The summer air was thick and heavy, buzzing with the lazy buzz of cicadas. He always smelled like Soul to you. Soul, who stubbornly refused to learn to swim.

Y-Come on, Soul! Just dip your face in the water!

He grimaced, clutching at the edge like a shipwrecked sailor.

Soul- No way. Water is not my thing.

The years melted away like ice cream on a hot day. Soul was your closest person, with whom you spent your whole life.

Then the text came.

Just one phrase, harsh and cruel against the cheerful background of your phone: "Everything is bad. Very bad."

Your heart trembled. A flurry of frantic texts followed, left unanswered. Finally, a reluctant, hesitant message: "I don't have long left."

Deadly. Not for long. These were alien words, alien and monstrous, tearing apart the peaceful fabric of your life.

You barely noticed the bus ride, the desperate knock on Jean's door. Soul's mother, with red and swollen eyes, replied, her voice muffled.

"He... he went to the lake...

Lake. The one you laughed at, the one where you tried and failed to teach him to swim. That's where he's always been watching you from, dry and safe on shore.

Soul's father looked at you with inexpressible sorrow.

"He told me.".. He said he wanted to learn how to swim.

You ran.

The path leading to the lake seemed unbearably long, and every step weighed you down. The air, once full of the promise of summer, now seemed thick with fear.

You found him at the water's edge. His shoes were neatly placed nearby. He stared at the shimmering surface, his face serene, almost peaceful.

He turned around, and a small smile touched his lips.

Soul- You came.