The day began like any other, bathed in golden sunlight and filled with the sound of laughter. The air was warm, carrying the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers as Alex and Emily raced through the fields. Their laughter tangled with the rustling of the tall grass, their footsteps pounding against the soil in an endless game of chase.
"You're too slow, Alex!" Emily taunted, darting ahead with a mischievous grin.
Alex rolled his eyes, quickening his pace. "Or maybe you're just too fast."
She turned her head to stick out her tongue, but in that split second, she stumbled on a root. Before she could hit the ground, Alex was there, catching her—like always.
They fell into a heap, breathless from laughter. Emily leaned back, gazing at the sky.
"Let's never grow up."
Alex lay beside her, watching the clouds drift lazily above. "Yeah… let's not."
But fate didn't listen to childhood wishes.
---
That evening, they were driving home with Emily's parents. The sky had darkened, painted with streaks of deep orange and violet. The road stretched out before them, empty except for the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.
Then—a blinding light.
The shriek of tires.
A deafening crash.
The world turned upside down.
The car spun, metal crumpling like paper, glass shattering into a thousand tiny stars. Emily screamed. Alex reached for her, but the force of the impact ripped her away from him.
Pain.
Darkness.
Silence.
---
When Alex woke, everything hurt. His vision blurred, his head heavy. The beeping of machines filled the sterile air, the faint scent of antiseptic stinging his nose.
Hospital.
His arms and head were wrapped in bandages, his body weak. He turned his head to the side, expecting to see Emily, her bright eyes peeking at him from under a hospital blanket.
But her bed was empty.
His stomach twisted. He swallowed, his throat raw. Something was wrong.
His parents sat beside him, their faces pale, hollow. His mother's hands trembled as she reached for him.
"Where's Emily?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Silence.
His father looked away. His mother squeezed his hand too tightly, her lip quivering.
"Alex… Emily didn't make it."
It was just four words. Just a sentence.
But it was enough to destroy him.
The air vanished from his lungs, the walls closing in. The world tilted, his vision swimming. His chest ached—not from the accident, but from something deeper, something raw and unbearable.
"She… she can't be gone."
But she was.
And with her, something inside Alex died too.