His heart skips a beat, and for a second, he's just… lost. The reality of it hits him all at once. The whirlwind of Grace's accident, the coma, the days spent in the hospital—it all drowned out everything else.
Right. I'd completely forgotten about it.
A light laugh crackles through the phone from Eugene's side.
"Wait, you forgot?" Eugene teases, and Julian can almost hear the smile in his voice. "It's alright, June. I guess you've been really busy—end of semester and all that. But, hey, I guess I don't need to worry about you being ready to MC at my wedding, right?"
Julian takes a sharp breath, the rush of realization sinking in. Eugene's wedding was important—important to him, to everyone. And Julian had promised to MC. He couldn't afford to let his friend down, not after everything Eugene had done for him over the years.
"No, no need to worry," Julian replies quickly, shaking off his earlier hesitation. "I've already got the script and everything. I'm good to go."
Eugene laughs lightly, his voice full of warmth.
"Good to hear your voice, June. You haven't checked your texts in like, two days, so I thought something happened to you. I even called because I was worried. Everything's all right, right?"
Julian's breath catches in his throat, the familiar tone of Eugene's voice a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. He hesitates, unsure how to respond. The weight of everything presses down on him, but he knows that this moment, this call, isn't the right time to unload it all.
Everything's not all right.
He can feel it in every bone in his body, the quiet, gnawing panic, the helplessness of waiting for Grace to wake up. But this—this is Eugene's moment, his wedding coming up. Julian can't burden him with something so heavy, not when his friend's life is moving forward.
"Yeah... everything's all good," Julian replies with a light chuckle, trying to sound more casual than he feels. "Well, I hope you get everything ready for the wedding day, and... please, give my congratulations to your fiancée, too."
"Haha, all right," Eugene replies, a knowing edge to his voice. "She also whined that you've been so busy lately, you don't call either of us anymore. But it's all right," he laughs again, the sound ringing with understanding. "I'll see you on Saturday, June. Have a good night."
"You too," Julian says softly, his gaze drifting to the city below. "Have a good night."
As the call ends, Julian lowers the phone, staring at the glowing screen for a moment. He feels the sudden weight of the silence around him, the cold air, the snow that never seems to stop falling. The world is alive, buzzing with activity beneath him, while here he stands, alone, on this rooftop. The lights, the movement of cars, the people below—everything feels so far away. So distant from the quiet ache he carries inside.
Not with my power. But with God's power.
He mutters it under his breath, almost as if to remind himself, as if to ground himself in something bigger than the helplessness that's swallowing him. Julian knows he can't fix everything, can't control what happens next, but still—he wants to believe that there's a purpose, a plan, some force that will guide them through this. Through Grace's coma. Through the confusion and the questions that keep swirling in his mind like the snow around him.
Standing on this rooftop, with nothing but the cold wind and the faint hum of the city to keep him company, he waits—for Grace to wake up, for something to change, for the future to come into focus.
He looks out over the city, the neon lights blurring in the distance, and feels a sense of calm wash over him. For now, that's all he can do. Wait. And trust that whatever happens next, he will be ready for it.
"Hannah, I can't believe you're leaving tomorrow," Angela says softly, her voice almost trembling, as though she herself can't fully grasp the weight of the moment.
The dim glow of candlelight dances on the table in front of us, casting gentle shadows on the faces of the Society members gathered in the dining hall. The room is warm, filled with the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of silverware, but underneath it all, I can feel the quiet weight of what's to come. Tomorrow, I leave for Costan—a city that feels miles and miles away, both physically and emotionally. The journey will be long, the ship ride hours of endless waves and saltwater, and I can't help but feel as though it's also the final chapter of something much more intimate.
"We will miss you, Hannah," one of the members says, her voice soft but full of sincerity.
"It was so lovely having you around here, Hannah," another adds, smiling at me. The words are gentle, but I can hear the sadness that underlies them. The same sadness I can feel in myself.
I smile back, but it's a smile that feels a little hollow, strained. I don't want to leave them. I don't want to leave this place that became my home when I had nowhere else to go.
"Thank you," I reply, my voice a little thick, but I push the emotion back down. "I don't know how I would have survived this time if it weren't for you all. You're like God's gifts to me."
The words are true, but they feel too small for everything I've been given here—the safety, the love, the sense of belonging. How do you put that into words? How do you thank people for being the thing that saved you when you couldn't save yourself?
But as I speak, my eyes wander. They drift, as they always do, to June. He's sitting across from me at the long table, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his posture relaxed but there's something else in the way he's looking at me. Something I can't quite place.
Our gazes meet, and for a brief second, the world around us seems to slow. His eyes—those deep, soulful eyes—hold something that I can't quite interpret. There's a weight to them, a deep well of emotions that I feel, but can't quite grasp. A flicker of something that feels both familiar and distant at the same time.
He gives me a faint smile, a small gesture, but it's enough to send a tight knot in my chest. Does he know? I wonder. Does he feel what I feel? But before I can think too deeply about it, Angela's voice breaks through the moment.
"Well, since it's Hannah's last dinner with us, let's enjoy this feast!" she says, her cheerful tone pulling everyone's attention back to the table.
I nod, forcing a smile, trying to absorb the warmth of the moment. The hours that follow are filled with lighthearted chatter and laughter as we all dig into the food, savoring the richness of the meal and the camaraderie we've built over time. It's a beautiful, bittersweet evening, a snapshot of the love and connection I've found here.
Every now and then, my eyes flicker back to June. He's talking easily with the people around him, his laughter mingling with theirs, but there's something in his manner that feels... distant. Detached. It's almost like he's putting on a mask, one that hides what he might really be feeling. Or maybe I'm just projecting what I want to see.
Why does it hurt so much to watch him?
I feel okay in the moment, surrounded by friends, enjoying a final dinner together, but deep inside, something is breaking. The fact that it's our last night together—it stabs deeper than I care to admit. And the fact that June doesn't seem to be struggling with it the way I am... That makes it worse.
I try to reason with myself, to push the feelings down. It's not about him. It's not about any of this. I'm leaving for a reason. I'm going to find my family. That's what matters. But the ache in my chest refuses to go away.
But June...
He's helped me so much. He's always been there for me, in ways I'll never be able to repay. And I care about him. I know I do. But I also know... I can't stay for him. Not now. Not in this moment.
And still, I can't shake the thought that somehow, I'm losing more than just the Society members. I'm losing something more—something in June's eyes that I can't quite name.
In the midst of the dinner, as I'm laughing along with the others—though it feels a little forced now—I see June stand up from the table. He does it quietly, without drawing attention to himself, and walks out of the dining hall without a word. I watch him as he moves toward the stairs, his footsteps soft against the floor.
He's probably going out to the backyard, I think. To get some air. To escape for a little while. Maybe he needs space. I can understand that. After all, tomorrow I leave, and I can't expect him to know how to feel about it.
But still... the silence he leaves behind feels heavy.
"Wasn't that so hilarious?" Angela's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I turn to see the others laughing and nudging me playfully. I laugh too, even though I didn't quite catch the punchline. The sound of their laughter fills the air, but inside, something tightens. I smile and join in, but it feels a little hollow. Like I'm not really a part of it. Like something is missing.
I nod along with their chatter, the conversation flowing effortlessly around me, but my mind keeps drifting back to June.