The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn’t find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller.The storyteller didn’t exist anymore.

And she imagined how things could be later. It was stupid, but the picture just appeared in her mind. Abel and Magnus shoveling snow together… in twenty years, in thirty. Magnus had grown old, his...

The white noise from the old Walkman enveloped them both; like a blanket of new snow, it draped itself over them, shutting out all the curious looks.And the world under the blanket was – surprisingly,...

And the snow that fell onto the roof in winter… it fell softly… softly… and it covered the house, the armchair, the books, the children’s voices. It covered Anna and Abel, covered their parallel world,...

As long as you’re better at it than skating…,” Anna said and stood up too. She wanted to say more, but that wasn’t possible because he was kissing her. Reasonable Anna wanted to draw back...