Dear Diary,
He made me tea today.
With trembling hands.
With effort that nearly broke him.
And I wanted to stop him.
I wanted to say, "No, rest. Let me take care of you."
But I didn't.
Because I saw it in his eyes — the need to give.
One last thing.
One last cup.
One last moment where he could still be the one loving, not just the one being held together.
And I let him.
And I drank it slowly.
Like it was sacred.
Because it was.
Every drop felt like goodbye.
11:03 AM
I arrived late this morning.
Traffic.
Rain.
My chest tight with guilt the whole ride there.
When I entered his room, he was sitting up.
Alone.
Window open.
Blanket over his legs.
And a distant look on his face like he was somewhere far from the machines and medicine.
He turned when I walked in.
Smiled — weak, but real.
"I thought maybe you wouldn't come today."
I set my bag down and rushed to his side.
"Don't say things like that."
"I'm just teasing," he said.
But we both knew he wasn't.
11:18 AM
We talked about the rain.
How it smelled like the first day we met.
"Remember the jacket?" he asked.
"I never gave it back."
"I never wanted it back."
He chuckled.
Coughed.
Wiped his lips quickly, like he didn't want me to see the trace of red there.
I pretended not to notice.
He pretended not to bleed.
We've both gotten so good at pretending.
12:01 PM
He asked if I wanted tea.
I blinked.
"You don't have to," I said.
"I want to."
"You're tired."
"I want to."
He looked at me — not pleading, but determined.
Like this was something he needed to do.
So I nodded.
And whispered, "Okay."
12:11 PM
It took everything in me not to rush to help him as he moved.
He stood.
Wobbled.
Gripped the edge of the cabinet for support.
His hands shook as he reached for the kettle.
Filled it.
Turned it on.
I stood nearby, silent.
Ready to catch him if he collapsed.
But I didn't interfere.
Because this was his moment.
And I didn't want to steal it.
12:20 PM
He poured the water too quickly.
It spilled over.
Steam rose like memory.
He coughed again, this time deeper.
But kept going.
Opened the tin of tea leaves.
Measured.
Poured.
Waited.
His breath labored.
His back slightly hunched.
But his eyes — oh, his eyes — so full of life in that moment.
Of love.
12:28 PM
He handed me the cup.
It shook in his grasp.
A little of it spilled on the saucer.
I reached to steady it.
Our fingers touched.
And for a moment, everything stilled.
"This is how I first fell in love with you," I said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Making tea?"
"No," I smiled. "The way you give. Even when it hurts."
He looked away.
But not before I saw the tears in his eyes.
12:44 PM
We sat on the bed together.
I sipped slowly.
Let the warmth fill more than my body.
Let it touch every place in me that was aching.
He leaned his head on my shoulder.
"I feel like this is the last time I'll be able to do something for you," he said.
I didn't answer right away.
Because the truth sat heavy in my throat.
"Then I'll carry this forever," I whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"And I'll haunt every cup you drink after this."
I laughed.
Choked on it.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
1:17 PM
We talked about silly things for a while.
Old stories.
Dreams we once made.
Trips we never took.
He asked what my favorite dream was.
"Paris," I said.
"The bridge with the locks?"
"Yeah."
He looked at me.
"I always wanted to put one there with you."
"Me too."
"I guess now it'll just be yours."
I shook my head.
"I'll bring one for both of us."
He smiled.
And for a second, he looked 100% alive.
2:01 PM
He started fading again.
I helped him lie down.
Tucked the blanket around him.
Wiped his forehead with a cool cloth.
He looked up at me, eyes glossy.
"Will you write about this?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Even this part?"
"Especially this part."
He nodded.
"Promise you won't forget me."
"I couldn't if I tried."
He reached for my hand.
Pressed my palm to his heart.
"Just in case."
3:08 PM
He slept for a while after that.
I sat beside him.
Watching.
Writing.
Breathing in his presence like it was the last warmth in the world.
And I sipped what was left of the tea.
Still warm.
Still fragrant.
Still him.
Every sip a whisper:
I loved you.
I stayed.
I made this for you.
4:22 PM
The nurse came in.
Said he'd need more rest today.
I nodded.
Packed my things.
But didn't leave until he opened his eyes again.
"Go," he said.
"I'll come back tomorrow."
"Bring more tea?"
"I always do."
"And… stay a little longer?"
"As long as you need."
He closed his eyes again.
"Forever would be nice."
I leaned down.
Kissed his forehead.
"Forever, even if it's short."
5:07 PM
Walking home, the rain started again.
Soft.
Mourning.
I let it fall.
Didn't open my umbrella.
Didn't rush.
Because every step away from him feels like distance I don't know how to undo.
And yet, I keep walking.
Because he asked me to live.
To write.
To love him, even through the end.
6:12 PM
At home, I lit the candle.
The one he gave me long ago.
It's almost gone now.
Like him.
But still burning.
Like him.
And I drank the last of the tea.
Cold now.
But still sacred.
Still filled with love.
And I wrote:
"He made me tea today.
Not because he had to.
Not because he was strong.
But because he loved me.
He gave me warmth when his hands were shaking.
He gave me something to hold long after he's gone.
And I will hold it.
I will hold him.
In every cup.
Every steep.
Every sunrise.
Until the end."
– Mi-Chan