The day I was supposed to confess, I came home from school with my heart beating too fast for a normal afternoon.
The sky was warm, almost golden. I remember thinking it was unfairly beautiful for a day like that. My shoes made soft sounds against the pavement as I walked, and every few steps I would whisper the words again under my breath.
"I like you."
Too simple.
"I've liked you for a long time."
Too serious.
I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, closing it gently behind me.
"Mom, I'm home."
No answer.
The house was quiet, wrapped in lazy afternoon light. I dropped my bag on the couch and immediately unzipped it, pulling out the folded letter like it was something fragile.
The paper was slightly crumpled at the edges. I had opened and closed it too many times since morning.
I sat down and read the first line again.
I don't want to stay your best friend anymore.
My fingers pressed into the page, leaving small dents.
"Just give it to him," I told myself.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
I smiled automatically.
But it wasn't his name.
It was Hana.
Have you heard?
I frowned.
Another message came right after.
Alden collapsed at school. He's in the hospital.
Collapsed.
The word felt wrong. Out of place. Like it belonged to someone else's story.
My eyes reread the message again and again.
Collapsed?
No.
He was fine yesterday. He had been laughing too loudly during lunch, stealing fries from my tray like he always did. He had nudged my shoulder with his and said, "Why are you looking at me like that? You planning something?"
He had walked me to the gate.
He had turned back once before leaving and waved.
He was fine.
My fingers tightened around my phone.
It's serious, Hana sent.
Something inside my chest dropped.
The letter slipped from my hand and fell onto the floor.
The hospital felt colder than it should have been.
The lights were too bright. The air smelled sharp. My footsteps echoed in a way that made me feel small.
Room 312.
I stood in front of the door, staring at the number, trying to steady my breathing. My hand trembled when I pushed it open.
He was there.
Lying against white sheets that looked too stiff, too clean.
A machine blinked beside him. A quiet, steady beeping filled the room.
He looked smaller somehow.
When his eyes shifted toward me and he smiled, my throat tightened so hard I almost turned around and left.
"You look like you ran here," he said softly.
I stepped closer, each step careful.
"You didn't tell me," I whispered.
"I didn't want you to worry."
His voice was weaker than usual. It didn't carry that playful strength anymore.
"I'm worried," I said.
I pulled the chair closer and sat down beside him. My hands hovered awkwardly for a second before I reached for his.
His fingers were warm.
But they didn't close around mine the way they used to.
"It's my heart," he said quietly.
I swallowed. "How bad?"
He looked at the ceiling instead of me.
"They said… it might not get better."
Might not.
The words felt like knives wrapped in cotton.
My chest started to ache.
I squeezed his hand without realizing how tight I was holding it.
"You're crying," he murmured.
"I'm not."
But my voice shook, and tears slipped down anyway, one after another, landing on his hand.
He tried to lift his other hand to wipe my cheek, but it barely moved. It fell back onto the sheet, and I could see how tired that small movement made him.
"I was going to tell you something today," I said, the words breaking apart.
He turned his head slightly toward me.
"What?"
I inhaled sharply. My whole body felt like it was trembling.
"I like you," I said.
The room felt smaller after that.
"Not as a friend. I've liked you for years. I just didn't know how to say it."
For a moment, he only stared at me.
Then he smiled.
Not teasing. Not playful.
Soft.
"You're late," he whispered.
My breath hitched.
"I've liked you since that rainy day," he said. "I thought we had more time."
More time.
I lowered my forehead against our joined hands, my shoulders shaking. My tears soaked into the blanket beneath his fingers.
"We were supposed to grow up together," I whispered. "You said we'd travel. You said we'd leave this town. You said we'd—"
"I know."
His thumb moved weakly across my knuckles.
"If I can't stay… don't stop living."
"Don't say that," I choked.
"Promise me."
I couldn't.
The beeping beside him began to slow. The pauses stretched longer.
His fingers tightened suddenly.
"Thank you… for loving me."
And then—
The sound turned into one long, endless note.
I stared at him.
"Alden?"
I shook his hand gently.
"Alden, stop joking."
But he didn't open his eyes again.
His hand stayed in mine.
Warm.
And empty.
Years later, I still come back.
The cemetery is quieter than I remember it being the first time. The grass has grown thicker around his grave. The stone feels cold every time I touch it.
I sit down in front of it slowly, pulling my knees close to my chest.
"I'm here," I say softly.
My voice sounds different now. Older.
"I got promoted last month," I continue, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "You'd probably say it's because I'm bossy."
A small laugh escapes me, but it breaks halfway.
"I kept your messages," I admit. "I still read them sometimes."
My fingers press into the carved letters of his name.
"I tried to like someone else."
The words hurt more than I expect.
"I thought maybe if I forced myself, it would work."
My shoulders begin to shake.
"It didn't."
Tears fall faster now, dripping onto the stone, onto my hands.
"I still talk to you when something good happens," I whisper. "I still look for you in crowds without thinking."
My breathing turns uneven.
"You said not to stay stuck," I say, pressing my forehead against the cold surface. "But how do I move forward when you're still seventeen?"
My fingers curl against the grass.
"We were supposed to argue about stupid things. We were supposed to grow tired of each other. We were supposed to become something more."
A sob escapes me, louder this time.
"I didn't even get to hold your hand properly," I cry. "I didn't even get one normal day as yours."
The wind moves softly around me.
"I still love you," I whisper.
The sky slowly darkens, turning from orange to deep blue.
I stay there long after it's dark.
Because leaving still feels like saying goodbye all over again.
And I was never good at that.