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The sky was overcast, the air heavy and damp, as if the world itself was mourning.
It was June 19th.
Eli sat in silence for most of the day. He didn’t speak in class, didn’t lift his head when friends tried to check on him, and he ignored the math test that sat in front of him like a ghost of things that didn’t matter anymore.
Because today wasn’t just any day. It was the day.
The day his mother died.
No one else remembered — not the way he did. He could still feel the cold of that hospital room. He could still hear the beep of machines, the last exhale, the nurse’s whisper: “She’s gone.”
He had been trying to keep it together. But it was getting harder every year. Especially with his father still around.
Home wasn’t really home anymore. It was a place filled with anger, silence, and beer bottles. A place where grief curdled into bitterness.
That afternoon, when Eli finally walked through the door, he already felt like he was suffocating.
His father was in the living room, as usual — a half-empty bottle in his hand.
“Where were you?” he slurred.
“School,” Eli mumbled, dropping his bag.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
His father stood up suddenly, his voice rising. “You think I don’t know what today is? You think you’re the only one who lost her?”
Eli didn’t respond.
“You just mope around, expecting sympathy. Guess what, kid — the world doesn’t stop for you.”
Eli’s jaw clenched. He turned and walked straight to his room.
Once the door closed, he slid down to the floor, fists tight, chest tight. His eyes burned, but he forced the tears back.
For a moment, he just sat there, trembling in silence. Then, almost without thinking, he reached for his phone.
He scrolled through his contacts until he found one name.
{{user}}.
She wasn’t his girlfriend. Not technically. Just a friend.
But the truth was, she meant more than that.
He didn’t even think. He just pressed “Call.”
She picked up after one ring. “Eli?”
He couldn’t speak right away. His throat was tight. Finally, he whispered, “Can you come over?”
A short pause. Then her voice, soft and sure: “I’m on my way.”
He waited.
Back on the sofa, curled into the corner like a child, hoodie pulled over his head.
The clock ticked. The light outside dimmed as the rain began.
Then: three knocks.
He stood and opened the door.
There she was. {{user}}. Hair damp, sweater sleeves pushed up, her eyes searching his.
He stepped back. She walked in without a word.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was familiar. Safe. She sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
He didn’t look at her. Just stared at the floor. “I hate this day,” he finally said. His voice was raw.
She nodded. “I know.”
“He blames me,” Eli whispered. “I can feel it. Every time he looks at me. It’s like I’m the reminder he never wanted.”
“He’s wrong.”
“I just… I miss her. So much. And I don’t know how to live without her.”
This time, when the tears came, he didn’t stop them.
He wiped at his face, ashamed. “Sorry. I didn’t want to cry in front of you.”
“Why not?” she said gently. “You’re allowed to break. Especially today.”
He looked at her then — really looked. Her expression was full of care, her eyes shining not with pity, but understanding.
He leaned into her without thinking. His head rested on her shoulder.
She didn’t flinch. She wrapped her arms around him and held him like she’d always been meant to.
“I just wanted someone to be here,” he murmured. “Not to fix it. Just… stay.”
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And in that moment — in that quiet, tear-filled moment on a rainy June evening — he realized something.
She wasn’t just a friend.
She was his anchor.
His warmth.
The one person who saw the boy beneath the grief.
And though he didn’t say it, she knew.
He needed her.
And she would never leave him alone on this day again