Chapter 1: The Weight of Tears

  The sky is overcast, as if empathizing with the heaviness enveloping my chest. Every raindrop mirrors the ceaseless flow of my tears. I do not know how to release this pain—a pain that seems to be tearing my very being apart. I do not want to lose him. The mere idea of living in a world without him is enough for me to lose my reason to breathe.

Why him? Why must a person as pure as the morning be taken away, while those who sow terror and crime are allowed to continue their wicked deeds? I remember what my auntie told me when I was a child: "God chooses the good ones to bring to heaven first." But why? If that is His plan, why must we suffer? Why must the bitterness of loss be the cost of goodness? I cannot accept it. I cannot understand it. Is this what it truly means to love? A process of slowly severing one's own roots just to let go of the person you love the most?

If I were given the chance to make a wish—a chance followed by a miracle—would I choose to be happy? Or would I choose to give the remaining breath in my lungs just to keep him by my side? My wish is no longer for myself; I wish for him to continue, even at the cost of my own happiness.

May 2023. The month I will never forget.

Gabe and I have been best friends for a long time. People's view of him is nothing new to me—handsome, tall, and always the center of attention. But that is not why he is my world. I love him because of how he carries himself in the midst of a world that is sometimes bitter to him. I remember when he was accused of stealing in class even though he did nothing; instead of getting angry or fighting back, he just smiled at his accusers. "It's their fault if they can't see the truth. Let them be," he said calmly to me as we walked home together.

He is like an angel lost in this world—too kind, too forgiving. Many girls are obsessed with him, and I cannot blame them. But what they don't know, behind our laughter and stories, is the secret I keep tucked away. In his eyes, I am just the best friend who knows every smile and sorrow of his. But every moment I look at him, the only words my heart utters are the ones I have never managed to say: "I wish you would choose me, more than just as your best friend."

Now, as I gaze at our old photos together under the tree in the plaza, I realize that every memory carries a sting of regret. Why didn't I tell him? Why did I let everything stay in the shadows of friendship, until the day came when he would no longer hear the beating of my heart for him?

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