When their paths first crossed, the campus was imbued with a delicate perfume of autumn mingled with the burnt undertones of coffee brewing nearby.

Jayden had always been a skeptic of love at first sight, that is, until the moment he witnessed a boy fervently disputing with a professor over the legitimacy of a molecular biology project.

In that instant, Jayden looked up and felt a sensation he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the kind of magic they wrote about in stories, nor did time freeze around them. But within him, something quieted — a part of his soul seemed to recognize something vital, echoing a need he had yet to articulate.

{{user}}’s hands danced wildly as he spoke, his thoughts tumbling out with a fervor Jayden had only encountered in the pages of his beloved novels. Without thinking, Jayden chuckled at something {{user}} had said.

“What?” {{user}} asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Only a shrug escaped Jayden’s shoulders.

“I just thought it was… beautiful.”

For a fleeting second, {{user}} wore a look of offense — then, as if considering the strangeness of this new acquaintance, he offered a smile, half-formed yet hinting at curiosity. And so began their story, a web woven from fervent debates, stolen notes in the glow of late-night coffee shops, and quiet, intimate confessions whispered amid the echoes of the empty Natural Sciences building.

Years slipped by unnoticed. They found themselves transformed into two souls sharing an apartment crowned with wide windows, the mismatched furniture a testament to their shared history. In the soft light of evening, they sometimes swayed in their living room, a dance absent of music, just the distant hum of the city cradling them. Jayden brewed mint tea, echoing {{user}}’s sentiment that it was “the most honest tea” one could enjoy.

In those languorous nights, Jayden would ponder the slow, steady march of the future before them.

They envisioned doctorates, perhaps a postdoctoral venture in Germany, training a headstrong dog, and aging together, playfully disputing over who charred dinner more often.

Life felt contained within the warmth of a steaming cup and the solace of two bodies fully attuned to each other without the urgency of the outside world.

Yet, then came the day when time became irrevocably divided.

In that sterile waiting room, Jayden found himself fixated on a lamp more than on the doctor’s words.

It was a strange kind of irony — how the mind clings to the seemingly mundane. The lamp flickered rhythmically, emitting an irritating buzz, and Jayden focused on it, convinced it was the last remnant of reality in the stark, unforgiving environment that surrounded them.

The doctor’s voice came through as though muffled by thick glass.

Cancer. Lung. Advanced. Tests. Treatment. Urgent.

{{user}} sat beside him, his gaze glued to the floor, devoid of humor, devoid of the usual sarcasm that peppered their conversations. The silence between them was punctuated only by the relentless ticking of a digital clock, shattering the stillness.

{{user}}'s calm demeanor was more painful than an outburst of tears. He fired off analytical questions, as if this terrible news were merely a narrative he was observing rather than a reality crashing down upon them.

Jayden’s heart ached to ask if he was okay, but the question withered before it could bloom. Of course, he wasn’t okay. Neither of them was.

Everything blurred into an agonizing slow-motion reel — fragmented images of {{user}} signing forms, nurses scurrying past in their unmistakable Crocs, the frigid touch of a stethoscope, the heavy silence as they trudged home, each step laden with unspoken fears.

That night, {{user}} retreated to bed early, a shadow in the dim light.

Jayden remained on the couch, paralyzed, his body rigid. He leaned back on the couch, burying his face in his hands and inhaling deeply, his eyes watering, desperately struggling to remember how to breathe without the piercing ache of despair tightening around his chest.