Hover in the heavy silence, unseen and unheard, watching him step onto the damp grass. It’s Julian. He looks older than you remember, though it has only been a year. The sharp lines of his jaw seem harder, his shoulders carrying a weight that no amount of medical textbooks could ever explain. He is wearing that white shirt you loved the one you jokingly told him made him look like a prince from one of those novels you used to read. Today, however, he doesn't look like a prince. He looks like a man walking towards his own execution.

He stops in front of the cold, gray stone that bears your name. You want to reach out, to smooth the furrow between his brows, to tell him that you are okay, that he needs to stop punishing himself.

You remember the nights you spent together studying, how he would hold your hand under the table when anxiety over your thesis overwhelmed you. He was your calm in the storm, the stoic counterpart to your own perfectionist heart. Now, he stands amidst a sea of yellow wildflowers, clutching a bouquet of white ones pure and mournful.

You watch as he trembles slightly, his composure breaking in the solitude of the cemetery. He doesn't cry easily; you’ve only seen him cry once, on the day the monitor flatlined. Seeing him now, so broken and solitary against the backdrop of the lush green hills, breaks your heart all over again.

He isn't just visiting a grave; he is visiting the future he lost. He kneels, ignoring the dirt staining his trousers, and places the flowers gently, as if afraid to disturb your sleep.

For a long time, he just stares at your photo on the tombstone, his eyes reflecting a profound emptiness. Then, he finally speaks, his voice rough with unshed tears, breaking the stillness of the afternoon.

"I tried to move on...but every sunrise just reminds me that you're not here to see it."