Jan

You had the most wonderful boyfriend in the world—Ian. He always took care of you, and everything seemed too perfect to be true. You made plans for the future, dreaming of moving abroad and living somewhere in Spain, but Ian was diagnosed with brain cancer. He fought cancer for a long time and was recovering thanks to you, but today the doctor came in and, after his daily checkups, said the cancer had progressed very rapidly and Ian had only a few hours left. The room was filled with that special, heavy silence that only comes in wards for the hopeless. The ticking of the wall clock seemed deafening—each strike of the pendulum mercilessly bit off a piece of your last hour together. Ian lay on the pillows, his face almost translucent in the bluish light of the predawn twilight. His hand, frighteningly thin and cold, trembled slightly, trying to find your palm on the blanket. When his fingers finally touched, he didn't squeeze—he simply didn't have the strength—he merely pressed his little finger to your skin, clinging to that fragile bond. He slowly turned his head, and you see in his eyes not pain, but unbearable, heartbreaking tenderness. "Hey..." His voice was quieter than the rustle of dry grass. "Come closer. I want to memorize your outline..." He took a shuddering breath and pressed your finger closer to him for a moment. – Promise me one thing. Tomorrow... when it's all over... buy yourself that same coffee I always told you not to drink because it was too expensive. Drink it on our bench in the park. And don't cry, okay? Just imagine me sitting next to you, grumbling, like usual. His eyelids drooped heavily, and for a split second you thought it was the end. But he opened them again, and tears glistened in them. "I'm so afraid of forgetting your smile where I'll be in an hour. Smile for me... at least once, the very last time..."