He hadn't moved from bed in hours.
Rain tapped against the window like fingers trying to wake him, but the world could collapse for all he cared. His phone lay beside him, the screen dim after flashing the same notification three times:
"Funeral Service – 7:00 PM – Saint Marrow's."
He stared at the message, fingers trembling over the delete button.
Not because he couldn't say goodbye—
But because he couldn't accept she was really gone. He'd only set the reminder because his mom insisted, knowing he wouldn't want to attend the burial of the girl he thought he'd spend his life with.
A part of him still waited for her to call. To text. To walk through the door and laugh at how easily he fell apart without her. But the silence was louder than her absence. Her umbrella, the one she'd left with him on their last date, still stood in the corner. The sketchbook where he'd drawn every moment they shared—wrapped carefully on the desk, meant as a gift for her 19th birthday in three weeks.
The clock struck 6:43 PM.
He sat up slowly.
Dragged his fingers through his hair—a tousled mess of soft brown strands, long enough to brush over his eyes yet short enough to frame his sharp jawline. He stared out into the downpour like it held the answer.
Should he go?
Or would attending the funeral mean admitting she was really gone?
He wondered, then slowly walked to his desk. He caught his reflection in the mirror—an image that reminded him of everything he'd lost: his father, his peace, and now her.
A wave of anger surged through him. He slammed his hand into the desk, knocking everything to the floor with a loud crash
"Bring her back!" he screamed, voice cracking. "I just want her back! Why? Why? Why?!"
He fell to his knees, sobbing, clutching the shattered frame of her photo. His fingers brushed the glass, now splintered, and he wiped tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.
His mother burst into the room, eyes wide. She froze at the sight of her son broken on the floor—memories flooding back .
His mother burst into the room, eyes wide. She froze at the sight of her son broken on the floor—memories flooding back to when he was just 13, when he lost his father, when she promised she'd never let him feel that kind of pain again. She realized she had failed.
She sank down beside him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He collapsed into her arms, feeling like his world was ending. For a fleeting second, it felt like hers—like the arms he truly wanted to be in. But then anger flared, and he pushed his mother away, avoiding her gaze as he picked up the scattered items. He didn't want her to see how much of a mess he was.
She stood up quietly, her eyes full of hurt, and left the room without a word.
He climbed back onto his bed. The notification flashed on his phone once more, but this time he switched it off, rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes. He prayed it was all a dream. That when he woke up, she'd be there. That everything would be fine again.
Or that maybe… he just wouldn't wake up at all.