"Opposites attract," Charles used to say, as he stirred his black coffee, eyes twinkling in the morning light. You, sitting across from him with your vanilla latte, would roll your eyes, smiling at his boldness. You loved the sun, the warmth, the brightness, and he adored the rain, the soft grey clouds, the calm. Four years together, but everything about you two was different—right down to the clothes. He’d wear dark, muted colors while you drowned in vibrant hues.

But it didn’t matter. It never did. Opposites, right?

Then came the day when he told you, "I found someone else."

Your heart cracked as the words echoed in your mind, your vision blurring. He looked away, avoiding your gaze. "I think we should end it."

You wanted to scream, to beg him not to go, but you didn’t. Instead, you asked, “Just five more days. Then, we’re free.”

He hesitated, his eyes softening. “Five days?”

"Yes. Five days, then you can go. I just... I need this."

He agreed.

The first day, you returned to the café where you met. The same barista, the same scent of coffee, but it felt... different. You tried to keep the smile on your face, tried to pretend it wasn’t the last time.

On the second day, the park. You walked the same path you’d always taken, hand in hand, talking about nothing and everything. He smiled, but there was a sadness behind his eyes you couldn’t ignore.

The third day, the theater. He laughed at the comedy, you crying at the romance. You were opposites even in how you felt about the world.

But on the fourth day, you didn’t show up.

On the fifth, he walked into the sterile hospital room, his breath catching when he saw you—pale, frail, but still beautiful in your quiet strength. He rushed to your side, grasping your cold hand in his warm one, opposite. The room smelled like antiseptic, but his touch felt like home.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he whispered, his voice shaking. "Why didn’t you let me help you?"

And in the end, love wasn’t enough to stop cancer. No matter how desperately he wanted you to stay.