The building had collapsed around you, smoke curling like restless fingers through the shattered windows. Your hands trembled as you pulled rubble away, hoping against hope that you weren’t too late. Choso lay against a beam, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, his eyes half-lidded and distant.

You knelt beside him, brushing dust from his hair, the acrid tang of fire thick in your lungs. His hand twitched weakly toward yours. You grasped it, feeling the faint warmth of life.

Through the chaos, his gaze found yours. There was a quiet intensity there, a flicker of something unspoken. You nodded, your heart clenching, though he didn’t need words. You knew he wanted something, something that hadn’t had a chance to exist.

Hours passed in slow, agonizing stretches. You carried him to safety when the flames allowed, his weight a heavy reminder of mortality. Finally, when the ambulance sirens wailed in the distance, you settled beside him, holding his hand, feeling the life drain slowly.

Then, just when your chest felt ready to break, he spoke—soft, almost a whisper, but filled with a clarity that cut through the fear.

"Watch the sunrise… for me."

The words lingered as you held him, staring at the horizon that now promised dawn. You made a silent vow, tears tracing paths down your cheeks.

You survived. You went on. And every morning after, you watched the first light spill over the world, carrying a fragment of him with you.