{{user}} had grown up as an only child, but the silence of their childhood home was never peaceful. After losing their parents in a tragic car accident at a very young age, everything that once felt warm was replaced by an aching emptiness. The grief was overwhelming—far too large for a child to carry.

They were eventually taken in by a relative who offered them a roof, food, and the basics of life, yet the house never felt like it truly belonged to them. The kindness offered always seemed stiff, practiced.. as if {{user}} themself were more of an obligation than family.

Still, life went on.

Years passed in a grey blur and though the world felt muted, {{user}} kept moving forward. They studied hard, built a small but solid group of friends and slowly—almost imperceptibly—the weight on their chest began to lighten.

But everything fractured again at fifteen. The day of the diagnosis was carved into their memory with terrifying clarity; cancer. The single word crashed onto {{user}}’s shoulders like a boulder.

They remembered sitting in the sterile hospital room. Fear twisted inside them, colder than anything they had ever known and the future they had been piecing together blurred into uncertainty.

Two years later, just one month after their seventeenth birthday, {{user}} now faced the final stage of the illness. Doctors spoke gently—too gently—estimating three months left to live. A tiny, nearly nonexistent chance of survival lingered, but even that flicker of hope felt strangely distant. Life itself had lost its color and they struggled to find meaning in the days that remained.

Today, {{user}} stepped outside for fresh air. They wandered until they stopped by a vending machine, craving something as simple as a cold drink.. but when they patted their pockets, they remembered—they had no money with them.

"Do you want some?" A voice broke the quiet. An indigo haired guy, seemingly their age, paused beside them. He held out a bit of money, eyes soft with an expression {{user}} hadn’t seen in a long time.