I didn't sleep.
Not really.
—
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it might give me an answer.
Like it might explain how something—
someone
—
could just… stop.
—
Christopher used to hate silence.
Not the normal kind.
Not the peaceful kind.
But the kind that pressed against your ears.
The kind that made your thoughts louder.
—
My room was full of it.
—
I turned onto my side.
Then onto my back.
Then closed my eyes.
—
That was a mistake.
—
Because the moment I did
—
I saw him.
—
Not memories.
Not the past.
—
Just
—
him.
—
Lying still.
On a bed that wasn't mine.
In a room that wasn't this one.
—
My chest tightened.
I sat up immediately.
Breathing harder than I should have.
—
"Stop," I muttered.
Rubbing a hand over my face.
—
It wasn't real.
I hadn't seen him like that.
—
But I would.
—
That thought didn't leave.
It stayed.
Settling somewhere deep.
Heavy.
Waiting.
—
The funeral is tomorrow.
—
I exhaled slowly.
—
"…Yeah."
—
Morning came without asking.
—
I didn't remember falling asleep.
But I was awake.
And everything still felt the same.
—
I got up anyway.
Because that's what people do.
Even when things end
—
they keep going.
—
The kitchen felt unfamiliar.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
—
I made coffee.
Didn't drink it.
Made toast. Didn't eat it.
—
Pointless.
All of it.
—
I leaned against the counter.
Staring at nothing.
And somehow
—
that's when the memories came back.
—
Not sharp.
Not painful.
—
Soft.
—
Christopher sitting across from me.
Not looking up.
Always writing something.
—
"You're going to ruin your eyes like that."
I remember saying it once.
Casual.
Meaningless.
—
"They're already bad," he replied quietly.
Without stopping.
—
"…Still."
—
A pause.
Then
—
"You worry about strange things."
—
I almost smiled at that.
Almost.
—
We weren't close back then.
Not really.
—
But we started… orbiting each other.
Same classes.
Same hallways.
Same quiet understanding.
—
He never asked for my attention.
And somehow
—
that made me give it anyway.
—
Lunches that weren't planned.
Conversations that didn't last long
but stayed longer than they should have.
—
He'd sit across from me.
Careful.
Like he didn't belong there.
—
"You can leave, you know," I told him once.
—
"I know."
—
He didn't move.
—
"…Then why are you still here?"
—
A small pause.
Then
—
"…Because you didn't tell me to."
—
I didn't have an answer to that.
—
I still don't.
—
The memory faded. Slowly.
Like everything else.
—
And suddenly
—
I was back in my kitchen.
Holding a cup of cold coffee.
—
"…Idiot," I muttered.
I wasn't sure who I meant.
—
The drive was quiet.
—
Too quiet.
—
The city moved like nothing had changed. Cars passing.
People talking.
Lights turning red and green like they always did.
—
It felt wrong.
—
I stopped at a signal.
And for a second
—
I thought about turning around.
—
Not going.
Not seeing him.
Not making it real.
—
My hand tightened on the steering wheel.
—
"…No."
—
Running away wasn't new.
But it wasn't enough.
Not this time.
—
The light turned green.
—
I drove.
—
I don't know why I stopped there.
—
The flower shop.
Small.
Almost forgettable.
—
Christopher liked it.
That's the only reason.
—
He never bought anything.
Just looked.
—
"Says they're a waste of money,"I remembered saying once.
—
"They are," he agreed.
—
"…Then why do you keep coming here?"
—
A pause.
Then
—
"They don't last."
—
I frowned at him.
"That's your reason?"
—
He nodded slightly.
—
"…That's stupid."
—
"Maybe."
A quiet breath.
—
"But it's honest."
—
The memory settled into something heavy.
Something I couldn't shake.
—
I parked the car.
Got out.
Walked inside.
—
The smell hit first. Soft.
Faintly sweet.
—
The shopkeeper glanced at me.
Didn't say anything.
—
I looked around.
Didn't think.
Didn't hesitate.
—
And then I saw them.
—
Pink roses.
—
Simple.
Delicate.
Unnecessary.
—
"…He liked these," I said under my breath.
—
Not love.
Not grand.
—
Just
—
quiet.
—
I reached out.
Paused.
—
Then picked them up.
"They don't last."
—
"…Yeah," I murmured.
—
My grip tightened slightly around the stems.
Careful.
—
but not enough.
—
"That's kind of the point."