The next morning, Egemed woke slowly. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his messy room—a broken vase, papers scattered across the floor, a table stained with blue, red, and black ink, the inkpot lying empty and rolling gently on its side.
He breathed in, shakily, and rose. His hands trembled as he began to clean, picking up the papers, straightening the table, and putting everything back in its place. Finally, he knelt and gathered the pieces of the brown vase. Each fragment weighed heavy in his hands, and tears fell silently, dropping onto the floor as he worked.
He placed the broken pieces into the beautiful box he had kept for so long—the same box Jerelr had given him for his first Christmas gift, the box that had once held his diary and quill pen. Carefully, he closed it and set it in the wardrobe, whispering, "I'm sorry… I was mad. Forgive me, Jerelr."
He dressed slowly, combed his hair neatly, and paused before the mirror. His face was pale, his eyes swollen and tired. He sighed, a hollow sound, and stepped out of his room, his mind already fixed on Jerelr's grave.
By the time he reached the dining room, it was already half past twelve. His mother sat folding a bunch of white tulips and handed them to him.
"This is for you. You can go and visit your friend and give him these flowers," she said softly.
Egemed's stomach ached with hunger, and his body was weak, but he forced a small smile. "Thank you, Mother," he whispered, taking the flowers.
"Egemed! At least eat something!" his mother called after him, but he didn't hear. His sadness was too heavy; his heart only thought of Jerelr.
With a body weakened by grief and a heart heavy with longing, Egemed finally arrived at the grave. He paused for a moment, took off his hat, and bowed.
"Hi… I'm back."
He placed the white tulips gently in the center of the grave and sat on the grass beside it.
"May I talk with you, Jerelr?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Jerelr… I broke the vase you gave me this year. I am sorry. I was mad at myself for not noticing that you had started showing signs that you would leave me soon. I didn't expect it—I thought… I thought you were just doing what you felt like…" His words broke into sobs.
"I wanted to see your face just once. You left me hugging at night, and I didn't even get to see your face for the last time."
He swallowed, trembling. "If you can hear me… could I… could I dig up this grave and see you for a second? Would you allow me, Jerelr?"
A bitter, broken chuckle escaped him through tears. "I knew you were listening to me, right?"
He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out the letter, opening it with shaking hands.
"You didn't mention any… specific disease that you had. Was it something you couldn't tell me, even until your death?"
He shook his head, tears blurring his vision. "Well, I won't be mad at you. Maybe you forgot. I'll go to your parents after three days and ask about what happened. I hope… I hope you didn't ask them to keep it a secret too."
After a moment, he picked up a small stick and began to draw on the ground. Softly, barely above a whisper, he spoke:
"Jerelr… do you think we can meet again? I've been wishing and praying that I could see you one day… somewhere where we are neither in pain, nor sorrow, nor sickness anymore."
He wiped his tears, sobbing quietly into his hands.
"Even if you're gone, I won't stop visiting you, Jerelr. I won't forget you. I won't stop coming to your grave like others do."
"After two or three years, people stop visiting the deceased. But I… I will not do that. Not until I can no longer breathe."
His voice caught as he gripped the letter tighter. "I won't let you wait for me in vain—just like you mentioned twice. The last text you sent me… I understand it now: 'I WILL BE WAITING.'"
He stopped drawing, holding the letter close to his chest. "And… in this letter, you wrote, 'I WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU.' I don't know what it means, but I hope… I hope you'll always be waiting for me here… or maybe in the next life."
He pressed the letter to his lips. "Even if you didn't ask me to, I would still come to see you. Just as I promised, I will always be here for you… even if you're no longer here."
"You would not want to leave me this soon either… am I right, Jerelr?"
And so, Egemed leaned back, lying on the grass, talking to the grave as though Jerelr were alive and listening. Hours passed. Dawn crept over the horizon, painting the world in pale gold. When he finally stood, his body ached from hours of sitting, but he bowed his head gently once.
"Goodnight, Jerelr. Your brother Ege is leaving now. I'm sorry for leaving you here alone and cold."
With a heavy heart, he turned and walked home, carrying the weight of grief, memory, and undying love.
...
The next day, Egemed woke early and stayed in his room the entire morning, lost in thought. Afternoon fell, and his mother called him to have breakfast—or was it lunch?—but he only replied, "I'll eat later, Mother. Don't worry about me."
When the afternoon came, he finally left the house, a bunch of tulips clutched in his hands. He tucked them carefully inside his long coat so that anyone he met along the way wouldn't notice. Not because he wanted to do it in secret, but to protect himself from the world's judgment—people might think him a madman, visiting a grave every day as if death had struck his family endlessly.
When he reached the grave, he smiled faintly and bowed his head. "Hi… I'm back. Did you wait for me long?"
"Jerelr, I brought another letter today." He placed another bunch of white tulips beside the ones he had left yesterday and sat down beside the grave.
"This is your letter, the one you gave me five years ago. You said you would be my umbrella whenever I didn't have one on rainy days, that you would come and give me one."
He smiled faintly, a mixture of warmth and pain. "Sometimes I think… maybe it's better if we don't make promises we can't keep, right? But I don't blame you, Jerelr. I knew you meant it."
"But death… death comes and destroys promises. Promises always end when death comes—unless someone keeps them alive for the one who has passed."
"And I… I will keep all these letters and paintings you gave me. Whenever I feel down, I will read them and remember that you were with me."
He paused, gazing at the grave. "Do you want to eat anything, Jerelr? Haha... I might be crazy asking that, but sitting here reminds me of the day you made ramen for me on my birthday."
Gently, he leaned his back against Jerelr's tomb, as if leaning on Jerelr's shoulder when he was still alive—warm and peaceful.
"I wish I could turn back time… pretend that none of this ever happened between us."
"Ah, how it hurts, thinking I've lost the one I had decided to spend my life with. We were going to work together… married to our wives on the same day. Now… I fear that will never happen."
He raised his right hand to the sky, clad in a black glove. He watched it and softly whispered, "Guess what, Jerelr? I'll just stay home and look after my parents." He smiled, knowing that it would be impossible for him to ever expect someone in his life again.
After speaking, he dropped his right hand and rested it on his lap.
"Imagine if I love my wife more than I loved you… and she leaves me or betrays me… it would be so scary Jerelr. I don't want to think of having a soulmate-friend anymore."
"My heart could never feel love again… never trust or love someone deeply again. Doubt and fear would follow me forever, whispering that anyone I love will die or simply walk away."
He forced a smile, the kind that trembled at the edges—pain, guilt, and fear all tangled behind it.
...
Egemed lingered beside the grave, his voice low and steady, as darkness slowly gave way to the faint silver glow of dawn.
"Goodnight… Jerelr."
He lowered his head in two gentle bows, the faint curve of a fragile smile on his lips, before he turned and departed.