The dorm room was quiet and empty.
Emily placed the gardenias on her desk, leaning in to breathe in their delicate fragrance. It lifted her mood instantly—she felt like singing, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. She flipped through her notes and sat down, ready to start on her essay. This time, once she finished her first draft, she would make sure to get Ryan's feedback. If the teacher asked any tricky questions, she didn't want to be caught unprepared.
Slowly, she highlighted key points with her orange highlighter, underlining the most valuable insights.
She was completely absorbed in her work.
Outside, the sky was gradually darkening.
Suddenly, her phone chimed with its familiar tune, jolting her out of her focus.
She quickly answered, "Hello?"
"Emily…"
The voice on the other end froze her. For a few seconds, she forgot to breathe, her entire body tensing up. Her fingers slowly tightened around the pen in her hand.
"Dad… You're back," she said softly. He only ever called when he was back.
"Emily…" Her father's sigh came through the line. "Why didn't you tell me you transferred schools? Why did you move so far away? And why did you change your phone number? If it weren't for Howie, would you have just kept avoiding me?"
"That's not true. I thought you weren't coming back until November, and I didn't want to interrupt your work," Emily replied, her tone polite and distant. "It's cheaper to switch numbers here. I was planning on calling you once you returned."
"Emily, it's been six months now… you can't keep—"
"Dad!" she cut him off quickly. "How have you been? Is everything interesting in Guinea?"
"I'm fine, don't worry," her father said after a pause, his voice heavy with hesitation. Eventually, he sighed. "The climate in the south is very different from the north. Take care of yourself, alright? Don't get sick, and don't make me worry."
"I won't," she murmured.
"I'll be leaving for Iraq in a few days. I'll be there for about three or four months."
"It seems dangerous there… Dad, you need to be careful," Emily replied, concern lacing her voice.
"I will. Let's both take care of ourselves." There was a brief pause. "Emily, do you have enough money? Before I go, I'll send some over."
"That's not necessary, Dad. There are so many kids in poorer countries who need it more. I've got enough."
"Emily… I'm sorry. I've let you down."
"Dad, what are you talking about?" Emily smiled gently. "I'm proud to have a father like you, someone who helps so many people in need. You're like an angel to them. Besides, I've grown up. I'm not the little girl who used to cling to you and cry."
There was a long silence on the other end. Emily thought she could hear her father sigh.
"Dad, what's wrong? I'm really doing fine, you don't have to worry," she said, her voice soft yet reassuring.
"I'll call you every two weeks from now on. Is that alright?"
"Mm, that's fine."
And then, the conversation stalled. After her mother passed away when she was seven, this was the longest they'd spoken in half a year.
"Emily, Howie's here with me. He wants to talk to you."
"Howie?" Emily froze, panic flickering across her face. "No, that's… I'm a little busy right now—"
But before she could finish, a familiar voice pierced her ears.
"Emily!"
The low, anguished voice cut through her like a nightmare resurrected from the past.
"Emily, can you hear me? It's Howie!"
Emily shut her eyes, struggling to bury all the painful memories. She gripped the fluorescent pen tightly, exhaling slowly.
"Howie..."
"You really ran away without even a word? Do you have any idea how hard I've been trying to find you? I thought something terrible had happened to you, that you'd disappeared! How could you transfer schools without telling me?"
Emily bit her lip, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Howie…"
"He's dead, Emily! Young is dead!!" Howie's voice roared through the phone, filled with rage, as if he wanted to reach through and shake her awake.
Emily's face went pale. "Howie…"
"*Young is dead!* You touched his lifeless body in the hospital morgue! Cold, purple, completely drained of life! He's gone, Emily. That person isn't Young, even if he has his heart. He'll never be Young! Can't you see that? Are you out of your mind?"
Emily's body began to tremble. The furious voice on the phone, combined with the suffocating darkness outside her window, clawed at her like a vicious nightmare, dragging her into its abyss.
"Emily, come back. Young is—"
"Don't say that word." Emily's voice was low but firm. "If you say it again, Howie, I swear you'll never be a friend to me or Young again."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.
"Emily..."
"Howie, you know that Young is still alive. He's here, in this world. As long as even one finger, one strand of his hair remains, I'll be by his side! Where I go, how I'm doing—that's none of your business. I love Young. Even if a thousand years pass, even if a million do, the only person I'll ever love is him. Just… forget about me."
With a sharp click, she snapped her phone shut. Her lips pressed together, trembling as her entire body shook. The air, once filled with the sweet scent of gardenias, suddenly felt suffocating.
Young…
Why do they all keep saying you're dead? You're alive. I can feel it—I can hear your breath, see your smile, feel your warmth. You're here. I know you are. I know you would never leave me, not ever...
But then, why?
Why are these tears flooding my face...
The salty stream of tears poured down her cheeks, soaking her pale lips. Her heart felt unbearably cold. She tried to breathe, but no air seemed to come, as if the freezing flood of tears had rushed into her chest, leaving no space for breath...