ONLY FRIEND

The room is silent. Too silent.

Anakin sits on the bed, motionless. Not thinking. Not feeling. Just existing.

His mind tells him he should call his mother. Surely, she loves him. Surely, she'll remind him that his life means something. His fingers hover over his phone, but before he can dial, a flood of unread messages from Melisa fills his screen.

His only friend.

Ever since everything fell apart in 11th grade.

"HHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIII"

"WHERE ARE YOUUUUUU??"

"THE CLASS IS STARTING"

Missed Call

"YOU ASSHOLE, LIFT MY CALL"

"FUCK OFF DIMWIT"

He exhales a laugh—shaky, hollow, but real. No matter how alone he gets, she's always there. A constant in the chaos.

If I'm going to die in three days, why the fuck should I go to class?

He types back:

"I'm skipping today."

Typing…

"WTF! You should've told me before, we could've skipped together."

"I'M STUCK HERE BECAUSE OF YOU."

He leans back, lets his eyes close, and drifts. Memories surface like ghosts—shimmering, distant, untouchable.

A café. Laughter. The clatter of coffee cups.

Melisa, Damien—his best friend back then—sitting across from him.

Damien groaning dramatically, "I fucked up my exam. I need to steal the answer sheets and replace them."

Melisa's immediate glare. "You are not going to do that."

Damien smirks. "Why not?"

"Because it's risky, dumbass."

Anakin chuckles.

Damien shoots him a look. "What's so funny, asshole?"

"Melisa calling something 'risky' is funny to me."

Damien leans back, nodding. "Right?"

Melisa crosses her arms. "I am not taking part in your crime, but since Mr. Darth Vader over here decided to talk, you two can do it together, right? Or is your masculinity so fragile that you need help from me?"

Anakin and Damien exchange a glance, then say in unison, "We don't need your fucking help."

Laughter. A tap on Anakin's shoulder.

Lillian.

Dark hair. Sharp eyes.

She blushes, tucks a loose strand behind her ear, and says, "Replace my paper too, will ya?"

Damien grins. "Sure, Lillian."

Anakin nods. Watches her walk away. Then meets Damien's gaze and bursts into laughter.

Back to the present.

Melisa stands in front of him, hands on her hips, her golden hair catching the sunlight. He never really noticed before—she's beautiful.

She lightly slaps his arm. "Why the hell did you skip, asshole?"

He rubs his arm, grinning. "Can we sit and talk?"

Her eyes narrow, but she nods.

A café. Two chairs. A world between them.

He exhales. "Listen, some shit happened."

Her brows furrow. "Finally got what you deserved?"

He lets out a short laugh. "I'm seeing something. Even now. A timer. Above my head."

Her smirk fades. "Anakin."

"It says I'll die in three days. Well, two and a half now."

Silence stretches between them.

Then—

"Don't fucking joke about this," she snaps. "I swear, I'll kill—"

"I'm not joking."

His voice is steady.

"I'll die in three days. But there's a twist." He leans forward. "If I find someone I love… someone who loves me back, I'll live."

Her hands clench into fists.

"If I have any regrets left when time runs out… I disappear."

She covers her mouth. Shock pools in her eyes.

He smiles. Reaches for her hand. "Everything will be alright."

She looks at him, searching. "Do you believe that?"

A pause. Then—

"No."

She yanks her hand back, pushes her chair back with a scrape, and walks away.

He doesn't follow. He just watches.

She always does this when something bad happens.

It's fine. It has to be fine.

He goes home, collapses onto his bed. It's already 9 PM. His mind turns over his regrets like pages in a book.

Buzz.

His phone lights up. A new message.

From Lillian.

"We need to talk. Free tomorrow?"