She died at exactly 12:00 AM.
The digital clock above the hospital bed blinked once, softly—
11:59 → 12:00
And just like that, Luna Hale stopped breathing.
Again.
I didn't scream.
I didn't cry.
I already knew this moment by heart.
Her fingers were still wrapped around mine, warm for just a second longer before the cold slowly crept in. Her chest didn't rise. Her lips stayed slightly parted, like she had one last word she never got to say.
The heart monitor screamed.
Flat.
Doctors rushed in. Nurses followed. Someone pulled me away, but it didn't matter. Nothing ever changed.
Because tomorrow morning—
she would be alive again.
And she wouldn't remember me.
The first time it happened, I thought I was losing my mind.
A week ago, I met Luna outside the old library near campus. She was sitting on the steps, staring at the sky like she was waiting for something to fall.
"You look like someone who's already tired of living," I said without thinking.
She laughed.
Funny," she replied. "I was about to say the same about you."
That night, she died in front of me.
Hit-and-run. Midnight. Rain-soaked road.
I held her hand as she bled out, shaking, begging her to stay awake. She looked at me like she wanted to remember my face forever.
But the next morning—
She walked past me like we'd never met.
Alive.
Perfectly fine.
No scars. No pain.
And worst of all—
no memory.
Now, here we were again.
Hospital room. White walls. Cold lights.
Midnight.
Death.
I stood in the hallway as they covered her face with a white sheet. One of the nurses gave me a sad look.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "Were you… family?"
I nodded.
Lying was easier than explaining the truth.
The next morning, I waited.
I always did.
7:32 AM—Luna walked out of the hospital entrance wearing the same white dress she always wore on the day she forgot everything.
She looked… calm. Like someone who had never known pain.
I stepped in front of her.
She stopped.
Our eyes met.
For a moment—just a second—I hoped.
Then she frowned slightly.
"Um… do I know you?" she asked politely.
There it was.
The knife twisting in my chest.
"No," I replied, forcing a smile. "But you're about to."
She tilted her head. "That's a strange thing to say to a stranger."
"I'm Evan," I said. "And you're Luna Hale."
Her eyes widened.
"How do you know my name?"
I pulled a folded notebook from my bag and handed it to her.
She hesitated, then opened it.
The first page was written in her handwriting.
If you're reading this, you died last night.
Don't panic.
Trust Evan.
Her hands started shaking.
"I… I wrote this?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said softly. "You write it every morning."
She looked up at me, fear filling her eyes.
"How many times…?"
I swallowed.
"This is the seventh day."
She stepped back, her breathing uneven.
"This isn't funny," she said. "If this is some kind of joke—"
"It's not," I interrupted gently. "You die every night at midnight. And every morning, you forget."
Silence fell between us.
The city moved around us. Cars passed. People laughed. Life continued.
But Luna's world had just cracked open.
She hugged the notebook to her chest.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.
Because I love you.
The words burned my throat, but I didn't say them.
"Because someone has to remember," I replied.
She studied my face like she was searching for something familiar hidden deep inside.
"I don't know why," she said slowly, "but… I feel like I've trusted you before."
My heart skipped.
Before I could answer, her phone buzzed.
A reminder notification flashed on her screen.
12:00 AM — Don't be alone.
Her face drained of color.
I looked at the time.
7:47 AM.
We had less than sixteen hours.
She looked up at me, eyes trembling.
"Evan," she whispered, gripping my sleeve.
"What happens if we fail?"
I met her gaze.
"You don't want to know," I said.
Far away, a clock tower chimed once.
And somewhere deep inside, I felt it again—
That familiar, terrifying certainty.
Tonight, at midnight…
Luna Hale would die.