It was a warm afternoon in late spring, and the golden sunlight filtered through the tall oak trees that lined the school courtyard. I sat on the edge of the concrete bench, pretending to read a book, but my eyes had long abandoned the words on the page. Instead, they were fixed on her.
Amila. Her laughter danced through the air like a melody, effortless and pure, as she leaned against the railing of the stairs. The sun seemed to favor her, casting a soft glow on her hijab and illuminating the gentle curve of her smile. She was a masterpiece painted by the universe, and I, a silent admirer, was content to observe from the shadows.
She didn't notice me, of course. Amila rarely did. Her attention was elsewhere, focused on someone who was nothing like me—Max, the star basketball player. Max was leaning against his locker, talking animatedly to a group of friends. His broad smile and easy confidence seemed to captivate everyone around him, but Amila's gaze held something more than admiration. It held hope.
I felt a familiar pang in my chest. It wasn't jealousy—no, that would imply I had some claim to her affection. It was a quiet kind of sorrow, one that came from loving someone who didn't see you the way you saw them. But as my eyes shifted from Amila to Max, I noticed something unexpected. His gaze wasn't on her. It wasn't even on anyone in his circle of friends.
Max was looking across the courtyard, where a girl sat alone on the steps, sketching in a worn notebook. Her name was Aina. She was the kind of person who faded into the background, unnoticed by most, yet somehow, she had captured Max's attention. His expression softened as he watched her, and for a moment, I saw a vulnerability in him that he usually kept hidden.
It was a strange, unspoken triangle—or maybe a square. I loved Amila, who adored Max, who seemed to have fallen for Aina. Each of us lost in our own silent yearning, threads of affection connecting us in ways none of us could see.
The school bell rang, pulling me from my thoughts. Amila gathered her things and walked past me, her eyes still lingering on Max. She didn't notice me—she never did—but I offered a small smile anyway, as if that invisible act could bridge the chasm between us.
I watched as Max, still oblivious to Amila's gaze, finally worked up the courage to approach Aina. He handed her a folded piece of paper, his face red with embarrassment, before walking away quickly. Aina looked up, surprised, then opened the note. A small smile spread across her face, and I realized that, in their own quiet way, they had found a connection.
It should have hurt to see Max walk away, leaving Amila standing alone. But as she stood there, lost in her thoughts, something shifted in me. I wasn't sure if it was the bittersweet beauty of watching unrequited love unfold or the quiet realization that I was a part of this intricate web, but I decided then and there that I didn't want to remain a ghost in my own story.
Lunch time, I found Amila sitting alone under the oak tree, her sketchbook resting on her lap. Gathering every ounce of courage, I walked over and sat down beside her.
"Hi," I said, my voice shaking slightly.
She looked up, surprised, her eyes meeting mine for the first time.
"Hi," she replied, a small smile forming on her lips.
It wasn't much, just a single word and a fleeting smile, but it was a beginning—a fragile thread in the tapestry of our intertwined lives. And for the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, my story wasn't destined to remain unwritten.
The next day, the sky was overcast, heavy with the promise of rain. I waited by the oak tree, my heart thudding in anticipation. Amila was there, sitting on the bench beneath its sprawling branches, her sketchbook resting on her lap as always. She wasn't drawing today, though. Instead, she stared at the sky, as if willing the rain to come.
I'd arrived earlier and noticed the dark clouds gathering. The thought of her sitting here alone, possibly caught in the rain, had pushed me to rush to the nearby 7-Eleven. With the coins I'd scraped together, I bought a simple black umbrella. It wasn't much, but it was all I could think of to make sure she wouldn't be drenched.
As I approached, the first raindrops began to fall, dotting the pavement with dark spots. She looked up as I arrived, her expression puzzled.
"Hi," I said, my voice carrying an edge of nervousness. Without waiting for her reply, I held out the unopened umbrella. "Here, take this. I thought you might need it."
Her eyes widened in surprise, then softened. "You bought this for me?"
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Yeah, I thought you shouldn't get caught in the rain. You have your sketchbook and everything here."
The fact that I bought it because I don't have an umbrella to cover myself, I lied a bit, but it's okay, I hope....
She hesitated, then took the umbrella from my hands, her fingers brushing lightly against mine. "Thank you, Alex." Her voice was soft, sincere.
I nodded, offering a small smile. "It's nothing. Really.
As the rain started to pick up, I turned to leave, knowing my heart couldn't take staying much longer. But as I walked away, something made me glance back before turning the corner.
Amila was sitting under the umbrella, her head bowed, her hands clutching it tightly. Her shoulders trembled, and I realized with a sharp pang that she was crying.
I didn't need to guess why. The unspoken truth was clear: she had seen the way Max looked at Aina, the love in his eyes that was never meant for her. It was a cruel irony that her heart mirrored mine—aching for someone who would never see her the way she wanted to be seen.
For a fleeting moment, I wanted to go back, to sit beside her, to tell her that I understood. But I stopped myself. Some pain couldn't be eased with words, and this was hers to feel and overcome. Instead, I turned away, letting the rain soak through my shirt as I walked on, the ache in my chest heavier than ever.
The image of her crying under the umbrella I had bought stayed with me. I wished I could have done more, been more. But even if I couldn't be the one to erase her tears, I vowed I would always try to keep her dry from the storms, no matter how small the gesture seemed
The next few days passed in a blur. I couldn't stop thinking about Amila sitting under the umbrella, crying. Her sadness felt like my own, and the memory of it clung to me like a second shadow. I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but I didn't know how. What could I possibly say?
Every time I saw her in the courtyard or passing by in the hallways, I hesitated. She would smile politely if our eyes met, but it wasn't the same. There was something distant about her now, as if a part of her had folded inward, protecting herself from the pain she carried.
One afternoon, I found her again under the oak tree. The sky was clear this time, the sunlight filtering through the leaves. She wasn't drawing or staring at the sky. Instead, she was tracing circles on the wooden bench with her finger, lost in thought.
Gathering every ounce of courage, I walked over and sat beside her.
"Hey," I said softly.
She glanced at me, startled, then smiled faintly. "Hey, Alex."
There was an awkward silence. I fiddled with the strap of my bag, searching for the right words. Finally, I blurted out, "Are you okay?"
Her fingers paused on the bench, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn't answer. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't know."
I nodded, not pressing her. Sometimes, the simplest answer was the most honest.
She turned to me, her eyes searching mine. "Why did you give me that umbrella?"
I hesitated, caught off guard. "Because it was raining," I said, a little too quickly.
She raised an eyebrow, a faint hint of amusement breaking through her sadness. "Really? That's the only reason?"
I swallowed hard. "I didn't want you to get wet," I said, more honestly this time. "I saw the clouds earlier, and I… I thought you might need it."
She studied me for a moment, then looked away. "Thank you," she murmured. "It was kind of you. More than you know."
The way she said it, so quietly, made me think there was more she wanted to say. But before I could ask, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.
"I'll see you around," she said, standing up and giving me a small wave before heading back toward the school building.
As I watched her walk away, I realized that even though the rain had stopped, there were still storms lingering inside her.
A week later, I found myself on the basketball court after school, retrieving my notebook from my locker. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor drew my attention to the court, where Max was practicing free throws.
He was alone, which surprised me. Usually, there was a crowd of friends or admirers nearby. But today, it was just him and the sound of the ball hitting the rim.
On impulse, I walked over.
"Hey," I said, my voice echoing in the empty gym.
Max looked up, startled, then nodded at me. "Hey."
I wasn't sure what I was doing, but the words spilled out before I could stop them. "Why don't you just tell her?"
He frowned, wiping sweat from his brow with his arm. "Tell who what?"
"Aina," I said, my voice steady. "Why don't you tell her how you feel?"
Max froze, the basketball resting in his hands. For a moment, he looked younger, more vulnerable, as if the weight of his emotions had finally caught up to him.
"It's not that simple," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"Why not?" I pressed. "You like her. She deserves to know."
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You think it's that easy? Aina… she's different. She doesn't see me the way everyone else does. She sees right through all this." He gestured to himself, as if dismissing his image as the school's golden boy. "I'm not sure she'd want someone like me."
I stared at him, surprised. Max, the guy everyone admired, was afraid of rejection? It was strange, yet oddly comforting, to see that even he had his own insecurities.
"Maybe she will," I said. "But you'll never know unless you try."
He nodded slowly, the ball rolling out of his hands and bouncing across the floor. "Yeah… maybe."
The next day, I spotted Max walking toward Aina in the courtyard. She was sitting on the steps, as always, her nose buried in her notebook. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and approached her.
I didn't stay to watch what happened next. Instead, I turned away, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions.
I found Amila under the oak tree again, her sketchbook open this time. She was drawing, her hand moving with practiced ease, but her expression was distant.
"Hey," I said, sitting down beside her.
She looked up and smiled, a little brighter this time. "Hey, Alex."
"Do you want to talk?" I asked.
She hesitated, then closed her sketchbook. "About what?"
"Anything," I said. "Everything. Or nothing at all. I'm here."
For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the ground. Then she took a deep breath and began to speak. She told me about the pain of loving someone who didn't love her back, the doubts she had about herself, and the weight of unspoken feelings.
I listened, not interrupting, not offering advice. Just being there. And as the sun began to set, casting the courtyard in hues of gold and pink, I realized that this—being by her side—was enough for now.
Because sometimes, love wasn't about grand gestures or perfect endings. Sometimes, it was about the quiet moments, the shared silences, and the simple act of being there when it mattered most.
The days rolled by, and the oak tree became our unspoken meeting place. Sometimes we talked; other times, we simply sat together, letting the silence speak for us. It felt natural, effortless, like the tree itself was rooting our friendship deeper into the ground.
One afternoon, Amila arrived with a troubled expression, her sketchbook tucked under her arm. I was already sitting on the bench, reviewing notes for an architecture assignment.
"Hey," I said, closing my notebook. "You okay?"
"I'm not sure," she replied, her voice soft. "There's a cat. It's been hanging around near the school gates. It looks so thin, Alex. Like it hasn't been eaten in days. And…" She trailed off, her brow furrowing.
"What is it?" I prompted.
"It's limping," she said. "I think it might have been hurt, but no one seems to notice."
I didn't need to hear more. Without hesitation, I stood up. "Let's go."
When we reached the school gates, the cat was there, huddled near the curb. It was a small, scruffy thing with gray and white fur matted with dirt. Its golden eyes looked up at us warily, and Amila knelt down, speaking softly to it.
"Hey there, little one," she murmured, inching closer.
But as she did, a car sped down the road, its tires screeching around the corner. The cat darted into the street, its limp slowing it down.
"Alex!" Amila cried, her voice panicked.
I didn't think. I just ran.
The world blurred around me as I sprinted toward the cat. The car's horn blared, the sound sharp and jarring, but I reached the cat just in time, scooping it up and stumbling back onto the sidewalk. My heart pounded as I looked down at the trembling creature in my arms.
"It's okay," I whispered, more to myself than the cat. "You're safe now."
Amila was beside me in an instant, her hands trembling as she reached out to stroke the cat's head. "Alex, you… Thank you." Her voice broke, and when I looked up, her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"We need to get it checked," I said firmly. "There's a vet not far from here. Let's go."
The veterinary clinic was a small, cozy place tucked between a bookstore and a bakery. The vet, a kind woman in her thirties, examined the cat and told us it had a sprained leg but would recover with care.
"You're lucky you brought it in when you did," she said, handing us some medicine and a small bag of cat food.
I glanced at Amila, who was cradling the cat in her arms. "What do we do now?"
"We can't just leave it," she said, her voice firm.
An idea struck me then, something that had been forming in the back of my mind since she mentioned the cat. "I'll take care of it. Meet me at the oak tree tomorrow."
That night, I stayed up late in my mini workshop. Being an architecture student had its perks—I had access to tools and materials, and an idea was already taking shape in my mind. I sketched out a simple design for a small wooden cat house, something sturdy yet cozy.
By morning, it was finished. I carried it to the oak tree, where Amila was already waiting with the cat, now clean and bandaged.
"You built this?" she asked, her eyes wide as she took in the little house.
"Yeah," I said, setting it down near the base of the tree. "I thought it could live here, where we can both keep an eye on it."
Amila knelt to examine the house, running her fingers over the smooth wood. "It's perfect, Alex. You're amazing."
Her words sent a warmth through me, but I brushed it off with a shrug. "It's nothing special. Just a few scraps of wood and some nails."
"It's more than that," she said, her voice soft. "It's home."
We placed the cat inside the little house, and it immediately curled up, purring softly.
"What should we call it?" Amila asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
I thought for a moment, then grinned. "How about 'Timi'? Short and sweet."
Amila laughed, the sound light and musical. "Timi. I like that."
From that day on, Timi became a part of our lives. Every afternoon, we would meet under the oak tree, bringing food and playing with the little cat. It was like Timi had brought a new layer of warmth to our time together, a shared responsibility that tied us closer.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, Amila turned to me, her expression thoughtful.
"Thank you, Alex," she said.
"For what?" I asked.
"For everything," she said, her gaze steady. "For being there. For caring. For… saving me, in a way."
I opened my mouth to reply, but the words caught in my throat. Because in that moment, with the sun casting her face in golden light and Timi curled up between us, I realized something: maybe I wasn't just saving her.
Maybe she was saving me, too…..
The end of the year crept closer, bringing with it the looming final exams. It was a tense time for everyone—teachers, students, and even the usually carefree atmosphere of the school grounds. For Amila and me, it was also a bittersweet reminder that our time as Form 4 students was nearing its end. Next year, Form 5 awaited us—the final stretch of our high school journey, and the year that would define so much of our futures.
Amila and I weren't in the same class. My focus was on architecture, alongside physics, chemistry, and additional mathematics. Amila, on the other hand, had her sights set on biology, with physics and chemistry rounding out her schedule. Despite our different academic paths, we decided to study together for the finals, meeting under the oak tree where Timi's little house had become a comforting fixture.
One late afternoon, we were seated on the grass, books and notes spread out between us. Amila was poring over her biology textbook, her brow furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, I was flipping through my architecture workbook, sketching a diagram for one of my assignments.
"What are you working on?" she asked, her curiosity breaking through her focus.
I glanced up and saw her leaning closer, her eyes fixed on my sketch.
"Just some practice," I said, holding up the page. "It's a floor plan for a house. Simple stuff."
She tilted her head, studying it. "How do you even come up with this? It's so detailed."
I shrugged, a small smile tugging at my lips. "It's just a lot of practice and learning how to visualize things in three dimensions. Want to give it a try?"
"Me?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
"Why not?" I said, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and handing her a pencil. "Here, I'll show you the basics."
She hesitated for a moment, then took the pencil, her fingers brushing against mine. I guided her through the process, showing her how to draw simple shapes and turn them into a basic room layout.
"Like this?" she asked, her brow furrowed as she sketched a small box with a door and windows.
"Exactly," I said, nodding. "Now add some furniture. A bed here, maybe a desk there."
She followed my instructions, her focus intense. When she finished, she leaned back and held up the paper. "What do you think?"
I studied her drawing, then smiled. "It's great. You've got a natural eye for design."
She laughed, a soft, musical sound. "I don't know about that, but it's fun. I can see why you like it."
For the next hour, we alternated between studying our respective subjects and teaching each other little bits of what we knew. She quizzed me on biology terms, and I helped her with the basics of perspective drawing. The time flew by, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, we had made surprising progress.
When exam week finally arrived, the school buzzed with nervous energy. Every classroom, hallway, and study area was filled with students cramming in last-minute revisions. Amila and I wished each other luck before heading to our separate exam rooms.
The exams were grueling, as expected. Architecture tested my ability to think critically and design creatively, while Amila's biology exam demanded a deep understanding of concepts I could barely wrap my head around. But as the days passed and we tackled one subject after another, I felt a sense of calm.
The studying had paid off.
The day after the final exam, we met under the oak tree again, this time with a sense of relief rather than urgency. Amila was holding Timi in her lap, stroking the little cat's fur as it purred contentedly.
"So," she said, looking up at me. "How do you think you did?"
"Not bad," I said, leaning back against the tree trunk. "I think I managed to survive architecture, at least."
She laughed. "You'll do more than survive. You're amazing at it, Alex."
"And you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "How's biology treating you?"
She shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. "I think I did okay. Maybe all those random quizzes you gave me helped."
"Glad to be of service," I said, grinning.
For a while, we sat in comfortable silence, watching the world around us. The oak tree, the cat house, the familiar sounds of the school grounds—it all felt like home.
"Next year's going to be different," she said suddenly, her voice quieter.
"Yeah," I agreed, my gaze fixed on the horizon. "Form 5. Last year of school. It's… a lot to think about."
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "But we'll figure it out. Together, right?"
I turned to her, her words filling me with a quiet warmth. "Yeah. Together."
As the sun set, casting the courtyard in hues of gold and pink, I realized that even as we faced the uncertainty of the future, this—our friendship, our connection—was something I wanted to hold on to. No matter what came next.
The holidays had arrived, marking the long-awaited break after the grueling final exams. The air was crisp with the promise of freedom, and I decided to make the most of it. A picnic at the beach seemed like the perfect idea—something lighthearted, surrounded by friends.
I invited Amila, of course, and she brought along her group: Lina, Luna, Aina, and Anatasha. I called up my own crew: Kai, Zinn, Nulz, and Max. It felt like the perfect mix, though I wasn't sure how Amila would feel about Max coming along, considering their history.
The beach was lively when we arrived, the waves crashing against the shore and the sun casting a golden glow over the sand. Everyone was settling in, spreading out blankets and setting up tents.
As we unloaded the supplies, Max walked over to greet Amila. I tensed, watching closely, but to my relief, their exchange was warm.
"Hey, Amila," Max said, a sheepish smile on his face.
"Max," Amila replied, her tone light. She glanced at Aina, who was standing beside him, and her smile widened. "Looks like you two are doing well."
Max rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, we are. Thanks."
Aina beamed, slipping her hand into Max's. "It's nice to see you, Amila," she said.
Amila nodded, her expression sincere. "You too, Aina."
I watched from a distance, feeling a sense of admiration for Amila. She had every reason to be bitter, but instead, she exuded grace. When she caught my eye, she gave me a reassuring smile, as if to say, It's okay.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lina and Luna, the ever-energetic twins, pulled out a box filled with fireworks.
"Ta-da!" Lina announced, holding up a rocket.
"Who's ready for a show?" Luna chimed in, her grin matching her sister's.
Everyone cheered, gathering around as the twins took charge. They set up the fireworks on the sand, their movements synchronized as if they'd rehearsed this a hundred times.
The first firework shot into the sky, exploding in a burst of blue and silver. The group clapped and cheered, the twins basking in the attention.
"This is amazing," Amila said, standing close to me as another firework lit up the sky.
"Yeah," I agreed, glancing at her instead of the display.
The light from the fireworks danced in her eyes, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else
Later that evening, as the excitement from the fireworks died down, we decided to set up a campfire. Amila and I volunteered to take care of it.
"Here, hold this," I said, handing her a bundle of kindling.
She knelt beside me, arranging the sticks carefully. "You've done this before?"
"A few times," I said, striking a match. "It's all about patience."
The flame caught, and together, we coaxed it into a roaring fire. The warmth spread quickly, and the group gathered around, toasting marshmallows and sharing stories.
"You're good at this," Amila said, nudging me lightly.
I shrugged, smiling. "Team effort."
As the sun set and the campfire crackled warmly, Nulz stood at a makeshift cooking station he had set up earlier. A talented cook and always eager to show off his skills, he had brought fresh ingredients and spices from home, ready to whip up a feast for everyone.
"Alright, everyone, sit tight," Nulz announced, flipping an apron over his head. "Chef Nulz is in the house—or the beach, I guess."
We gathered around, watching as he moved with practiced ease, slicing vegetables, marinating meat, and tossing ingredients into a sizzling pan over a portable stove. The delicious aroma wafted through the air, making all our stomachs rumble in anticipation.
"What's on the menu tonight?" Amila asked, leaning closer to get a better look.
"Grilled chicken, vegetable skewers, and my famous spicy fried rice," Nulz replied with a grin.
"That sounds amazing," Lina said, clapping her hands.
"You'll be thanking me after the first bite," he said confidently.
Luna, who was helping Nulz by skewering the vegetables, teased him, "Don't mess it up now, or you'll never hear the end of it."
"I never mess up," Nulz shot back, winking.
When the food was ready, we all gathered around the campfire with our plates, the warmth of the fire and the incredible meal making the moment feel almost magical.
"This is so good," Amila said, savoring a bite of the fried rice.
"I told you," Nulz said, puffing up with pride.
Kai and Zinn, seated on either side of him, gave exaggerated nods of approval, pretending to be food critics. "A perfect balance of flavor," Kai said, holding his fork like a microphone.
"Absolutely exquisite," Zinn added, pretending to wipe away a tear.
Nulz rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his grin. "You're welcome, peasants."
Later that night, with our stomachs full and the campfire reduced to glowing embers, everyone retreated to their tents. The beach fell quiet except for the gentle sound of the waves and the occasional rustle of the breeze through the trees.
Amila and I stayed outside, sitting on the sand just outside our tent. The stars above seemed endless, their light casting a soft glow over everything.
"That was a great meal," Amila said, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Nulz really outdid himself."
She smiled, her gaze lifting to the stars. This feels... peaceful.
Like time has slowed down.
We gazing up at the stars. The sky was clear, each star shining like a tiny beacon.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Amila said, her voice soft.
"Yeah," I replied, though my gaze lingered on her instead of the sky.
For a while, we sat in silence, the sound of the waves filling the air. Then I spoke.
"Amila," I began, hesitating. "Are you… okay with Max being here? I wasn't sure if I should invite him."
She turned to me, her expression calm. "It's fine, Alex. Really. I'm happy for him and Aina. They're good together."
Her honesty caught me off guard, but it also made me respect her even more.
"You're incredible, you know that?" I said.
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'm just me."
The next morning, Max and Aina volunteered to get breakfast. The rest of us were still waking up when they headed off to the nearby food stalls.
It wasn't long before they returned, their expressions a mix of relief and adrenaline.
"What happened?" I asked as they set the food down.
Max let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "Aina almost got hit by a car."
"What?" Amila exclaimed, her eyes wide.
Aina waved her hands. "I'm fine! I just… saw a bird and tried to chase it. I wasn't looking where I was going."
Max cut in, his tone firm. "She ran straight into the road. I had to pull her back."
Aina looked sheepish but grateful, slipping her hand into Max's. "He saved me."
"Well," Kai said, breaking the tension, "I guess breakfast tastes better when it's earned."
Everyone laughed, the mood lightening as we dug into the meal.
The holiday brought us closer, the shared moments weaving a tapestry of laughter, trust, and newfound connections. As the days passed, I realized how much these friendships—and my bond with Amila—meant to me.
The future was still uncertain, but with Amila by my side, I felt ready to face whatever came next.
Stepping into Form 5 felt surreal. The hallways were familiar, the classrooms the same, but there was something heavier about this year. Everything felt like it mattered more—every decision, every class, every word. This wasn't just another year of school; it was our last chance to leave a mark before we stepped into a future none of us could quite picture yet.
For me, being appointed as a student leader added another layer to that weight. Standing in front of the entire school on the first day, wearing the blazer and the shiny new badge, I couldn't help but feel like everyone was watching, expecting something. The principal's words rang in my ears: Lead by example. But was I ready for this?
I spotted Amila in the crowd that day, her calm and composed expression standing out. She'd been named Head Student of the school library—a role that suited her perfectly. I knew how much she loved that place, how it felt like a second home to her. And if anyone could run it efficiently, it was her.
At lunch, I headed to the oak tree. It was our spot, the one constant in a world that felt like it was speeding up. Sure enough, Amila was already there, sitting cross-legged with a stack of books beside her and Timi curled up on her lap.
I dropped my bag and sat beside her, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Form 5 feels… different," she said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the branches swaying above us.
"Yeah," I agreed, leaning back against the tree. "Like there's this invisible clock ticking down."
She turned to me with a faint smile. "But it's exciting too, isn't it? A chance to leave behind something meaningful."
I looked at her, marveling at how she always managed to see the brighter side of things. "Yeah. You're off to a strong start with the librarian role."
"And you as student leader," she teased lightly. "Did you ever imagine yourself giving speeches to the whole school?"
"Not in a million years," I said with a laugh. "But here we are."
She smiled, and for a moment, the world didn't feel so overwhelming.
As the weeks passed, the pressure of Form 5 only grew. The SPM exams were no longer a distant worry—they were right there, looming over us. Despite our busy schedules, Amila and I made it a point to meet under the oak tree whenever we could.
Sometimes we studied, our books spread out on the grass as we quizzed each other on physics and chemistry. Other times, we just sat in comfortable silence, the stress of the world melting away for a little while.
One evening, as the sky turned a deep orange, I watched her pack up her books. Her movements were calm, methodical—like she had everything under control.
"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "being student leader is tough, but knowing you're here… it makes it easier."
She paused, looking at me with those soft, thoughtful eyes of hers. "Same for me. The library's my escape, but… you're my anchor, Alex."
Her words hung in the air, and I felt my heart stutter. For a moment, I wanted to say something more, to close the gap between us. But instead, I just nodded, letting the silence speak for us both.
Stepping into Form 5 felt heavier for Alex, but not for the reasons his friends might assume. The halls were the same, his duties as a student leader fulfilling, and Amila's presence at the oak tree grounding. Yet, behind the composed facade, his body betrayed him more each day.
The disease had returned with a vengeance. It was no longer just the occasional cough—it was sharp pains, shortness of breath, and blood he had to hide. But Alex wasn't ready to let anyone, especially Amila, see him this way.
It was a crisp Monday afternoon when Amila noticed the change. They were supposed to meet at the oak tree after school, as they always did. She had been waiting for nearly half an hour, a book in her lap and Timi curled up at her feet. When Alex finally arrived, his steps were hurried, his blazer slightly disheveled.
"Sorry, Amila," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Something came up—a meeting with the teachers about the sports event."
"That's okay," she replied with a small smile. "But you look exhausted, Alex. Are you sure you're not overworking yourself?"
He laughed lightly, brushing off her concern. "I'm fine, really. Just a lot on my plate right now."
She didn't press further, but her eyes lingered on him as he sat down, noticing how he subtly pressed a hand to his chest when he thought she wasn' looking.
Over the next few weeks, Alex's absences became more frequent. He started excusing himself from their study sessions, claiming he had meetings or last-minute responsibilities as a student leader.
"You're avoiding me," Amila said one day, half-joking as they passed each other in the hallway.
"Not at all," Alex replied quickly, forcing a smile. "I've just been swamped. You know how it is."
But she did know, and she could see through the cracks in his performance. His smiles didn't quite reach his eyes, and his movements seemed slower, more deliberate.
One evening, Amila decided to confront him. She had stayed late at the library, organizing a new section of books, when she spotted Alex leaving the school grounds. He was walking alone, his steps unsteady, a hand pressed to his chest.
"Alex!" she called out, running to catch up with him.
He stopped abruptly, turning to face her with a startled expression.
"Amila, what are you doing here this late?" he asked, his voice strained.
"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, narrowing her eyes. "You look like you're about to collapse."
"I'm fine," he said quickly, taking a step back. "I just—there's a meeting tomorrow, and I needed to prep some things. No big deal."
"Alex," she said softly, her concern evident. "You're not fine. Please, talk to me."
"I appreciate it, Amila," he said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But really, I've got it under control."
And before she could say anything else, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with a sinking feeling in her chest.
Back at home, Alex sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the bloodstained handkerchief in his hand. His reflection in the mirror looked back at him, pale and worn.
He thought about Amila, about the concern in her eyes and the way her voice had softened when she asked if he was okay. He wanted to tell her everything, to let her in. But the idea of burdening her with his illness felt unbearable.
"She has enough to worry about," he muttered to himself. "She doesn't need this."
With a deep breath, he tucked the handkerchief into his drawer and resolved to keep pretending, no matter how much it hurt.
The first sign of trouble came on a Wednesday morning when Alex didn't show up to school. Amila had waited by the oak tree before class, expecting his usual cheerful greeting, but he never came.
Later that day, during lunch, one of her classmates mentioned overhearing a conversation about Alex taking a sudden family trip.
"A family trip?" Amila repeated, frowning. "Right before exams?"
"Yeah," her classmate said with a shrug. "It's weird, right? But he gave an official excuse to the school, so it must be legit."
Amila's mind churned. Alex wasn't the type to leave so abruptly, and he certainly wouldn't prioritize a trip over school, not with his responsibilities as a student leader. Something wrong
The next day, Amila couldn't focus in class. Her thoughts kept circling back to Alex's sudden absence. By lunchtime, her curiosity had turned into determination. She headed straight for the student leaders' office.
Alex's desk was as neat and organized as always, but something about the empty chair made her chest tighten. She glanced around the room, hesitating only briefly before stepping behind the desk.
"What are you doing here?" a voice asked sharply. It was Kai, Alex's assistant, standing in the doorway with a puzzled expression.
Amila turned to face him, her hands gripping the back of the chair. "I'm the one who's always by his side," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. "I need to know what's going on."
Kai hesitated, studying her for a moment, then nodded. "Just don't mess anything up. He's been private about… whatever this is."
As soon as Kai walked out, Amila began sifting through the papers on Alex's desk. Her eyes landed on an envelope marked with the school's emblem. It was an official excuse letter. She opened it and scanned the contents, her heart sinking with every word.
"Medical leave granted to Alex Kim due to health complications requiring immediate attention."
Her hands shook as she read the letter again, disbelief and worry twisting her stomach. Alex wasn't on a family trip—he was in the hospital.
Amila didn't waste any time. As soon as school ended, she made her way to the hospital listed in the letter. She tried to steady her breathing, but the questions in her mind only grew louder.
Why hadn't Alex told her? How long had he been hiding this? What was wrong with him?
When she arrived at the hospital, she hesitated outside the reception desk. It felt intrusive, almost wrong, to ask for him without knowing if he even wanted her there. But the thought of Alex going through this alone pushed her forward.
"Excuse me," she said to the receptionist. "I'm here to see Alex Kim."
The receptionist checked her records and nodded. "Room 155, second floor."
Amila's heart pounded as she walked down the corridor. She stopped outside Room 155, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Through the small window, she saw Alex lying on the hospital bed, pale and hooked up to monitors. He was awake but looked lost in thought, staring out the window.
Taking a deep breath, Amila knocked softly before stepping inside.
Alex turned his head, his eyes widening when he saw her. "Amila?"
She shut the door behind her, her expression a mixture of relief and frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Amila, I—" He tried to sit up straighter, but the effort made him wince.
"You lied to me," she said, her voice trembling. "You said you were on a family trip. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"
"I didn't want you to worry," Alex said quietly, looking down at his hands.
"That's not your decision to make," she shot back, stepping closer to the bed. "We're friends, Alex. More than that. I care about you."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the truth hung heavy in the air.
Alex finally sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's… genetic lung cancer. It's been dormant for years, but it started acting up again when we started Form 5."
Amila's heart clenched. "How long have you known?"
"A while," he admitted. "But I didn't want to tell anyone. Not you, not even my friends. I didn't want to be treated differently."
Tears welled in her eyes as she sat down beside him. "Alex, you don't have to go through this alone."
He smiled faintly, his voice soft. "I know. But seeing you look at me like that… it makes it real in a way I wasn't ready for."
"Well, it is real," Amila said, her tone firm despite the tears streaming down her face. "And you're stuck with me now, whether you like it or not."
For the first time in days, Alex felt a weight lift from his chest. Amila was here, and that made everything just a little easier to bear.
The quiet hum of the hospital room was interrupted only by the occasional beep of the heart monitor. Amila, exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and the weight of what she had just learned, had fallen asleep beside Alex. Her head rested on the edge of his bed, her hands loosely clutching the blanket.
Alex watched her silently, his chest tightening—not from pain, but from the overwhelming tenderness he felt for her. She had stayed by his side, even after discovering the truth he had tried so hard to hide.
Carefully, he shifted a little, adjusting himself to give her space. He gently slid the blanket to cushion her head, mindful not to wake her. His lips curved into a soft smile as he whispered, "You're so kind, Amila. No wonder my heart always told me that you're the right person."
He let his gaze linger on her peaceful face for a moment longer before leaning back, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he couldn't fully express.
Days passed, and Amila became a constant presence in Alex's hospital room. She brought books, notes, and even sketches of little wooden houses that Alex had drawn for Timi. Despite the heaviness of the situation, they shared moments of quiet joy, pretending, even if briefly, that everything was normal.
But on the fourth night, everything changed.
Alex had been sleeping soundly when a sudden, violent coughing fit tore through him. His body convulsed, and blood stained the tissue he weakly raised to his lips.
"Alex!" Amila shouted, jolted awake by the sound. Panic surged through her as she rushed to his side. "Nurse! Someone, help!"
A flurry of footsteps echoed down the hall as nurses and doctors rushed in. Amila was gently but firmly guided out of the room, her protests drowned out by the chaos inside.
"Please, let me stay! I need to be with him!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry, miss," a nurse said kindly but firmly. "We need space to work."
From the hallway, Amila could see glimpses of the frantic scene inside. Alex's body jerked as the nurses and doctors worked tirelessly. A defibrillator was wheeled in, and the sight of the paddles being pressed to his chest made her knees weaken.
"Charging to 200," one of the doctors said.
The electric shock jolted Alex's body, and Amila gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Again! Charging to 300."
Tears blurred her vision as she leaned against the wall, her chest heaving with sobs. She couldn't lose him—not now, not after everything they'd been through.
"Alex…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don't leave me. Not like this."
Minutes felt like hours as the medical team continued their efforts. Amila paced the hallway, her mind racing with prayers and memories. She thought of his smile, the way he had built the little cat house for Timi, and the way he always tried to make her laugh, even when he was clearly struggling himself.
Finally, the door to his room opened, and a doctor stepped out, his expression grave but calm.
"He's stabilized for now," he said, and Amila felt her legs nearly give way from relief. "But his condition is critical. We'll need to monitor him closely over the next 24 hours."
She nodded, wiping at her tear-streaked face. "Can I see him?"
The doctor hesitated but eventually nodded. "Just for a moment. He needs rest."
Amila stepped into the room quietly, her heart aching at the sight of Alex. He looked so small and fragile, his chest rising and falling weakly as the machines beeped softly around him.
She pulled a chair close to his bedside and reached for his hand, her fingers trembling as they intertwined with his.
"You scared me," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't ever do that again."
For a moment, she thought he was still unconscious. But then his fingers twitched slightly, and his eyes fluttered open. His gaze was hazy, but when it focused on her, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Sorry," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Guess I'm not as strong as I thought."
"Don't say that," Amila said firmly, her tears falling freely. "You're the strongest person I know."
His eyes softened, and he smile "You're here. That's all I need."
Amila stayed by his side long into the night, whispering words of comfort and hope, vowing silently that she would fight for him, even if he couldn't fight for himself.
The days after Alex's critical episode were a delicate balance between hope and uncertainty. The doctors warned Amila and Alex's family that his condition was still fragile, but the immediate crisis had passed.
Amila visited the hospital every day after school, carrying books, snacks, and even little notes from their friends who weren't entirely sure why Alex had been absent but missed him nonetheless.
Alex, though still weak, began to regain some of his usual humor. "You know," he said one afternoon as Amila arranged flowers on his bedside table, "if I'd known you'd visit me every day, I would've gotten sick sooner."
Amila glared at him, though her lips twitched into a small smile. "Don't joke about that, Alex."
"I'm sorry. But I can't help it—it's how I cope."
"You don't have to cope alone anymore," she said softly, looking at him with a mix of determination and tenderness.
As the weeks went by, Alex's condition improved bit by bit. The coughing fits became less frequent, though his energy remained low. Physical therapy was added to his routine to help strengthen his body after weeks of inactivity.
Amila was there for all of it. She supported him on slow walks down the hospital corridor, pushing his IV pole alongside him. They talked about school, their friends, and dreams for the future, carefully avoiding the topic of his illness when it became too heavy.
One afternoon, as they sat in the hospital garden, Amila turned to Alex with a mischievous grin. "Do you know what everyone at school thinks you're doing?"
"What?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.
"They think you're on a top-secret leadership program," she said, laughing.
Alex chuckled, though it quickly turned into a light cough. "Maybe I'll write a book about it someday. Leadership Tips from a Hospital Bed."
When Alex was strong enough to sit up for longer periods, Amila arranged for their friends to visit. Kai, Nulz, and Zinn arrived first, bringing snacks and sketchbooks.
"You look awful," Nulz said bluntly, though his tone was more teasing than serious.
"Good to see you too," Alex replied with a smirk.
Kai patted Alex on the shoulder. "We've got your back, man. Anything you need, just say the word."
Even Max stopped by with Aina, who had baked cookies that Alex claimed were "so good they might cure him." The laughter and camaraderie lifted Alex's spirits more than any medicine could.
As the school year moved forward, Alex was eventually discharged from the hospital with strict instructions to take it easy. He wasn't allowed to return to his full responsibilities as a student leader right away, but he found ways to contribute.
Amila helped him set up a makeshift desk at home, where he could work on projects for the student council and offer advice to Kai, who was temporarily covering his duties.
"You're a perfectionist, you know that?" Amila said one evening, watching as Alex meticulously reviewed a report.
"I just want things to be done right," he said with a shrug.
"And they will be," she said "But you don't have to do it all yourself."
Alex turned to her, his expression soft. "I'm still not used to having someone who… cares this much."
"Well, get used to it," Amila said with a smile.
One evening, as they sat under the oak tree together, Alex looked out at the horizon, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the school.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About what?" Amila asked, turning to him.
"About how lucky I am," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "To have you, to have friends who care. Even when I tried to push everyone away, you didn't let me."
Amila's eyes softened. "Because we care about you, Alex. And no matter what, we'll always be here."
Alex smiled, his chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that things might be okay.
The familiar hum of the school hallways was comforting to Alex as he returned to his responsibilities as a student leader. Though he still felt occasional fatigue, his determination to reclaim his place was unwavering. Back in his crisp uniform, he moved confidently through the corridors, greeting teachers and classmates with a smile that radiated renewed energy.
"Welcome back, Alex," Mr. Ghazali, the school principal, said warmly during a brief meeting in the student leader's room. "We're glad to have you back. Kai has done a great job holding things together, but there's nothing like having our captain at the helm."
Alex turned to Kai, who stood beside him, grinning. "I owe you, man. Thank you for everything."
Kai shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a spark of pride in his eyes. "That's what friends are for. Besides, I had Amila keeping me in check," he teased.
Alex chuckled, shaking his head. "She's better at that than I'll ever be."
With the mid-semester exams approaching, the group decided to form a dedicated study circle. Every afternoon, they gathered in the library, which Amila managed with a mix of authority and kindness as the Head Student Librarian.
The group consisted of Alex, Kai, Nulz, and Zinn, joined by the twins Luna and Lina, Aina, and, of course, Amila. Their sessions were a mix of intense focus and lighthearted banter, each person contributing their strengths to help the others.
"Okay, Alex," Lina said one afternoon, flipping through an architecture textbook she had borrowed. "Explain to me why anyone would need to know about additional perspective
"Because, when your house got rob by alien using an UFO a floating house looks cooler than a normal house, that's why".
The group burst into laughter, and even Lina had to admit she'd walked into that one.
Meanwhile, Amila helped the others with biology and chemistry. "Zinn, mitochondria aren't just 'the powerhouse of the cell.' You need to explain why they produce energy," she scolded gently.
"Fine, fine," Zinn muttered, scribbling corrections in his notebook. "But you're lucky you don't have to deal with these add-math problems. I'm leaving those to Alex."
As the exam results came in, their hard work paid off. Every member of the study group scored within the top percentiles of their classes. Alex, Amila, and the others were quickly identified as targeted students, expected to achieve straight A's in the upcoming SPM exams.
"Congratulations, everyone," Mrs. J.Anitia, the head of academics, announced during a special assembly. "You've set an excellent example for the rest of the school."
There was a round of applause as Alex and Amila exchanged proud smiles from their seats.
Later that evening, Alex and Amila found themselves sitting under the oak tree once again. The day's excitement had worn off, leaving a peaceful quiet between them.
"I'm proud of us," Amila said, leaning back against the tree. "We've all come so far."
"Yeah," Alex agreed, his gaze fixed on the stars beginning to dot the sky. "But this is just the beginning. SPM is going to be the real challenge."
Amila turned to him, her expression thoughtful. "Do you ever think about what comes after?"
"All the time," Alex admitted. "I want to study architecture in university. I've been dreaming about it since I was a kid. What about you?"
"I'm still figuring it out," she said softly. "But I want to do something that helps people. Maybe medicine, maybe education. I just… want to make a difference."
Alex smiled. "You will. I know it."
Their conversation lingered on dreams and aspirations until the school bell rang, signaling the start of night prep classes. As they walked back, Alex felt a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wasn't facing them alone.
As August 15th approaches, Amila feels the weight of the upcoming exams pressing on her. SPM looms on the horizon, and all her focus is on studying and preparing for the future. She doesn't expect anything extraordinary for her birthday—just another day filled with textbooks and notes.
But Alex, as always, has something special planned.
A few days before her birthday, Alex acts a little differently, disappearing from their usual study sessions. Amila doesn't think much of it at first, chalking it up to the stress of exams. She's wrapped up in her own world, balancing her responsibilities as Head Student of the Librarians and pushing herself to the limit.
On the evening of her birthday, after a long day of studying, Amila receives a message from
"Meet me under the oak tree at sunset. I have something for you."
She's curious, but the pressure of exams keeps her focused. Yet, as the sun starts to set, Amila finds herself walking towards their usual meeting spot beneath the oak tree. The soft light of the setting sun filters through the branches, casting a gentle glow.
When Alex arrives, he's holding something in his hands, wrapped in simple, elegant paper. His usual confident demeanor seems softer tonight, as though he's carrying a weight that only she can see. He hands her the gift with a smile.
"Happy Birthday, Amila. I know things have been a bit overwhelming, but I wanted to give you something. Something to remind you that you're stronger than you think. " Alex said it kindly.
Amila carefully unwraps the paper, revealing a beautifully crafted moon lamp. It's glowing softly, casting a warm and calming light, and it's shaped like a full moon, with detailed craters and a gentle glow that feels almost otherworldly. It's not just a lamp—it's a symbol of how Alex sees her.
"Alex… It's beautiful… What is it?" Amila said with overflowing joys
"I thought it might be nice to have something that lights up your room at night, especially with all the stress of exams. It's a reminder that even in the darkest times, there's always a little light. I know you've been working so hard, and I just wanted you to have something to brighten your space, and maybe your heart a little." Alex said it softly
Amila holds the moon lamp in her hands, feeling its gentle warmth. It's not just a gift—it's a message, a reminder of Alex's quiet support and care.
"I don't know what to say..Thank you, Alex. This means so much to me." said Amila happily
"You don't have to say anything," Alex said, leaning back against the tree.
Just know that I'm always here, even when you don't see me. You've been a light in my life, Amila, and I wanted you to have something that would remind you of that, too."
Amila smiles softly, her heart full as she looks at the glowing moon lamp. Even though they don't touch, the unspoken bond between them feels stronger than ever. The lamp's soft light reflects the warmth in her chest, a light that Alex has helped ignite in her heart.
They sit together under the oak tree, silently watching the lamp's glow as the world around them fades into the night. It's a quiet, peaceful moment—one she will hold onto, even as the days ahead grow more uncertain.
The pressure of SPM, coupled with their responsibilities and Alex's kindhearted nature, began to weigh heavily on their relationship. It all started when Alex spent long hours helping a junior girl on a school project. The girl was struggling, and Alex, ever the dependable leader, had stepped in to guide her. However, Amila, seeing how Max doted on Aina and prioritized her above all else, couldn't help but compare.
"Why can't you be more like Max?" Amila said one evening after seeing Alex with the girl again. "He always puts Aina first. But you… you always seem to have time for everyone else except me."
Alex froze, the words cutting deeper than she realized. "Amila, that's not fair. I've never put anyone above you. You're the one person who—"
But Amila wasn't ready to hear him out. She turned and walked away, leaving Alex standing alone beneath the oak tree.
The days that followed were tense. Alex tried to mend things. He left flowers on her desk, tucked letters into her notebooks, and even crafted a small wooden pendant with her name carved into it. Yet, Amila, still hurt, avoided him, ignoring his gestures despite the guilt that gnawed at her heart.
Four days before the SPM exams, the skies darkened, and rain poured down relentlessly. Amila, walking home from school, was lost in thought, replaying their argument over and over. She felt a pang of regret—Alex had always been there for her, and maybe she had been too harsh.
As she reached the busy intersection near her home, her foot slipped on the wet pavement, and she stumbled onto the road. Her legs, weakened from the fall, refused to move as the blaring horn of a white truck shattered the air.
In that split second, Alex appeared. He had been following her, hoping to talk things through. Seeing her in danger, he didn't hesitate. He rushed forward, pushing her out of the truck's path just as the vehicle barreled toward him.
The impact of the truck threw Alex to the wet pavement, his body crumpling as blood pooled beneath him. The rain poured harder, soaking both Alex and Amila as she scrambled to his side, her heart pounding with panic.
"Alex!" she cried, her voice trembling as she cradled his head in her hands. His face was pale, his breaths shallow, and his eyes fluttered open weakly.
"Amila…" His voice was faint, each word an effort. "Finally… you're looking at me."
Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain as she sobbed, "Don't talk like that! You're going to be fine. The ambulance is on its way. Just hold on!"
Alex's lips curved into a tired smile, his gaze soft despite the pain. "I'm sorry… for not being… a better boyfriend. I… I wanted to do everything right. But I—"
"No, Alex!" Amila interrupted, her voice breaking as she shook her head. "I'm the one who's sorry. I was so selfish, so blind. I didn't see how hard you were trying. Please, Alex… don't leave me."
He lifted a trembling hand, brushing it against the air as though reaching for her, but he lacked the strength to touch her. "You… were never wrong, Amila. You… made me… so happy…" His voice trailed off, his eyes closing as the distant sound of sirens approached.
"Alex, no!" Amila screamed, clutching him tighter as the ambulance arrived. The paramedics pulled her away, their urgency filling the air as they worked to save him.
Hours passed in a blur. Amila sat in the hospital waiting room, drenched and trembling, her tears never ceasing. The doctor finally approached, his face solemn.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "We did everything we could, but his body was already weak. The surgery…" He hesitated. "It wasn't enough."
The words hit Amila like a tidal wave, and she crumpled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Aina and Max arrived moments later, their faces pale with shock. Aina rushed to Amila, wrapping her arms around her, while Max stood frozen, his head bowed, unable to meet anyone's gaze.
Alex's family arrived, grief etched on their faces. Seeing Amila in such despair, his mother approached her gently.
"He spoke about you often," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. "He loved you so much, Amila. More than words could ever say."
Amila looked up, her face streaked with tears. "I'm so sorry… for everything. Please, can I—can I apologize to him?"
His mother pulled her into an embrace, her tears falling freely as well. "You don't need to apologize. He knew how much you cared. He was at peace."
Days passed, and Amila remained lost in her grief. One day, Kai approached her at school, his expression somber. He handed her a letter, his hands trembling slightly.
"Alex asked me to give this to you," Kai said softly. "He wrote it before… before everything. He told me to wait until the right time."
With shaking hands, Amila opened the letter.
Dear Amila,
If you're reading this, then I guess I didn't make it. I knew my time was running out, and I wish I could have told you everything in person. But I didn't want to burden you with my pain.
You were the light of my life, Amila. Even when I was at my lowest, you gave me something to hold on to. I loved you—not just as a person, but as the one who made me believe in a brighter future. I never said it because I wanted to show it instead. I hope, in some way, I did.
Don't blame yourself for anything. Please, live your life fully and chase your dreams. You were always stronger than me, Amila. I know you'll do great things.
I love you.
Always, Alex Kim.
Amila pressed the letter to her chest, tears streaming down her face. It was the first time she had heard him say those words, even if it was only through ink on paper.
It was two days before the SPM exams. The grief still clung to Amila like a heavy fog, but she couldn't stop thinking about what Alex's mother had told her at the hospital. "He spoke about you often." The words echoed in her mind, drawing her to Alex's house.
Standing at the front door, Amila hesitated, clutching a small bouquet of white daisies she had picked along the way. Her heart raced with nerves. Before she could reconsider, the door opened, and Alex's mother stood there, her face softening with recognition.
"Amila," she said gently, stepping aside to let her in. "It's good to see you."
Amila entered, her eyes scanning the living room filled with memories of Alex. Framed photos adorned the walls, capturing moments of his life. One caught her attention—a picture of Alex standing next to a large wooden model of a house, his smile radiant with pride.
"I… I wanted to know more," Amila began hesitantly, turning to Alex's mother. "At the hospital, you said he talked about me a lot. I… I want to know what he said."
Alex's mother gestured for her to sit on the couch and took a seat beside her. She held Amila's hand, her gaze distant as she recalled memories too precious to rush through.
"Alex wasn't one to share his feelings openly," his mother began, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. "But with you, it was different. He used to light up whenever he mentioned your name. He'd talk about how you inspired him, how your kindness made him want to be better."
Amila's throat tightened as she listened, tears threatening to spill.
"There was one night," Alex's mother continued, her voice trembling slightly, "when his illness was at its worst. I heard him struggling in his room, gasping for breath. When I rushed in, he was clutching his chest, his body trembling from the pain. But even then, he whispered your name. He said, 'Amila… I can't leave her. She's my reason to keep fighting.'"
Amila's tears flowed freely now, her chest heaving with emotion.
Alex's mother smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You were his anchor, Amila. Even when he was in pain, all he cared about was you."
Alex's mother stood and walked to a nearby storage cabinet, pulling out a large, carefully wrapped object. She placed it in front of Amila, her hands lingering on it for a moment before speaking.
"He was building this for you," she said softly. "It was supposed to be a surprise after the SPM exams, but… he never finished it."
Amila unwrapped the object with trembling hands, revealing a beautiful, intricately designed moon lamp. It was much larger and more elaborate than the smaller version he had gifted her on her last birthday. The lamp was carved with delicate constellations and intricate patterns, though some parts remained unfinished.
"He worked on it every day," his mother explained. "He wanted it to be perfect for you. He told me it was his way of showing how much you meant to him."
Amila traced her fingers over the smooth curves of the lamp, her heart aching at the thought of how much time and effort Alex had poured into it.
As Amila left Alex's house, the notebook and unfinished moon lamp in her hands, she felt a mix of overwhelming grief and quiet gratitude. Alex had given her so much—his time, his care, his love—and she vowed to honor his memory by living her life fully, just as he would have wanted.
Standing under the evening sky, Amila whispered, "Thank you, Alex. For everything , your honesty , your love, your everything. I'll carry your love with me, always." Tears slid through her cheeks without her noticing.
As the stars began to twinkle, she felt a comforting presence, as though Alex's spirit was watching over her, guiding her toward the future they had both dreamed of.
When the SPM results were released, Amila achieved straight A's. Without celebrating much , she went to Alex's graveyard, at the same time Lina Luna and Aina followed her. "We all know where Amila wants to be right now," Luna told Mr Ghazali
Amila stood at Alex's grave, clutching her results slip in one hand and a bouquet of fresh flowers in the other.
"If you were here, Alex," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I would have said yes. I would have accepted you, even if we were too young to think about love like this."
She knelt by his grave, tears falling freely as she placed the flowers down. "You were right about everything. I'll keep living, Alex, and I'll carry your love with me."
Aina, Luna, and Lina stood nearby, giving her space but ready to comfort her when she needed them.
As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the cemetery, Amila wiped her tears and stood tall. Alex may have been gone, but his memory would forever remain her guiding light.
And in her heart, he would always be the boy who taught her what it meant to truly love.
THE END