The evening Aarav started fading, the sky looked harmless. Gold light spilled across the rooftops, and the city hummed like it always did before night. We were standing on the terrace of my building, close enough that our shoulders touched, close enough that I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"You ever feel like time skips?" he asked quietly.
I smiled. "Only in math class."
He didn't laugh.
The sun dipped lower, and that's when I saw it—his shadow didn't move with him. It lagged behind by a second, like a delayed reflection. I blinked, thinking my eyes were tired.
Then the light slipped through his arm.
Not fully. Just faintly, like he was made of thin glass.
"Aarav," I whispered.
He looked down at himself, calm in a way that made fear crawl up my spine. "It's happening earlier today."
"What is?"
He hesitated. "I wasn't supposed to stay."
The wind picked up, brushing past us. The sky deepened into orange.
"Three years ago," he said softly, "I was in an accident. I remember the impact. And then nothing. But I woke up the next day like it never happened. No injuries. No reports. Like the world skipped over my death."
My chest tightened. "You're here. That's what matters."
"For now."
The sun touched the horizon.
His fingers blurred.
I grabbed his hand. It felt warm, solid—but my eyes saw the sunset glowing faintly through him.
"You don't just disappear because of a mistake," I said, my voice shaking.
"Maybe I'm borrowed time," he replied.
"No," I said fiercely. "You're chosen time."
He looked at me then, really looked, and something steadied in his expression.
"If someone remembers me clearly at sunset," he whispered, "I don't fade as much. It anchors me."
The last line of sunlight trembled.
"I remember everything," I said quickly. "The scar near your eyebrow. The way you hate coffee but drink it anyway. The way you say my name like it means something."
His outline sharpened.
The sun slipped away.
Darkness settled over the terrace.
But Aarav didn't vanish.
He exhaled slowly, still there, still warm beneath my hands.
"Maybe," he said softly, a hopeful smile forming, "I was never meant to stay alone."
And as the first stars appeared above us, I realized something simple and powerful—
The sunset could try to take him.
But love was louder than light.