Dear Diary,
Tonight, we lay beneath the stars.
And I held him the way I've always wanted to:
Like time had stopped.
Like tomorrow wasn't already whispering his name.
Like love could pause a disease.
But it can't.
It can only make the loss softer.
And I don't want soft.
I want forever.
But tonight, all I had was now.
1:27 PM
He called me this morning.
His voice was quiet, but steady.
"Come over," he said."I want to show you something."
I didn't ask questions.
I packed my notebook, a sweater, some fruit, his favorite cookies.
And I ran.
2:44 PM
When I got there, he was sitting by the window.
He looked… tired.
Not the usual tired.
The kind that settles in your skin.
The kind that doesn't leave.
But he smiled when he saw me.
Soft. Slow. Real.
"Hi," I whispered.
"Hey," he said.
And it felt like the sun came out — even just for a second.
3:12 PM
We sat on the floor for a while, surrounded by books and blankets.
He handed me an envelope.
Inside: three Polaroids.
Us.
Smiling.
One from the café.
One from our walk near the river.
One where we were laughing so hard my eyes are shut.
"I want you to have these," he said.
"Don't talk like it's the end," I whispered.
He didn't argue.
Because we both knew it was close.
4:23 PM
He asked if we could go outside.
"I want to feel the sky," he said.
So we did.
I helped him down the stairs.
Carried a blanket, some tea, a candle in a jar.
We walked slowly, across the grass behind his building.
To a little hill where the stars always feel closer.
He sat down first.
Then laid back.
And I joined him.
Side by side.
Like we used to do before the sickness took everything easy from him.
5:07 PM
The sky was pale blue and fading.
Birds chirped.
Leaves rustled.
Everything felt normal.
And that — somehow — made it worse.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About?"
"What happens next."
I swallowed.
"What do you mean?"
"Like… after this."
He reached for my hand.
Gripped it, though his fingers shook.
"Do you think souls stay?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You said that fast."
"Because I don't need to think about it."
He turned to me.
"What do you think mine will become?"
"A shadow that follows me. A warmth that never fades. A whisper that still knows my name."
He smiled.
Eyes wet.
"Sounds like love."
"It is love."
6:11 PM
We didn't talk for a long time after that.
Just watched the stars arrive.
One by one.
Like they were checking on him.
He started shivering.
I wrapped my arms around him.
He didn't resist.
Didn't even try to look strong.
He just melted into me.
Like he belonged there.
And maybe he did.
Maybe we both did.
7:02 PM
"I can't let go," I whispered.
His breath hitched.
"I know."
"I'm not ready."
"You don't have to be."
"I never will be."
"I know."
And then — he said it.
So quietly I almost missed it.
"But you will. One day. And I want that."
I shook my head.
Tears slipped into his hair.
"I don't want to move on."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then what are you asking?"
"Just… don't stop living."
I held him tighter.
"Even if it's without me."
8:09 PM
The stars were bright now.
And he was trembling again.
So I pulled the blanket tighter.
Held him like gravity.
Held him like he might slip through the night sky if I let go.
"I wish we had more time," I whispered.
"Me too."
"I wish we could grow old."
"Maybe in the next life."
"I wish I could carry this for you."
"You already are."
And then we said nothing else.
Because words were too small.
And love was too big.
9:03 PM
He fell asleep in my arms.
And I lay there beneath the stars, listening to his heartbeat.
So faint.
So slow.
But still there.
Still mine.
And I told myself: As long as it beats, there is hope.
10:11 PM
We're back inside now.
He's asleep in bed.
I helped him change.
Brushed his hair back from his face.
Held him as he cried into my shoulder — not loudly, but like someone who knows there's no fight left in them.
"I'm scared," he said.
"I am too."
"But you're stronger."
"No," I told him. "I'm just pretending better."
And then — he kissed my hand.
Soft.
Grateful.
Final.
11:07 PM
I'm writing this beside him now.
He's curled toward me.
Breathing shallow.
Eyes closed.
And all I can think is:
This is love.
Not the kisses.
Not the laughter.
Not the easy mornings.
But this.
Staying.
When the room smells like medicine and sweat.
When your heart is breaking every second.
When he says "I love you" like he's asking permission to leave.
And you say it back like you're trying to anchor him to this world.
I can't let go.
I won't.
But I know I'll have to.
Maybe not tonight.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But soon.
Too soon.
So I'm holding on harder.
With every breath I have left.
– Mi-Chan