Aion stepped into the frozen city, enveloped by a silence so absolute it felt physically heavy against his ears. Where once the hum of traffic and murmuring crowds would have shaped the urban soundscape, now nothing stirred. Without voices, engines, or laughter, the streets resembled a meticulous stage set—every person poised in some half-finished action.

  He started by retracing his usual daily path. Here stood the flower vendor, her bright bouquet held out in mid-sale, lips parted in a warm smile that now felt strangely artificial. Further on, a jogger hung in mid-stride, face set with determination, muscles taut as if carved from stone. Normally, these sights would be fleeting, part of the city’s fluid dance. But now, each figure looked more like a vivid statue, locked in a single heartbeat of time. The result was both breathtaking and disconcerting.

  His own footsteps became the loudest sound in this museum of human life. Each step seemed to echo unnaturally, underscoring how alone he truly was. People around him had expressions that whispered untold stories—a man lost in thought over a cup of coffee, a mother bending to zip her child’s coat. Aion found himself imagining what had been in their minds at that very instant. Yet the city, so familiar in design, felt alien without motion.

  Driven by a surge of curiosity—and, perhaps, the knowledge that time was no longer a barrier—Aion ventured into a part of the neighborhood he’d never bothered to explore. Down a narrow alley, a weathered sign proclaimed: Chapters and Coffee. Through the frosted windows, he glimpsed a cozy interior lined with shelves of books and small tables. In the stillness, the place exuded an almost magical pull.

  Inside, a handful of patrons were caught mid-breath. A man perched on a stool, nose buried in a novel; a barista extending a steaming latte; a swirl of foam frozen above the cup. Aion scanned the scene until his eyes landed on her.

  Peach sat near the window, chin tilted up as if she’d just glanced in his direction. His pulse jumped. For a fleeting second, he almost believed she moved—her eyes seemed to meet his.

  “Peach?” he said, voice resonating too loudly in the hush. No response. She remained perfectly still, the gentle curl of her light brown hair framing a face full of life that would never surface. Aion’s mouth went dry at the reminder of the stranger’s words: You’ll be the only one untouched.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  With a faint, self-conscious chuckle, he murmured, “Guess I can’t help hoping.”

  He made his way over to her table. The seat across from her felt like forbidden territory, yet he lowered himself into it. Studying her features—soft makeup, a hint of blush, a stylish outfit blending elegance with a casual edge—he realized how much he’d taken for granted. The black dress paired with a white jacket hinted at polished confidence; the flat shoes and loose hair made her approachable. She looked at once refined and real, a dynamic presence now robbed of motion.

  “If you could hear me, I’d tell you how... weird this all is,” he said quietly, a shaky laugh slipping through. “But it’s still better than being completely alone.” He glanced out the window, where the waning daylight bathed the silent street in gold and amber. The contrast between the warmth of the light and the absolute stillness gave everything a surreal glow.

  Time felt meaningless as he watched her. The book in her hands, the slight parting of her lips as if ready to speak—these details hit him like tiny heartbreaks. She existed in a moment that would never advance. Maybe that’s a blessing, he thought. No fear, no uncertainty.

  He reached out, brushing his fingertips over her hand. Her skin felt warm—disarmingly so, given her unmoving state. For one wild moment, he pictured her grip tightening, her gaze shifting to his. But the café remained silent, no miracle of motion stirred. He sighed, letting his hand fall away.

  “I’ll come back,” he promised softly, though he knew she couldn’t hear. “You won’t notice, but... it matters to me.”

  He rose, leaving her as he found her—caught in that perfect, unchanging instant. Outside, the hush of the city enfolded him again, and a realization settled in his chest like a weight: this world, with all its freedom, was also a prison. He might wander for centuries, but he would do so alone.

  At the corner, he paused and glanced back at the café door. Peach’s frozen form lingered in his mind—a reminder of the life he’d left behind, and a symbol of everything he could no longer share. With a long, uneven breath, he turned and walked on. Block after silent block stretched out before him, each street a portrait of suspended stories.

  Despite the sinking heaviness in his chest, Aion resolved to keep searching—for meaning in this peculiar eternity, for a reason to keep moving, for hope in a future that might finally offer some semblance of connection. He had chosen this path. Now, he had to find a way to live it.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson