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1. The List
Lena started carrying a notebook everywhere.
*Things I Want to Do Before I Die* was scrawled across the first page in her looping handwriting. The list grew daily, sometimes hourly:
- Watch the sunrise from a moving train
- Swim in the ocean at midnight
- Get drunk on cheap champagne in a hotel bathtub
- Tell Noah I love him in a crowded room where no one can hear
Noah hated the notebook.
He hated the way Lena smiled when she added to it, like she was curating a museum exhibit of her own life. He hated the way she left it lying open on the coffee table, pages fluttering in the breeze from the open window, as if daring the universe to interrupt her plans.
Most of all, he hated the unspoken rule: We don't talk about the ticking clock. We just pretend we have all the time in the world.
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2. The Road Trip
They stole a car.
Well—borrowed. Lena's roommate's ancient Volvo, left unlocked with the keys under the sun visor. "She won't notice until Tuesday," Lena said, tossing their hastily packed duffel bag into the backseat.
Noah gripped the steering wheel too tight as they sped down the interstate, the windows rolled down, the radio playing static-laced oldies. Lena perched barefoot on the passenger seat with her knees pulled to her chest, singing off-key to songs she didn't know the words to.
"Where are we going?" Noah asked for the third time.
Lena grinned, wind whipping her hair into a wild halo. "Wherever the road ends."
They drove until the gas light came on, then pulled into a motel with flickering neon letters—*VAC NCY*—the A and the A burned out. The room smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke, the bedspread stained with mysteries Noah didn't want to contemplate.
Lena flopped onto the bed and immediately started laughing. "This is *disgusting*."
Noah sat gingerly beside her. "We could go home."
Lena's laughter died. She reached up, tracing the worry lines between his eyebrows. "No, we can't."
That night, they lay tangled in the questionable sheets, Lena's head on his chest, listening to the muffled sounds of an argument through the thin walls.
"I want to remember this," Lena whispered. "The shitty motel. The awful road trip. All of it."
Noah pressed his lips to her hairline and didn't trust himself to speak.
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3. The Midnight Swim
The beach was deserted when they arrived, the moon painting the waves silver.
Lena stripped to her underwear before Noah could protest, sprinting toward the water with reckless abandon. He chased her, the cold sand biting at his feet, the night air sharp in his lungs.
"Lena, wait—"
She plunged into the surf with a shriek, disappearing beneath the black water for one heart-stopping second before surfacing, gasping and laughing. "It's freezing!"
Noah waded in after her, the icy water stealing his breath. Lena wrapped her arms around his neck, her skin pebbled with goosebumps, her lips blue-tinged.
"Cross it off the list," she murmured against his mouth before kissing him.
Saltwater and desperation. Noah held her tighter, trying to memorize the way her body felt against his—alive, *alive*, so painfully alive.
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4. The Hospital Bracelet
Noah found it in the bathroom trash can.
A thin plastic band, cut off and discarded. Parkinson, Lena M. DOB 05/12/1998. MRI w/ contrast.*
He stood there for a long time, staring at it, his vision blurring.
Lena appeared in the doorway, her smile fading when she saw what he held. "Noah—"
"You said you weren't due for a scan until June." His voice sounded alien to his own ears.
Lena leaned against the doorframe, suddenly looking exhausted. "I've been getting headaches again."
Noah crushed the bracelet in his fist. "When were you going to tell me?"
"Never, if I could help it."
The honesty hurt more than the lie would have.
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5. The Fight (Part II)
They screamed at each other in the parking lot of a 24-hour diner at 3 AM.
"You don't get to decide what I can handle!" Noah shouted, slamming his hands against the hood of the car.
Lena stood silhouetted under a flickering streetlight, her arms crossed. "I'm trying to protect you!"
"From what? The truth? The fact that you're—" He choked on the word.
Lena's expression softened. She reached for him. "Noah."
He jerked away. "Don't."
For the first time since the diagnosis, Lena looked scared. Not of dying—but of losing him now, before she was gone.
Noah turned and walked away.
He got exactly twelve steps before he collapsed to his knees on the asphalt, sobbing.
Lena caught up, wrapping her arms around him from behind, her face pressed between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Noah turned in her arms and clung to her like a drowning man.
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6. The Photograph
The last item on Lena's list:
*Leave something beautiful behind.*
They set up the camera on a timer in Noah's dorm room, the golden light of late afternoon painting the walls. Lena sat cross-legged on the bed in Noah's favorite sweater, her smile soft and real. Noah knelt behind her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his face buried in her hair.
The shutter clicked.
Later, when Noah developed the photo (because Lena insisted on film, not digital—"I want something that *exists*"), he would notice two things:
1. The way the sunlight caught Lena's profile, making her look almost ethereal.
2. His own eyes, wide and terrified, like he already knew this was the image he'd hold at her funeral.
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