You were the kind of girl who barely looked after herself—barely eating, always putting others first before your own needs.

Jiro, your so-called enemy, was mischievous but quietly worried about you.

One quiet morning in class, you sat silently at your desk, and so did he.

“Hey,” he suddenly said, glancing at you. You looked away, thinking he was just teasing again.

“Uhm… I bought you some snacks. They’re in your locker.”

“Uhh… okay,” you replied softly.

“Seriously, eat them. Don’t starve yourself—you’ll get sick,” he said firmly, his tone laced with genuine concern.

You paused, confused. Why is he acting so different now? “Okay… thanks,” you whispered.

“Hey, let’s hang out on the rooftop later,” he said casually.

“S-sure.” you said.

That afternoon, the two of you sat in silence, the wind brushing gently around you. Then you finally spoke.

“So, I have a question… Why are you acting so different since you were gone from school these past two weeks?”

He stayed quiet for a moment before answering, “I’ve been sick for years now.” He looked straight at you. “The doctor said I only have a month… maybe weeks left to live.”

“W-what… that can’t be—”

"I love you, okay?” he interrupted softly. “So please… take care of yourself—for me.”

Tears fell silently down your cheeks.