I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring like it had a personal vendetta against me. Ugh. Monday mornings should be illegal, honestly. I groaned, swatting at the phone, and for a few seconds, I considered just staying under the blanket forever. The city outside my window hummed along like it didn't care about my misery, and honestly, I didn't blame it.
Clara's voice floated in from next door, faint but impossibly cheerful. "Rudra! You alive in there?"
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. Of course she was awake. She always was. She had this energy, this ridiculous, unstoppable bubble of optimism that somehow rubbed off on me. Or maybe it just annoyed me. Probably both.
"Alive!" I yelled back, grabbing my pillow and flopping it over my head. "Barely."
There was a short pause and then a laugh. That laugh. God, that laugh. Even now, years after we'd known each other, it could make my chest feel warm and heavy at the same time.
I finally dragged myself out of bed, rubbed my eyes, and stared at the room like it owed me an explanation for why the sun was already so bright. My parents were gone. It still hit me sometimes, mornings like this. The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and it felt like the walls were leaning in a little closer, reminding me that I was alone… well, mostly. Clara was my lifeline, my sanity anchor, even if she didn't live here.
The first thing I did was check my desk. The pendant she had given me was there, just where I always left it last night. Tiny, delicate, stupidly precious. I traced it with my fingers for a moment, thinking about her. She'd given it to me two Christmases ago, but it was more than a gift. It was a reminder that someone cared about me, that I wasn't completely untethered from the world.
I dressed in a lazy combo of hoodie and jeans. I wasn't trying to impress anyone today—not that Clara needed impressing—but somehow, it felt like even my outfit mattered. Not that she would ever say it, but she noticed things. She always did.
By the time I made it to the hallway, she was leaning over her balcony, waving frantically. "Morning, Rudra! You're going to miss the bus if you don't move!"
I waved back, pretending to scowl. "I'll miss it if I want to, okay?"
She shook her head, laughing, the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt if you let it. "That's what I thought. Move your lazy butt."
I grabbed my bag and jogged to the bus stop, feeling like a ridiculous cartoon character in motion. She was already there, sipping coffee from that giant mug she always carried. "I got yours too," she said, passing me a cup. "No sugar, black. Don't screw it up."
"I wouldn't," I said, taking a sip. "I mean, unless you've secretly been poisoning it or something. In which case… thanks?"
She laughed again, and I thought maybe the city could collapse around us and it wouldn't matter as long as she was there.
---
Class was… class. The usual blur of lectures, notes, and doodles in the margins of my notebook. I couldn't help but sketch little things sometimes—Clara laughing at something stupid, a pigeon landing weirdly on the windowsill, a random shadow that caught my eye. Not because I had to, but because I couldn't not.
During lunch, I found her on the usual bench. She was hunched over her medical notes like she was trying to memorize every cell in the human body by sheer willpower. She looked up as I plopped down beside her.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She squinted at me, like she could read my mind. Probably could. "You're quiet today."
"Am I?" I asked, shoving a bite of sandwich into my mouth. "Maybe I'm just thinking about… important stuff."
"Like what?"
I swallowed and tried to act casual, failing miserably. "Nothing. Just… life, school, my ridiculously complicated future, existential dread—normal things."
She laughed softly. "You always make it sound so dramatic."
"Dramatic? Me?" I raised my eyebrows. "Never."
She nudged me lightly with her shoulder. "You're impossible."
And then, for some reason, I said it. "I dreamt about them last night." My voice was quiet, but enough for her to catch it. My parents. God, I hated how the words felt heavy and hollow at the same time.
"Rudra," she said gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shrugged. "I don't know… maybe. I just… I keep thinking about how suddenly they were gone. Covid hit, and then… nothing. Just silence."
She reached over and grabbed my hand. Warm, steady, grounding. "You're not alone, Rudra. You have me."
I wanted to say more, something that sounded profound, but instead, I just nodded. She didn't need me to explain it all. She didn't need anything from me except… me, sitting there with her, sharing this small, quiet moment.
---
Afternoon classes were a blur. My mind kept drifting back to her—the way she laughed at tiny things, how she got frustrated when the notes didn't make sense, how she somehow found joy in the mundane chaos of medical school.
Afterward, I caught up with her near the courtyard fountain. "Daydreaming again?" I teased, plopping down beside her.
"Just… thinking," she said, hiding a smile. "About assignments. And maybe… about life."
"Life's complicated," I said. "Like, ridiculously complicated. I sketch things to make sense of it sometimes."
She tilted her head. "Like me?"
I laughed. "Exactly like you."
We sat quietly for a while, just listening to the city. I pulled out the small sketchbook I'd been carrying, doodling a rough outline of her face. Not perfect. Not polished. But it was her, and that was enough.
"Do you ever think about the future?" she asked suddenly.
I paused. "All the time. Art, the NYPD… life after college. It's all a mess of possibilities. And scary, too."
"Messy is okay," she said. "You just have to try. And I'll be here."
Her words were simple, but I felt them like a jolt through my chest. Her faith in me, just like always, steady and unwavering. I realized then that no matter what happened—life, death, school, the world—I had someone who believed in me.
---
Evening came, and we walked back through streets glowing with city lights. I felt a strange mixture of peace and anxiety. The pendant she had given me pressed lightly against my chest, a reminder that someone cared, that I had something to fight for.
I thought about the future, about the little velvet box in my jacket pocket, about the countless mornings and nights we had shared. And I realized, as I watched her laugh at some ridiculous joke I didn't even remember telling, that life could be terrifying, messy, and beautiful all at once.
I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to give her the ring and say all the things that felt impossible to put into words. But for now, I just walked beside her, held her hand when I could, and let the city hum around us.
Because some things—some people—were worth everything. And Clara… was my everything.