I tried Zani's number. Again. And again.
Nothing.
My hands were starting to sweat. I didn't even notice when my phone nearly slipped out. I gripped it tighter.
"Pick up, Zani... please," I muttered, more to the silence than her voicemail.
This feeling… it wasn't normal. My chest was tight like something was pressing on it. Like I was trying to breathe through a straw.
Panic. This was panic.
So this is why she never told me, right? She didn't want me like this—worried, helpless, falling apart. But how could I not?
I stared at my screen like it was going to cough up an answer. A location. A clue. Anything.
I didn't even think. Didn't grab a jacket. Didn't check the time. I just ran.
I jumped into the nearest taxi like a ghost was driving me. Gave the address. The driver barely glanced at me—probably thought I was some angsty runaway.
When I got there, I knew. I knew.
No lights. No voices. Empty.
I knocked.
Rang the bell.
Even peeked through the curtains like a total creep.
Nothing.
I sat on their porch like a kicked puppy, called her again. And again. Until her voicemail started to sound like a lullaby that hated me.
I ended up at home, but I didn't remember how.
"Hi honey," my mom said gently from the kitchen.
But I didn't hear her. Not really. Everything felt like it was underwater. My ears were ringing, heart pounding. I didn't even answer.
Straight to my room. Straight to my laptop.
I typed with shaking hands:
My fingers trembled over the keyboard. "What is lupus," I typed, then pressed enter like I was launching a bomb.
The first result popped up like a slap in the face.
> Lupus is a chronic autoimmune disease that causes the body's immune system to attack its own tissues and organs.
Wait, what?
Attack its own body?
> It can affect the joints, skin, kidneys, blood cells, brain, heart, and lungs. There is currently no cure.
I stopped breathing.
> Common symptoms include fatigue, joint pain, skin rashes, fever, and organ damage. It often flares unpredictably and can be life-threatening in severe cases.
Life-threatening.
I stared at those words like they were in another language.
I scrolled. And scrolled.
Photos of rashes. Blood tests. Medical diagrams. Words like immunosuppressants, flare-ups, renal failure, neurological damage, chronic pain...
I felt sick.
How long had she been dealing with this? The nosebleeds. The fainting spells. The drugs. The panic.
Suddenly the glitter and chaos and weird energy made sense.
She was distracting me. Distracting herself.
The jokes, the noise, the sugar-high personality—it was all armor.
Zani wasn't just the girl who danced off-key and made fun of my sad cloud face.
She was the girl holding her body together with band-aids and laughter.
And she didn't want me to know.
Because I'd look at her like this.
Like she was fragile.
Like she might vanish.
I closed the laptop. My hands were in fists before I even realized.
Damn it. Where was she? Why wasn't she answering?
I laid back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It felt like the sky was collapsing above me.
I thought of her voice. Her laugh. The smell of strawberry candy in her hair.
"Don't leave me in the dark, Zani," I whispered.
Not now.
Not like this.
_____________
If there's one thing I've come to realize—it's that the people who smile the brightest are the ones dying the slowest.
Zani.
God.
That night, I couldn't sit still. My room felt too small, the walls too close, my skin too tight. I hadn't eaten. I didn't want to. My mum knocked, asked if I was okay—I shut her out with a lie that tasted like ash.
The time kept dragging its feet. 8PM. Still nothing. No message. No call. Just silence screaming in my ears.
This was why she'd vanished that one time, wasn't it? That week she disappeared like mist. I'd chalked it up to being "just Zani." But no—she was probably curled up in pain somewhere, fighting a battle her body started against itself.
And now I was stuck here, a useless bystander.
I kept glancing at my wristwatch like I could force the time to move faster. Like minutes would break and she'd appear.
The book she left still sat on my desk. I'd figured it out earlier. Not a manga. Not a joke. Not a prank.
Her diary.
My hand hovered over it. I couldn't read it. I couldn't. That wasn't right… right?
I sighed and backed away from it, grabbing my hoodie. I needed to go to her house, even if I had to sit outside all night. I just needed something. Anything.
Then—
Buzz.
My phone lit up. I swear my heart paused.
Her.
A message.
> Shinnnnn channnnnn, God are u this obsessed with me? Lol I knew you were a softie inside. Anyways I'm fine. It was nothing much… see ya tomorrow
[insert annoying emoji she always uses]
I stared at the screen.
That was it?
She always did this—laughing, deflecting, wrapping pain in jokes and pink sparkles. But it felt like talking to someone through a cracked window—close, but never enough.
I wanted to call her.
I didn't.
Instead, I sat back down, phone in hand, her message open like a wound.
She said she was fine.
But everything in me screamed otherwise.
__________
I couldn't text her back that night.
What was I even supposed to say?
"Don't die"? "Stop scaring me"? "I think I like you so much it hurts"?
She didn't want me panicking, right?
That's why she didn't tell me.
But God—I felt haunted.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Her blood. Her bag hitting the floor.
The way she laughed through it, like it wasn't serious. Like she wasn't serious.
This is what I get, huh? From living in my head too long. From getting attached to a girl like Zain.
Zani.
A glittery gremlin with a death wish and a smile like a starburst.
And now? I was fully paranoid.
Like full-blown, chewing-my-lip, pacing-the-room, checking-my-phone-every-three-minutes paranoid.
Her text calmed me down.
A little.
But I didn't want emojis and jokes—I wanted to see her. I needed proof she was still here.
Friday morning came, and school? I couldn't care less.
I was up at 5AM.
Standing in my room, fully dressed, just... pacing.
What would she even think if she saw me standing outside her house this early?
I rubbed my face.
"Kuso," I muttered under my breath.
Japanese for "Goddammit."
Felt appropriate.
I waited. Waited for 9. 9 felt like a decent hour to be desperate.
The moment my watch blinked 9:00, I was out. No breakfast. No explanation to my mum. Just adrenaline.
But I knew she loved sweets.
Candies. Chocolates. Anything sugar-wrapped in colors.
So I ran to the store, tight on cash but looser with logic.
I didn't care. I got a bunch of stuff, tossed it on the counter, and asked them to wrap it.
"Customize the bag," I said, breathless. "Make it say... uh... Glittery Gremlin."
The woman behind the counter gave me a weird look.
I didn't explain.
Traffic moved like molasses.
Me? I was spiraling in my hoodie, knee bouncing in the taxi like it owed me money.
But finally, finally—her street. Her house.
I swear I almost kissed the sidewalk.
I clutched the stupid glittery gift bag like it was holy and walked up to her door.
My heart? Punching against my ribs.
Was she okay?
Would she even want to see me?
I didn't care.
I just wanted her to be there.