Days blurred into weeks with Zani, and it was... weirdly fun.
Fun in a "she dared me to sing karaoke in an empty parking lot" way.
Fun in a "she made me eat a mango-habanero donut and I still haven't recovered" way.
Arcades. Eateries. Bookstores. She dragged me everywhere like her own confused, emotionally constipated Sims character.
Even to my house.
My mum met her.
And of course—of course—my mum loved her.
"She has such a good spirit," she said after Zani left. "You should marry that one."
I nearly choked on air.
Zani even forced her number into my phone. "Just in case I wanna haunt you at 2 a.m., cloud boy."
As if I could say no.
But even through all the laughter and chaos and her dramatic impersonation of Naruto doing ballet…
The bag of drugs haunted me.
I'd see her smiling and laughing and my brain would whisper: She's hiding something.
And I couldn't ask.
Because maybe I was afraid she'd shut the door forever.
---
We were at the library that day, few weeks before summer break.
Everyone was buzzing about college applications.
Future roommates. Campus parties.
The countdown had started.
And Zani?
Zani had just finished scribbling "Shin-chan's property" on my water bottle in pink gel pen.
This girl.
She was already deep into anime now—like dangerously deep.
Had a My Hero Academia keychain and was starting Tokyo Revengers.
Oh, and guess what else?
She was learning Japanese online.
"I wanna talk to you in your language, cloud boy," she said, flipping her hair dramatically.
"As if we don't already communicate in English," I muttered.
So there we were—sitting side by side, silently reading Your Lie in April.
The manga she picked.
She said she wanted to try something "emotional and beautiful like your soul" whatever that meant.
She kept stopping every five seconds.
"Wait wait, why is he acting like that?"
"Is she dying or just melodramatic?"
"WHY IS EVERYONE SAD? I'M TOO CUTE FOR THIS."
I didn't mind. I liked answering her questions.
Even if I didn't have all the answers.
She leaned close—too close sometimes.
Her arm brushed mine and I'd go completely still, pretending I wasn't hyper-aware of how close she was breathing.
Then she whispered:
"Hey Shin."
"Mm?"
"If I die, will you carry my manga legacy? Promise me."
I blinked at her. "Zani, you're not dying."
She smirked. "That's not a promise."
"…Fine. I promise."
But my chest tightened.
Because part of me didn't know if she was joking anymore.
We were still in the library.
She was now lying across two chairs like she owned the place, chewing on grape-flavored Hi-Chew and tapping her pencil against her notebook.
"Should I dye my hair bubblegum pink or demonic red?" she asked suddenly, as if we weren't supposed to be studying for finals.
I looked at her—this chaotic, glitterbomb of a girl who somehow exploded into my quiet life.
The words were burning on my tongue.
Ask her.
About the bag. The syringes. The pills.
The things that weren't just face masks and hair scrunchies in that drawer.
Ask her if she's sick.
But all I said was, "...You'd look insane with pink hair."
She pouted. "So you admit I'd look hot with red."
I smiled faintly. "I didn't say that."
She snorted. "Hater."
There was a pause.
She went back to her doodles—tiny hearts and random phrases like 'chaos is my love language' and 'cloud boy + ???'.
I closed my manga and sat up straighter, heart pounding.
This was it. Just say it.
"Zani."
"Hm?" she didn't look up.
"Back in your room, that day… I saw something."
She froze for a fraction of a second.
Her pencil stopped moving.
But she recovered fast, flipping a page and humming something off-key.
"What? Like the time you saw me nearly fall off the couch during Just Dance?"
"No. I mean—"
I swallowed.
Do it. Just say it.
Why do you have that much medication? Are you sick? Are you dying?
But instead—
"You... you had a lot of stuff. In your drawer. Like... girly stuff. Creams and stuff. Didn't know girls used all that."
Lame.
Coward.
Idiot.
She looked at me then, half-smiling. But her eyes—just for a second—looked too still. Too careful.
"Yeah," she said, casually. "We're high-maintenance beasts. You'll learn."
Then she went back to her sketch, the moment gone like a bubble popped mid-air.
I didn't bring it up again.
Didn't have the guts.
Because maybe I didn't want to know.
Maybe I just wanted to pretend we were two dumb teens, reading manga in the library, with the whole summer ahead of us.
Even if part of me already knew—
Some summers don't last.
Zani was rambling again.
Something about how if she died, she'd want her ghost to wear roller skates and haunt Starbucks baristas who spelled her name wrong.
"Like, imagine that, Shin. 'Zayn with a Y?' BOO! Wrong, witch.'"
She laughed at her own joke and snorted like a cartoon pig.
I didn't even laugh—I just stared at her.
She was so... alive.
Too alive.
It made something ache inside me.
"You're not even listening, Cloud Boy," she whined, pouting dramatically and poking my cheek. "Bet you were thinking deep poetic thoughts like, 'the texture of her voice is like falling rain'."
I rolled my eyes. "More like 'the sound of your voice could cause permanent brain damage'."
She gasped, placing a hand on her chest like I'd betrayed her in a Regency drama. "Wow. Rude and poetic. Shakespeare could never."
I was about to clap back with another dumb line when I noticed it.
Her hand brushed across her face mid-gesture—then paused.
Red.
Bright, terrifying red.
Blood.
"Zani?" I said.
She blinked. Then touched her nose again and stared at her hand.
"Shit," she whispered.
Panic snapped across her face like glass shattering.
"Zani—"
"No—it's nothing—" she stood up fast, way too fast, knocking over her bag in the process. "It's just dry air or whatever—"
She was already walking—running—towards the exit, one hand still clutched to her face, the other fumbling to grab her stuff.
"Zani, wait!" I stood too, heart in my throat. "Let me help—"
"DON'T!" she snapped.
I froze.
Her voice was sharp, desperate. Her hands were shaking.
"Just—just stay there, Shin."
She bent down to gather her things, frantic, her fingers fumbling like she couldn't see straight. Her bag was half-zipped. Books, pens, a juice box, a bottle of something that looked like medicine. Everything jumbled.
Then she grabbed it, turned—and ran.
Out the library doors. Gone.
I chased her. I swear I did.
But by the time I got outside, she was already swallowed by the street, the sun too bright, the sounds too loud.
Gone.
Just... gone.
I stood there, breathless, staring down the path she'd vanished into.
Then I noticed something.
Back on the library floor.
Half under the table.
A book.
One of hers.
She must've dropped it when her bag spilled.
I picked it up slowly, like it might explode in my hands.
The cover was cracked, a little bent, but the title was scribbled in her messy handwriting:
"A Totally Uncool Guide to Dying (With Extra Notes About Lupus and Hot Boys)"
My stomach dropped.
No.
No, no, no.
I opened it.
Inside were pages full of doodles and notes. Some were jokes. Some were... not.
> "If I die, I want a glitter coffin and cupcakes at my funeral."
"I'm not brave, I'm just tired."
"Lupus sucks. 11/10 would not recommend."
"Don't google it unless you want to cry."
"He doesn't know. He can't. He'll leave if he finds out."
"Shin looked so pretty today. I wanted to tell him. But I can't."
My hands shook.
I couldn't breathe.
It wasn't just nosebleeds.
It was something real. Something big. Something... fatal.
Zani was sick.
And she didn't want me to know.