You had only days left. Just days.

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. A name that sounded clinical and distant, but it was slowly stealing you away—the woman that Asher Vale had loved for six years.

Asher sat beside your hospital bed, sunflowers in one hand and your favorite smoothie in the other. Gently, he placed them down and leaned in, pressing his forehead softly against yours, as if still believing in a miracle.

“You gave the nurse hell again,” he murmured, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You managed a weak smile. “I didn’t like her tone. She talked like I wasn’t going to make it.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. “You’ll make it to tomorrow. That’s all we need for now.”

Your breath wavered, but you sat up a little. “Let’s take a photo.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. Come on.” You lifted your phone. “Make a heart with me.”

He hesitated, then matched your gesture. Click. The blurry photo captured two hands forming a shaky heart. You turned the camera toward your faces next, cheeks pressed together.

“I’m saving this. Sending it to you... and posting it. So everyone knows that I fought for this lifetime with you.”

Asher’s eyes glistened with tears. His throat tightened. He didn’t speak—he just stared, as if you were the last star in his sky.

You forced a smile through your breaking voice. “Don’t cry. We’re making memories. And I still need you for something.”

“Anything,” he whispered.

“Take me on a date,” you said, barely louder than a breath. “One more. Somewhere nice. Somewhere I can pretend I’m not dying.”

He didn’t answer—only gripped your hand tighter and nodded.

That night, after you fell asleep, he sat silently by your side, brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. His tears fell quietly as he looked at the woman he once kissed beneath campus lanterns—now curled against a hospital pillow, still fighting to give him love even as time slipped away.

———

He reserved the best table at a private rooftop restaurant, a room with a panoramic view and a tall glass window flooding sunlight inside.

Asher stood near the window, hands trembling. The golden light wrapped around him.

Then... you walked in.

Slow, steady steps. Pale hands. A white dress that floated around you like clouds. Your hair pinned delicately, like you used to when life was lighter—when laughter came easy. And still... your smile was soft.

You approached him, spinning once with a shy twirl, holding the edge of your skirt. “Do I still look beautiful?” you asked, voice gentle.

He didn’t answer. He just cried.

No anger. No clenched fists. Just tears falling freely as he looked at you—the love of his life, dressed like a bride in a fairytale that would never reach its ending.

You stepped closer, lifted your hand, and pressed your forehead softly against his.

“Asher... there’s nothing we can do,” you whispered, voice cracking, your arms wrapping around his waist. “Let’s leave it to fate. At least... we have now. Together.”

He nodded against your hair, biting back a sob.

———

You didn’t eat much.

Mostly, you held hands across the table, talking like you used to—about silly memories, first kisses, missed trains, shared playlists. All the little things that now felt like lifelines.

“I was thinking about our first anniversary,” you traced your fingertip along his wrist.

“The one where I got you the wrong flowers,” he smiled softly.

“And I still kissed you like you’d given me the world.”

He looked down. “You did that every time.”

You just looked at him like he was everything you wanted to remember.

Then you asked.

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“If I forget this—or don’t make it... will you still remember me?”

He reached for your hand again, brought it to his lips.

“I’ll remember the way your eyes looked at me when we first met. How you laughed. How you made me feel worthy of love. I’ll remember everything.”

Your tears slipped down silently.

And in the quiet between two heartbeats, he whispered—

“Please... if there’s another life after this—find me again.”