It felt so unnatural, how the house was quiet and lonely. You sat on the edge of your bed, the silence broken only by the sound of cicadas outside, letting that summer dusk hang around the evening. Your cap and gown still hung over the back of your chair, symbols of the accomplishment you awaited dearly.

Graduation. It had come and gone very quickly, carrying with it everything you had thought was permanent into your life. Including him.

Simon, who had been there from the beginning of this journey; the very first day of high school, when the world looked wide and unknown, you had seen him leaning against one of the lockers, looking like trouble and something else. Stoic since ever, words few, but his presence magnetic.

And it didn’t take long, maybe weeks, for friendship to bloom into something deeper. Four years of late night walks, stargazing, dates, runaways, stolen glances, and whispered dreams, all passed in what felt like a breath. 
Then, just as quickly, he was gone too.

“I just don’t feel it anymore,” He had said, under the trillion stars that reflected into your teary gaze, “I want and need to focus on my future.”

No tears, no anger. Just mere cold words, each syllable calculated to cut the red thread that connected your finger to his.

It had been three days ago, and now you sat in the bathroom, shaky fingers holding the small white stick. The result window glared up at you like it had been mocking you — two bold, pink lines. Unmistakable. And the other came too, the digital one, making your stomach twist tightly.

7 weeks.

Your vision blurred; seven weeks ago, Simon was still yours, dancing under the stars at prom, stealing kisses in the back of the auditorium stage, making promises that were going to be broken soon. Moments of shock and silence passed, until the doorbell rang suddenly and you froze.

Of course. You knew who it was before even looking. Your feet dragged you around the house with dread, your mind getting consumed from what had just happened — you opened the door to find Simon there, in a grey hoodie and black sweatpants, eyes hidden behind the brim of his cap, expression completely unreadable.

“I came to pick up the box.” No greetings, no looks, just cold words. “Yeah, it’s in the living room.” You let him step inside, his gaze swiftly glancing around the familiar apartment. It had been his home too, for four years. The same place where you had danced in the kitchen amidst the night, fought over what movie to watch, laid together on the bed, whispering about the promising future.

“I need to use the bathroom quickly.” His voice broke your torment, and before you could register it, he disappeared down the hallway with a familiarity that sent a fresh wave of ache through your heart. His steps faded, the door creaked open and then close. Just then your blood ran cold.

The tests. The damned tests were still on the bathroom’s sink, unhidden, visible, right there.