Chapter 1
She first met Professor Hugo van der Meer at fifteen, within the pages of A Winter Promise, a birthday gift from her cousin. At first, it was the book she loved, but soon, her passion for reading grew insatiable. Books became their shared world, drawing the cousins closer.
By her seventeenth birthday, their bond felt unshakable. They planned a spa day, laughter filling the space between them-until the conversation turned to a school heartthrob, the boy every girl secretly admired. Realizing they shared the same crush, playful rivalry turned into something sharper. Each wanted to claim the upper hand, to be the one who got closer to him.
What started as teasing became tense, and before the day was over, the warmth between them had faded, replaced by a quiet rift neither knew how to mend.
Disheartened, Hazel retreated to her den. The room was a warm cocoon, wrapped in the soft glow of string lights. Bookshelves lined the walls, heavy with well-loved stories whispering of distant worlds. A cushioned daybed beneath the window, layered with pillows and a fur throw, beckoned her to sink into its embrace.
Outside, night pressed against the glass, bare branches tapping like restless fingers. A candle flickered on the windowsill, its glow casting shadows over the open book in her lap. She turned the page-then paused.
She reread the passage where Dr. Hugo gently consoled the heroine, who bore the quiet cruelty of her guardian aunt. His words, steady and kind, wrapped around her like a shield. His gestures-small but deliberate-made her feel safe.
A wave of familiarity washed over her. She had read this scene before, two years ago. Back then, it had been just another moment in the story. Now, it felt different, as if the warmth in his voice reached beyond the pages.
Her gaze drifted to the book's cover, and a soft glow bloomed in her chest. A Winter Promise.
This was the first time it happened. From that moment on, whenever Hazel felt lonely, overwhelmed, or heartbroken, she would return to A Winter Promise, seeking comfort in its familiar words. The book became her refuge, a place where she could escape.
Until one evening, lost in its pages once again, a strange feeling crept over her. It was subtle at first-like the weight of an unseen gaze, the shift of something just beyond her reach. As if someone inside the story had noticed her.
Back in his grand library, miles and worlds away, Dr. Hugo van der Meer stood motionless. The room was a haven of quiet luxury-wood-paneled walls, towering bookshelves, and a vast mahogany desk. A warm glow from the lamps softened the edges of the space, blending with the silver light spilling in through tall windows.
He was a man of commanding presence-tall, broad-shouldered, his athletic build carried with effortless grace. His pale blue, hooded eyes, set beneath a high-bridged nose, held a sharp, assessing glint. A firm mouth, settled over a decisive chin, remained unreadable. His thick, pale-straw hair, streaked with silver at the temples, caught the firelight as he turned his head, sensing... something.
Something-or someone-watching.
In his red-brick home of Alkmaar, a shift had begun.
Dr. Hugo van der Meer sat in the morning room, his tea cooling beside him. Sunlight spilled through the tall French windows, illuminating the rose garden in full bloom. It was a rare moment of quiet, yet his thoughts were restless.
Penelope crossed his mind. Mousy, unremarkable Penelope. Why her? He had no reason to dwell on a quiet staff nurse when something-or rather, someone-far more unsettling lingered at the edges of his thoughts. Someone who didn't belong to his world yet made him feel watched, known.
His phone buzzed. He exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away.
"Professor," his registrar's voice crackled through the line, urgent. "The patient from yesterday's operation-his condition has worsened. We need you."
Dr. Hugo straightened, already reaching for his coat. "I'll be there."
Outside the book, Hazel longed for understanding. She traced the worn edges of the pages, her heart heavy. Why does it feel like the Professor can sense me? Or rather... that I can feel him sensing me? The thought unsettled her. Am I losing my mind, or is this some kind of magic? An answer to my prayers?
She closed the book with a sigh and curled up in bed, her birthday forgotten, lost in the quiet ache of longing.
Inside the hospital, Dr. Hugo van der Meer exhaled, an inexplicable weight lifting from his chest. For the first time in hours, he felt... alone. The sensation should have been familiar-he had always been alone-but now, its sharpness stung. As if someone who had been watching over him was suddenly gone.
The doors to the operating room swung open. Penelope entered, her carroty hair glinting beneath the stark white of her cap. Her emerald-green eyes, bright and questioning, locked onto his.
"Are you done with the patient?" A brief hesitation. "Sir."
"Mm... Y-Yes," he murmured, barely registering her presence. "You may wheel him out, staff."
His voice lacked its usual authority. His mind was elsewhere-lost in a presence he couldn't name.
Midnight. Hazel sat up in bed, her heart restless. She threw off the covers, the chill of the night brushing against her skin, but it wasn't the cold that unsettled her.
She reached for A Winter Promise, the worn spine fitting perfectly in her palm. It sat neatly on the shelf beside her bed, always within reach-always waiting.
Taking a deep breath, she opened it, the familiar scent of paper and ink wrapping around her like an old embrace. She hesitated before turning the page, heart pounding. If I speak... will he hear me?
She read a passage aloud, slowly, deliberately, letting her voice shape the words.
Inside the book, Dr. Hugo sat in his study, a medical journal open before him. A strange sensation prickled at the back of his mind. The words on the page seemed to hum, as if someone else-someone unseen-was speaking them alongside him. He frowned and glanced around.
"Who's there?" he muttered under his breath.
Hazel gasped. The book trembled in her hands.
She slammed the book shut, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. Pulling the covers over herself, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing sleep to come-though it felt like an eternity before it finally did.
By morning, she woke feeling refreshed, though a lingering restlessness remained. Needing to clear her head, she decided to take a walk before getting ready for school.
The crisp morning air bit at Hazel's skin as she wandered along the empty sidewalk, her breath curling in soft clouds before her. She had hoped the walk would clear her mind, but the unease from last night still clung to her like a second skin.
Professor Hugo.
The name drifted through her thoughts unbidden, bringing a dull ache to her chest. She had spent too many nights lost in A Winter Promise, tracing his words across the pages, feeling an impossible kind of comfort in his presence. His wisdom, his patience, the way he always seemed to understand-he was more real to her than anyone she had spoken to in days.
Hazel sighed, kicking at a stray pebble on the pavement. Why did she feel this way? It was ridiculous, childish even, to long for a fictional character's company. And yet, when she thought of his steady gaze, his quiet reassurances, the way he made the heroine feel seen-it was more than she had felt in a long time.
Her feet carried her to a small park bench, and she sank onto it, hugging her coat tighter around herself. She wanted to open her book again, to lose herself in that world, but the thought scared her too. Because each time she turned the pages, reality seemed a little less satisfying.
And that, more than anything, was what truly unsettled. She rose from the bench with a sigh and headed home to get ready for school.
That was another ordeal entirely. Her best friend-her confidant for years-had transferred to a new school after her parents' job relocation. Now, Hazel was left to navigate the chaos of her thoughts alone. There was no one to confide in, no one to share the strange weight pressing on her chest.
For the first time in a long while, she truly felt alone.
On her way home, a thought struck Hazel-A Winter Promise. More specifically, Professor Hugo. She had him.
A warmth spread through her as she recalled his words to Penelope, his quiet concern for his patients, his sister, and her family. Right now, that was what Hazel longed for-someone to understand her, to listen, to offer the kind of company that wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. And in some way, Professor Hugo did.
The moment she stepped inside, she headed straight for her room, but her mother's voice stopped her.
"Hazel! Come here when you're ready. I'm waiting for you in the living room."
Sighing, Hazel freshened up and changed into her comfy pyjamas, tying her golden locks into a loose French knot. When she entered the living room, her parents were already deep in conversation.
"Tomorrow is Sunday," her father said with a smile. "Do you have any plans, or would you like to come with us to your aunt's place?"
Relief washed over her. Sunday meant an all-nighter with her book. "I think I'll stay home. I have a lot to catch up on, so I'll start tonight."
She gathered the tea things and carried them to the kitchen, placing them in the dishwasher. Just then, a soft shuffle sounded behind her. For a second, she froze, her heart pounding with a wild, impossible hope. What if, when I turn around, he's there? A towering figure, leaning casually against the fridge, deep-set eyes watching her with unreadable intensity, maybe even a trace of a smile beneath that serious expression...
But the illusion shattered in an instant as her father entered, setting a grocery bag on the table.
"Mom, can I have an early dinner? Or just a light supper?" Hazel asked over her shoulder, already retreating toward her room.
Her mother sighed. "This girl! I don't know what's gotten into her ever since your sister's daughter had that fallout with her."
Her father, ever patient, brushed off the comment. Hazel didn't stay to hear more.
In her room, she transformed the space into a cozy retreat-lighting candles, switching on the soft glow of string lights, tossing pillows and blankets onto her already plush bed. Finally, she reached for her book.
Running her fingers over the cover, she whispered, "Tonight, we meet. I have so much to ask... and even more to tell. Please... respond to me."
She paid closer attention-not just to the story, but to the spaces in between.
Dr. Hugo, deep in thought, walked the hospital corridors. His steps slowed. That feeling again... He shook his head. No, it's absurd.
Penelope approached him. "Professor? Are you feeling unwell?"
His eyes flickered, as if distracted by something just beyond reach. "No, just... a sense of being observed."
Penelope frowned. "By whom?"
Dr. Hugo hesitated. "I don't know."
Hazel, outside the book, pressed a hand to her chest. He's starting to notice me.
The hospital garden was quiet, the afternoon sun casting golden light over the stone benches. Dr. Hugo sat with Penelope, his hands loosely clasped together, his usual sternness softened by the stillness of the moment.
"You never take time for yourself, Professor," Penelope said, placing a cup of tea beside him.
Dr. Hugo exhaled, as if considering the weight of her words. "Perhaps I don't know how."
Hazel traced the lines of the page with her fingertips, lingering over their conversation. The warmth between them wasn't grand or dramatic-it was quiet, steady, something that anchored her.
She read and reread this moment, returning to it like a well-loved melody. In Penelope's gentle persistence, she saw her own guarded heart. In Dr. Hugo's hesitations, she saw a kindness she longed for.
Hazel curled up in her reading nook, the book open in her lap. The lamp cast a soft glow over the pages, but she barely needed the light-she knew this part by heart.
Penelope had just left the garden, and Dr. Hugo sat alone, staring after her, lost in thought. Hazel felt it again-the weight in his silence, the ache of something unspoken.
She touched the words with careful fingers. Are you lonely? She wondered.
Inside the book, Dr. Hugo stiffened. A strange hush settled over him, heavier than the evening air.
He had felt it again. That presence. A whisper of thought that wasn't his own.
He turned abruptly, scanning the empty garden. Nothing. And yet... something lingered, just out of reach.
His hands clenched. This wasn't his imagination. It couldn't be.
Hazel held her breath, staring at the page.
Dr. Hugo stood, his decision made. He would find out who-no, what-was watching him.
And for the first time, he was no longer afraid of the answer.
Dr. Hugo paced his study, fingers drumming against his desk. He had spent months feeling her presence, sensing her emotions, her longing. But she was untouchable, unreachable.
Unless...
He reached for a fountain pen and, with careful strokes, wrote a note in the margins of his medical journal. Words that weren't meant for Penelope, nor for anyone else in his world. "Who are you?"
Hazel gasped as she turned the page. The words weren't part of the book. They had never been there before. Her fingers hovered over the ink, the letters crisp and clear.
Dr. Hugo was talking to her!
After the incident, Hazel's belief that Professor Hugo could sense her only grew stronger. She started carrying A Winter Promise with her everywhere-tucked under her textbooks in her school bag, hidden inside her desk.
She stole glimpses between classes, during lunch breaks, even in the library when she was supposed to be studying. It felt almost like hanging out with a boyfriend-except he wasn't real.
Lately, while reading, she began noticing tiny shifts. Professor Hugo hesitated mid-sentence. His gaze lingered longer in certain scenes. Moments that once felt familiar now seemed slightly... off.
