The hospital didn't look the way Kian imagined it would.
It wasn't cold or sterile or humming with life-saving machines. It was just… beige. Beige walls, beige floors, beige air. The oncology wing felt like a waiting room for bad news, and Kian hated that he was there now. Not because Emilia was, but because she had been.
And he hadn't known.
He walked past the nurse's station and down the hallway until he found the chair outside Room 204. Her name wasn't on the door anymore. Another patient had already taken the bed. Her presence had been erased like pencil from paper.
He sat anyway.
Pulled the next letter from his hoodie pocket.
The envelope was thinner this time, the handwriting a little less certain. The date was scrawled at the top.
It made his stomach twist.
09 October 2024
Dear Kian,
They told me today.
"Acute lymphoblastic leukemia."
Sounds like something from a spelling bee, doesn't it? Like if I just spelled it right, it wouldn't be real. I almost laughed. Almost.
But I didn't.
Because there's nothing funny about being seventeen and told your blood is sick. That your body has betrayed you. That "treatment" means pain, exhaustion, needles, and hope that flickers more than it burns.
I'm scared.
I'm so scared I feel like I can't breathe.
Everything is different now.
The nurses look at me like I've already died. My mum keeps smiling too much. People don't smile like that unless they're trying to stop themselves from crying.
And you—
I thought of you first.
Not because I wanted to tell you.
But because I knew I couldn't.
Because you'll show up.
You'll come rushing in with that stupid, beautiful heart of yours and try to make it all okay.
And I'll fall apart in front of you.
And I can't do that.
I can't be the sick girl in your eyes.
I want to be your Emilia, the one who made you laugh so hard your drink came out your nose. Who beat you at Mario Kart every single time. Who made up constellations and convinced you they were real.
Not the one who fades like something you can't hold onto.
So I'm writing this instead.
Because I need to say it out loud somewhere. Even if you never hear it.
Please don't hate me for keeping this from you.
I just wanted to stay whole in your eyes… for a little while longer.
Love,
Emilia
Kian's fingers tightened around the letter.
He had been at football practice the day she got her diagnosis. He remembered texting her that night, something stupid about a meme. She had replied: "Haha, that's dumb. I'm tired, going to bed."
She had just found out she was dying.
And he'd sent her a picture of a cat in a hat.
His breath hitched, chest tightening.
He leaned forward in the chair outside her old room, resting his head in his hands.
"She should've told me," he whispered into the silence. "I would've—"
But he didn't finish the sentence.
Because even he didn't know what he would've done.