice filled with sadness and sorrow.

The tornado slowly vanished; the leaves within it scattered down like rain from the sky. When the wind died down, the young woman crossed the river and walked toward the point where the tornado had disappeared. There, on a large pile of leaves, a pair of gloves lay.

When the young woman picked up the gloves, she found herself on an autumn morning, in the room where her beloved had taken his own life, waiting by his lifeless body.