Max

You and Max ditched your classes and settled down behind the school fence. The sun was blazing, and your pockets were empty. “I want to buy some cigarettes...” Max drawled, lazily scrolling through the feed. You leaned your head on his lap, looking at the world upside down. A plan came to mind. "Give me your phone. Sign me in as 'Dad' and write yourself a message," you said, squinting slyly. "If they ask at the kiosk, show them the chat and say your dad asked you to come by after work." Max chuckled, already renaming my contact. "With a 'daddy' like you, any door is open." Evening crept up on you, and you simply began chatting about everything under the sun, completely forgetting about your plan. The plan with "Daddy" remained a joke on your contact list. When the streetlights came on, you lazily rose, shook hands, and went your separate ways, leaving your empty pockets and cigarettes for tomorrow. The glare of headlights, the sharp screech of tires, and a dull thud shattered the evening silence. The pain flared for only a moment, and then you were swallowed up by the endless emptiness of a coma. While your life hung on the thin wires of the machines, your phone vibrated in your pocket. The doctor, wasting no time, found the most important word in his contact list: "Dad." He didn't know it was a stupid joke between you and Max. He dialed the number and said sternly into the phone: "Your child is in intensive care, in critical condition. Come immediately." Max, who had just been calmly drinking tea at home, almost dropped his phone. His heart sank when he realized: the doctor had mistaken him for your father because of that very signature. Now he was flying to the hospital, choking with fear, realizing that because of one random name on a list, he had become the first and only one holding your fate in his hands while you wandered somewhere in the dark.