I stayed as much as I could

“Do you remember the time when my family moved?” I asked. I was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I liked looking at irrelevant thing aimlessly while thinking. 

 

He lifted his head from the computer and turned to me, half intrigued, half amused, wondering what was coming next. “Yes?”

 

 I often asked questions out of the blue; this was not extraordinary. The point though, was this time. 

 

“We had just started dating that past summer,” I said. “We still barely knew each other. We couldn’t meet up for almost a month, and I started forgetting your face and why I liked you in the first place.” 

 

He smirked, “Honey, you had your chance fifteen years ago. Bit too late now to break up with me over that.” 

 

I laughed. He always made me laugh. 

 

“Hush. I was moving three different houses at the same time and trying to manage a double major at the uni. I was sick, exhausted, and that terrible injury hadn’t healed yet. I was in pain every second of every day.” 

 

“Yes…” He’d learned his lesson not to interrupt me when I got like this. The game had long been forgotten. I had his full attention now. 

 

I kept looking away. “And you remember my high school sweetheart? The one I used to dream about for two years—right up until I met you?

 

He rolled his eyes. “It is definitely too late now to ditch me for that guy.”

 

I didn’t laugh this time. “I stopped seeing him when I met you. But I saw him again, once more—around the time I moved. I told you back then, remember? You just laughed it off; said it was normal. You were always logical. You knew it was my brain’s way of showing me love in the only way it knew how. You said I needed a ghost to remind me that I was loved and would be loved again. And until then, he’d keep me company.”

 

He chuckled nervously. “Honey, you know I love your stories, but I’m starting to believe you’re actually going to leave me.”

 

Obviously, I wasn’t going to—but still, the obscurity scared him.

 

I turned to him instantly. Acting out, serious as I can be. “You know I would never leave you if I could. I would neverleave your sight. I would work remotely, and the kids would starve, and my parents would worry.” His worry melted into laughter. That sound—his laughter—was my favourite thing in the world. I wanted to stop right there. Freeze time. He was never going to be that happy again while looking at me.

 

A tear formed in the corner of my eye. I wanted to stop. But I couldn’t.

 

“I remember the day I saw you after that short break,” I said softly. “It was a Monday. I had classes, but you couldn’t wait anymore. You came to my school during lunch. We ate together. The moment you touched me, everything was gone—all the pain, the exhaustion. I was at peace. I didn’t need food, or rest, or even school. I just wanted you to hold me.

 

“When my friends asked why I liked you, I always said, ‘Because my brain stops working when I’m with him.’ That’s what it felt like—like my thoughts finally went quiet. It’s been that way ever since.”

 

He was listening carefully now, the way you listen when you sense something slipping out of your grasp.

 

“I remembered why I loved you that day,” I continued. “I was late for that creative writing class—almost an hour late. You were late for work too; you forgot you even had to go. But we stayed. I knew we shouldn’t, but I stayed as long as I could. Honey, I stayed as much as I could. I’ll stay as much as I can.”

 

My voice cracked. The tears came freely now. He sat up, alarmed.

 

“Honey, what are you saying?”

 

I met his eyes. The fear in them broke me. There was no more stalling, no more subtext. I took a deep breath.

 

“I’m dying,” I whispered.

 

The words fell between us like glass shattering. 

 

He didn’t move for a long time. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. I could see him trying to rewind, trying to find the moment when life still made sense.

 

When he finally spoke, his voice trembled. “No, you’re not. You’re tired, that’s all. You always get dramatic when you’re tired.”

 

I smiled faintly. “Maybe. But I mean it this time.”

 

He shook his head and came closer, holding my hand like he was trying to anchor me to the world. “You can’t just—say it like that. You can’t.”

 

I wanted to comfort him, tell him it wouldn’t hurt, that I’d just fade quietly like a song ending mid-note. But I didn’t have the strength.

 

Instead, I said, “Remember that first day? The day you came to my school?”

 

He nodded, tears streaming down his face.

 

“That peace I felt then… I feel it again now.”

 

I smiled one last time. “It’s okay, honey. I stayed as much as I could.”