He came again the next night.
Same path. Same silence.
Different fear.
This time, he didnât wait for the stars to show.
He walked faster.
Because something inside him whisperedâ
âWhat if sheâs not there tonight?â
He didnât want to feel that again.
The ache. The empty space.
That unbearable silence.
So he rushed.
Hands cold.
Breath shaky.
Eyes searching the dark before the shadows could answer.
And thenâ
She was there.
Same spot.
Same hoodie.
Same coffee can by her feet.
He didnât smile.
Didnât tease.
Just walked up and sat beside her like the seat was made only for him.
She looked at him.
Didnât say hi.
Only whisperedâ
âIâm scared.â
He froze.
Those two words held too much weight.
ââ¦why?â he asked quietly.
She didnât answer for a moment.
Then softlyâ
âBecause Iâm starting to remember things that arenât from this life.â
His chest sank.
âWhat do you mean?â
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She looked up at the sky.
âYou ever dream about places youâve never been⦠but feel like home?â
He nodded.
Too fast.
Because he understood.
She kept talking.
âI dream of water. Big lakes. And windmills. A house made of blue wood. A little girl running around barefoot. Her laugh sounds like bells.â
She closed her eyes.
Voice trembling now.
âAnd every time I wake up⦠I feel like Iâm forgetting her. More and more. And it hurts. Like a part of me is dying again.â
He didnât know what to say.
So he said nothing.
Sometimes silence is all you can give when truth breaks someone.
Then she looked at him.
Tears in her eyes.
Not falling. Just waiting.
ââ¦what if I was never meant to be here?â she asked.
He turned to her, fast.
âYou are.â
Her voice cracked. âBut what if Iâm just⦠borrowing time?â
âThen borrow more,â he said, louder than he meant.
She blinked.
And then she smiled.
That soft, stupid smile that always made him want to cry.
âYouâre so bad at lying,â she said.
âIâm not lying.â
âThen youâre bad at pretending not to care.â
He looked down.
And said what heâd been trying not to say since the first day he saw her:
âI think I started needing you.â
She didnât speak.
Didnât smile.
Just⦠reached into her bag and pulled something out.
A paper crane.
Folded messily.
Edges torn.
But beautiful â in the way broken things always are.
She placed it in his palm.
âThis oneâs for your favorite sky,â she whispered.
He stared at it.
The way its wings folded gently.
Like it was about to fly but didnât want to leave him behind.
He gripped it tight.
Then looked at her.
âWhat if I never get to say goodbye?â
She looked at him with that soft, endless sadness.
âThen donât,â she whispered.
âJust remember me in the wind.â
They sat like that.
Together.
But surrounded by the kind of silence that felt more like an ending.
Above them, the sky looked heavy.
As if it was holding back tears for both.
And when he finally looked away,
He whispered something to the crane in his hand.
Something only it would hear.
âPlease stay longer than the sky allows.â