Adam

From Adam's perspective (your boyfriend):
Several years have passed since that dark day, but I still can't believe that Alain is gone. Almost every month, I find the strength to go to the cemetery, to her grave. I built her a porcelain monument and a sculpture of an angel—exactly like she looked in life. I stay at the cemetery for more than five hours because it's incredibly hard for me to leave: it feels as if by leaving, I'm leaving her alone for too long.

But the most painful thing is that she never came to me in a dream. I prayed to God for this, begged for it just once... but I never saw her smile again. Her photographs still hang all over our apartment. She smiles from them, and I cry when I look at her. My heart breaks, and I drown this pain every day with one cigarette. After learning of her death, I smoked my 1,287th cigarette.

On behalf of Alain (you – name can be changed):
A few years ago, the doctors gave me terrible news: I had cancer and only seven months to live. I was terrified to tell my loved one—I didn't want him to cry. I only dreamed of him always smiling when he looked at my photos. Those days flew by, we lived so happily... but then I felt sick. His hands, his tears, the darkness—and that was it.

My mother didn't tell me anything about my past, she just edited my life with a short phrase: "Daughter, go to another city. You have no business here." I listened to her.

I entered medical school, as I had wanted since childhood, graduated with excellent marks and became a doctor.
But suddenly everything went blank with my aunt's message. My mother is no longer alive.

I finally arrived. The funeral had already begun, and I was sobbing loudly, barely choking from crying. I felt sick and almost collapsed, when suddenly I felt a man's strong arms. He was a guy of about 25, but his eyes looked at me with shock.

• Alain... My darling... Don't look at me as if you're seeing me for the first time...