Chapter 5: One Last Date

Lately, I’d been deliberately avoiding Ethan, slowly fading from his life, so that when I died, he wouldn’t fall apart like he did in the novel.

I thought of all the times I’d canceled plans, let his calls go to voicemail, hoping he’d learn to live without me. It hurt, but I believed it was for the best.

My bright, brilliant boy deserved to stand atop the world, looking down on everyone.

He was meant for greatness, not heartbreak. I wanted him to remember me with a smile, not a lifetime of regret.

But the heart wants what it wants.

No matter how hard I tried to let go, the ache never faded. Love is stubborn like that, refusing to be reasoned with.

Facing death, I suddenly wanted to see my childhood friend one last time.

The thought hit me like a wave—I needed to see him, to say goodbye in my own way. Just once more, before everything changed.

My vision blurred as I remembered all the moments I’d shared with Ethan growing up. Why did fate have to play such cruel tricks?

I let the memories wash over me—summer days at the lake, late-night talks under the stars, the way he’d always made me laugh when I needed it most. It wasn’t fair, but then, life rarely is.

Just then, my phone lit up—a message from Ethan on Messenger.

The familiar chime made my heart skip a beat. I reached for the phone, hands trembling, afraid and hopeful all at once.

“Savannah, I miss you.”

Just six words, but they broke me. Ethan had come from a privileged family, was a piano prodigy, and had won international awards by nineteen.

He’d always seemed untouchable, a golden boy destined for greatness. But underneath it all, he was just a boy who missed his best friend.

But after my death in the dream, he grew cold and distant, never touching the piano again. He threw himself into work, and in just three years, turned Calloway Holdings into the top corporation in the state.

I remembered the way he’d shut down, locking himself away from the world. It was a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all him.

Everyone praised his talent, but only I knew how fragile he really was.

Behind the accolades and headlines, there was a boy who cried in the dark, who never really learned how to let go.

He’d sit alone late at night, tracing our photo, tears streaming down his face without him even noticing.

The image haunted me, a reminder of all the things left unsaid. I wished I could spare him that pain, even if it meant breaking my own heart.

I picked up my phone and asked Ethan to meet me at a private theater, then drifted into sleep, heavy-hearted.

I typed out the message quickly, afraid I’d lose my nerve if I waited too long. As soon as I hit send, exhaustion pulled me under, dreams swirling with memories and regret.

The next morning, I ate a quick breakfast and hurried to the theater.

I barely tasted my food, nerves jangling with every step. The world felt sharper, colors brighter, as if everything was holding its breath.

As soon as I arrived, I saw Ethan waiting for me—delicate features, gentle as ever.

He stood by the entrance, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the crowd. When he saw me, his whole face lit up, and for a moment, I forgot about the cancer, the pain, the looming goodbye.

The world seemed still and quiet, time suspended. Emotions surged in my chest, hard to contain.

It felt like we were the only two people left on earth, the rest of the world fading into the background. My heart pounded, every emotion amplified by the knowledge that this might be our last time together.

I forced myself to calm down and walked over. “Ethan, you’re always early to our dates.”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice wavered. He grinned, reaching out to take my hand, his touch grounding me.

Ethan’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “How could I dare be late for a date with you, Savannah?”

He said it with a mock bow, trying to lighten the mood. I laughed, the sound bright and unexpected, easing some of the tension between us.

The heaviness in my chest eased. I sat beside him.

For a moment, everything felt normal—just two old friends, sharing a quiet morning together. I let myself relax, soaking in the warmth of his presence.

When it was time to pick a movie, I chose a sad romance. When the heroine died and the hero lived out his days alone, I said, as if offhand, “If I’m ever gone, Ethan, you have to live well—get married, have kids.”

My voice was soft, almost lost in the darkness of the theater. I stared at the screen, afraid to meet his eyes, hoping he’d understand what I was really saying.

I don’t want you to mourn for me forever. I want you to always be full of life.

The words echoed in my head, a silent prayer. I wanted him to find happiness, even if it wasn’t with me.

Even if, in the dream, Ethan ended up with Maria, I wouldn’t blame him.

I wanted him to know that love wasn’t a prison, that he deserved to move on, to find joy wherever he could.

We only get one life—how could I be so selfish as to want him alone forever? I hoped someone would stay by his side, not have him wandering through life like a ghost, numbing himself with work.

I pictured him with Maria, laughing again, finding purpose in something other than grief. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt—the kind that meant you truly loved someone.

Ethan’s grip on my hand tightened, his whole body suddenly cold as ice.

He didn’t speak for a long time, his silence heavy with meaning. I could feel his pain, the way he tried to hide it behind a brave face.

After a long moment, his hoarse voice said, “Savannah, you’re too young to joke about things like that.”

His words trembled, barely more than a whisper. I squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him, even as my own heart broke.

I let out a short laugh, told him to stand up, and hugged him tightly—like someone drowning, clinging to driftwood.

He held me close, his arms trembling. I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, the familiar warmth that always made me feel safe.

“Don’t be mad—I was just talking.”

I tried to make it sound light, but the words caught in my throat. I pulled away, forcing a smile, not trusting myself to say anything more.

Afterward, we went shopping together. When we passed a little craft stand with plaster figurines, I stopped.

The stand was tucked between a coffee shop and a bookstore, sunlight glinting off tiny animals and cartoon characters. I felt a sudden urge to make a memory, something we could both hold onto.

Normally, I had no interest in these little things, but this time I pulled Ethan along, carefully picking out the designs.

He raised an eyebrow, but followed without protest. We debated the merits of a smiling frog versus a sleepy cat, laughing at our own indecision. It felt good to be silly, to forget the heaviness for a while.

Sunlight poured over our faces as we painted, as if time itself had stopped.

We sat side by side, brushes in hand, lost in the simple pleasure of creating something together. The world outside faded away, leaving only color and laughter.

I didn’t want to think about anything else—just focused on spending this last date with Ethan.

I memorized every detail—the way his hair fell across his forehead, the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his hand in mine. I wanted to bottle this moment, keep it safe forever.