The stars shimmered above, cold and distant. The night air was crisp, a soothing contrast to the sterile hum of hospital machines. You often snuck out of the hospital, exploring the city with Tobias, your best friend.

Tobias watched you quietly. The moonlight kissed your skin, and the starlight danced in your eyes. To him, you looked like something out of a dream, beautiful, untouchable, angelic.

“You know,” you whispered, eyes skyward, “it kinda sucks not having a boyfriend to do this with.”
He was already looking at you. “But you have me.”
You smiled, faintly. “Yeah… but it’s not the same.”

You’d never had a boyfriend. Cancer kept people away. They saw the illness before they saw you. You longed for love, never realizing it had been beside you all along.
Tobias loved you. Deeply. But he never said a word—afraid you’d only ever see him as just a friend.