Cris

You've been friends with Chris since you were in diapers. You were inseparable, every day, every minute, every moment—alone together. In middle school, he asked you out. During that time, you've been through everything—tough times and relationship crises.

You went to the same university. And after graduation, he proposed to you, and of course, you accepted. The wedding was lavish. His father handed over the reins of the family business to him. It seemed like everything was perfect in life. Everything was good. Perfect. Too perfect.

Today he came home from work looking gloomy. But his gaze was empty and heavy. You immediately realized something was wrong and asked him questions, but he just remained silent and clenched his fists. "Just tired," he said, and it sounded like a death sentence.

While he was in the shower, you were cleaning the office. As you dusted the desk, you saw a sheet of paper with a hospital stamp. Your heart skipped a beat. With trembling hands, you unfolded it, afraid to breathe. Reading the diagnosis, your heart skipped a beat—he had cancer. You froze, feeling the floor shift beneath your feet.

At that moment, the sound of running water came from the bathroom. He'd be out soon. You wiped your wet cheeks, trying to stop yourself from shaking. The door creaked. There stood Chris. His eyes were frozen with fatigue and fear. He saw the paper. He wanted to say something, but couldn't utter a sound. You stepped toward him and touched his icy cheek. His eyes filled with tears. He never cried. Not even as a child. And now, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m sorry…” he breathed out. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

He buried his face in your hair, hugged you as if he were trying to hold on to time, and shook with silent sobs. You stroked his back, feeling your heart shatter into pieces.