It was nearing the end of Angel's university life. While most students were buried in textbooks and living in the library, desperately trying to cram knowledge before their final exams, Angel was somewhere else—somewhere far more suffocating.
She was at the hospital, peeling oranges for Zhang, who had been bedridden for what felt like forever.
"You should be in class," Zhang said one morning, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "I heard your sign-out is approaching."
Angel smiled softly, her fingers moving delicately over the fruit. "I study. Just not when you're awake. I stay up at night… I don't want to disturb you. Besides, Dera helps me out."
Zhang tried to say more, but she cut him off gently.
"You need someone by your side," she said. "I've never had a carryover since I entered university—and I don't plan to start now. But that doesn't mean I'll leave you alone." She paused, voice growing thinner. "Try to recover, okay?"
Zhang nodded.
They both knew he wouldn't.
But he still nodded, as if clinging to a lie neither of them dared say aloud.
Dera visited often, bringing stories from campus, laughter, music, and games. In those moments, Zhang forgot the IV in his vein or the weight in his chest. Their room was sometimes so full of laughter, nurses would stop at the door to listen. No one could tell that death lived there too, just a heartbeat away.
But then came that day.
The pain returned, cruel and sharp. The doctors wore their fear on their faces. Nurses passed by Angel with pity in their eyes. One of them looked back at her twice.
A doctor finally pulled her aside.
"You need to prepare yourself," he said gently. "He's fading. We're doing all we can, but... I'm sorry. He needs you. My condolences… in advance."
Angel sank to the cold floor, her tears silent and slow. The bond between them had grown into something unspoken, something deeper than friendship. He wasn't just a responsibility anymore.
He was home.
Angel was in the exam hall when it happened. Her final paper. The last step before graduation.
She finished quickly, heart oddly unsettled. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate.
She retrieved her phone from the room where she'd kept her bag and turned it on—dozens of missed calls. Messages flashing one after the other.
Before she could read any of them, the phone rang again.
"Hello?"
She froze.
Someone nearby asked, "Angel, sign-out is starting… aren't you coming?"
But Angel didn't answer. She ran. No goodbye. No explanation. She just ran, as though her heart already knew the truth.
No one ever imagines that the most celebrated day of their life could also be the most tragic.
Angel reached the hospital in record time, nearly arguing with the Keke driver for every second he wasted. She burst into Zhang's room.
His breath was shallow.
"Zhang!" she called, rushing to his side.
At the sound of her voice, he turned his head slowly. A smile appeared—weak and ghostly, as if it took every bit of strength he had left.
Angel took his hand in hers. His skin was cold.
"Sorry I'm late," she whispered, trying not to cry. "I was just—"
He shook his head. "It's your life. You should chase it," he rasped.
"Don't talk. Please." Her voice cracked. "You're only hurting yourself…"
"I… I have things I wanted…" He coughed violently, red staining his lips.
Angel's hands trembled. "No. No, don't do this. You're not going anywhere. God will heal you. He still can. Just—just hold on."
The doctor touched her shoulder. "He's been calling your name. Let him say what he needs to. Let him have that."
She looked down at him. His eyes were glassy now.
"I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I didn't know… I didn't know you were the best thing that would ever happen to me."
A long pause.
"I might forget… but I'll find you again. I promise."
Angel let out a tearful laugh. "You're such a hopeful idiot."
More coughing. This time he coughed up blood. Angel panicked, reaching for a tissue, anything.
"Be careful!" she cried, forgetting what this was. Forgetting that death didn't wait for permission.
"Promise me you won't cry?" he asked.
"I won't," she said, barely believing her own voice.
"Can I be buried… like your people? Like one of your kind?"
Angel tried to smile through the tears. "Zhang, what do you mean? You are one of us."
"Good," he whispered. "Then I died with a family."
Tears slid down his cheek.
"I'm sorry… for everything."
"Don't be. Please, don't say sorry. Don't—don't go. Not yet. Just a little longer…"
His eyes were fading.
"Come closer?" he asked.
She leaned in.
"I… like… you."
Then the monitor gave one long, final beep.
And silence followed.
Angel held onto his hand. But it fell limp.
A doctor approached, quietly.
"I'm sorry. He's gone."
The nurses moved swiftly. One closed the file. The other covered his body with a white cloth.
And just like that, it was over.
Angel didn't move.
She sat there, numb, her hand still holding the one that had turned cold. Her mind echoed with his final words.
"I… like… you."
He confessed. And died in the same breath.
Outside, rain began to fall. Not heavy, but steady enough to sound like mourning.
Angel didn't cry.
She wanted to.
She needed to.
But she had promised she wouldn't.
So she sat in the quiet grief of someone who had just lost more than a friend. She had lost a piece of her soul.
And for the first time in her life—
She truly knew what it meant to break.