"It is said that after we die, our brain remains active for seven more minutes, allowing us to relive our happiest moment. You know…"......................
The room was filled with the scent of medicine, bathed in sunlight streaming through the glass window. A side table stood beside it, holding a vase of dried flowers and a framed photo capturing a moment of joy. Next to it lay an elderly man who appeared to be at the end of his time.
The door creaked open as a nurse entered to check on him.
"How are you feeling today, Sir Laxus? Quite a lovely morning, right? I prepared your favorite tea—I hope you like it… Sir Laxus…?"
Silence.
Her heart pounded as she took a step closer.
"DOCTOR!" she screamed, rushing out.
Moments later, the doctor hurried in and immediately began performing CPR on him.
The rhythmic compressions of CPR filled the room, but he remained still. The beeping of the heart monitor slowed… then stopped. A long, piercing sound echoed, confirming what the nurse had feared. The doctor sighed, lowering his hands.
Outside, the sky remained bright, oblivious to the departure of a soul.
Days passed.
The house felt emptier than ever. Laxus's grandson, Adrian, wandered through his grandfather's room, unable to shake the weight of grief. Everything was as his grandfather had left it
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, running his hand over the old wooden nightstand. His fingers traced along its surface until he noticed something odd. A loose wooden panel.
Curious, he pried it open.
Inside, carefully hidden, was an old, worn-out leather-bound diary. His grandfather's name was engraved on the cover.
Adrian flipped it open. The first page contained a simple note, written in faded ink
1st December 2017
"The music was loud, the air thick with smoke and laughter. It was an old club bar, the kind where time seemed to move slower. I swirled the whiskey in my glass, letting its warmth settle in my chest. And then, I saw her.
She sat at the other end of the bar, a cigarette between her fingers, her lips painted the color of dusk. A tattered leather jacket hung loosely over her frame, paired with oversized pants that seemed to swallow her whole. She was wild and careless, throwing her head back in laughter with her friends, lost in the moment.
she turned. Our eyes met across the dimly lit room.
A slow smile curled on her lips. She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray, whispered something to her friends, and stood. My grip tightened around my glass as she walked toward me, confident, unrushed. When she reached me, she leaned in slightly, her scent a mix of whiskey and something floral.
'Lilic Aster,' she said, her voice smooth as the drink in my hand. 'And you are?'"
"We talked for hours that night.
Well, she talked. I ignored her.
She had plopped down onto the stool beside me, while I kept my eyes on my whiskey, pretending not to care.
'Acting tough won't get you anywhere,' she said, crossing her arms. 'If you keep this up, you won't even have a friend.'
I didn't respond. I had met her type before—loud, free-spirited, always pulling people into their orbit. I wasn't in the mood.
She leaned in slightly, studying me. Then she smirked. 'Relax, I'm not here to eat you. I just want to talk.'
I sighed, still staring at my drink. But then, she drummed her fingers on the bar and said, 'So? What's your name?'
'Laxus,' I muttered.
Her smirk widened. 'Laxus,' she repeated 'Sounds serious. You always this broody, or is it just for tonight?'