1. The First Time She Fainted
The library smelled like old paper and desperation.
Finals week had turned the building into a graveyard of hollow-eyed students, their faces lit by laptop screens, their fingers stained with highlighter ink. Noah hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Lena, curled in the armchair beside him, was annotating a copy of *The Waste Land* with a ferocity that bordered on violence.
"You're going to burn a hole through that page," Noah murmured.
Lena didn't look up. "T.S. Eliot deserves it."
Noah smiled and returned to his philosophy notes. He was halfway through a sentence about Kant's categorical imperative when he heard the sharp *clatter* of a pen hitting the floor.
Then—
A gasp. A thud.
Lena was on the ground.
For one terrifying second, Noah thought she was dead. Her body had folded like a marionette with its strings cut, her cheek pressed against the industrial carpet, her hair fanned out around her. The book had tumbled from her lap, splayed open to a page where she'd scribbled *I am not afraid of dying, I am afraid of being forgotten* in the margin.
Noah was on his knees beside her before he could breathe. "Lena? Lena!"
Her eyelids fluttered. A groan. "M'fine," she slurred, pushing weakly at his hands as he gripped her shoulders.
Someone across the study room gasped. "Should I call an ambulance?"
Lena's fingers dug into Noah's wrist. "No." The word came out sharp, panicked. "No hospitals. Just—help me up."
Noah hesitated, but Lena was already struggling to sit, her face ashen. He hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her upright, her body alarmingly light against his.
"I just need water," she muttered. "Low blood sugar."
Noah had seen low blood sugar before. This wasn't that.
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2. The Fight
They argued in hushed, furious whispers outside the library bathroom, where Lena was splashing water on her face.
"You passed out," Noah hissed.
"It was a dizzy spell." Lena patted her face dry with paper towels, avoiding his eyes in the mirror. "I skipped breakfast."
Noah grabbed her wrist. "You've been getting headaches for weeks. Your hands shake. You're *lying* to me."
Lena went very still. The fluorescent lights made the hollows under her eyes look like bruises.
For a heartbeat, Noah thought she might finally tell him the truth.
Then—
"You're not my keeper, Noah." She wrenched her arm free. "Stop acting like you own me."
The words landed like a slap.
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3. The Doctor's Office
Noah didn't speak to Lena for three days.
On the fourth morning, he woke to a text:
Meet me at Health Services. Please.
The campus clinic was a squat brick building that smelled like antiseptic and dread. Lena sat in the waiting room, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding her body together. She looked up when Noah entered, her eyes red-rimmed.
Noah's anger evaporated.
He sat beside her, their thighs pressing together. "What's going on?"
Lena swallowed hard. "They found something on my MRI."
A cold fist closed around Noah's heart.
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4. The Diagnosis
The doctor was a tired-looking woman with a kind voice.
"Arteriovenous malformation," she said, pointing to a blurry gray mass on the brain scan. "A tangle of blood vessels that shouldn't be there. It's likely congenital."
Noah's fingers interlaced with Lena's. Her palm was clammy.
"Is it…?" He couldn't say the word.
"Treatable? Yes. But risky." The doctor tapped the image. "This close to the thalamus, surgery could cause memory loss, motor impairment—"
"How long?" Lena interrupted. Her voice was eerily calm.
The doctor hesitated. "With monitoring, years. But if it ruptures—"
Noah stopped listening.
The room tilted. The words aneurysm and hemorrhage and sudden death floated past him like debris in a flood. All he could see was Lena's profile—the way her jaw was clenched, the way her free hand gripped the edge of the exam table like she was bracing for impact.
She already knew.
She'd always known.
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5. The Parking Lot
They sat in silence on the curb outside the clinic, watching students bike past, laughing, oblivious.
Lena lit a cigarette with shaking hands. "Say something."
Noah stared at the cracks in the pavement. "How long have you known?"
"Since freshman year." She exhaled smoke. "I get scans every six months. It's been stable until—"
"Why didn't you tell me?" The words tore out of him, raw and bleeding.
Lena flicked ash. "Would it have changed anything?"
Yes, Noah wanted to scream. I would have memorized you. I would have loved you harder. I would have—
Lena stubbed out the cigarette and stood. "I'm not dying today, Noah." She held out a hand. "Take me home."
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6. The Nightmare
That night, Noah dreamed of drowning.
He was standing on a beach, watching Lena swim too far out. The tide pulled her under. He ran into the surf, but the water turned to glass—he could see her floating beneath the surface, her hair fanning out like ink, her hand pressed to the barrier between them.
When he woke, his pillow was wet.
Lena slept beside him, her breathing steady, her eyelashes casting spiderweb shadows on her cheeks. Noah pressed two fingers to the pulse point in her wrist and counted each beat like a prayer.
*Stay. Stay. Stay.*
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