The next morning arrived too quietly.
The rain had started sometime before dawn, tapping faintly against Elara's window. It was her first morning in months without an alarm without the urgency of the hospital echoing in her mind.
She made coffee, the bitter scent filling her small kitchen, and stared blankly at the steam curling upward. The memory of last night lingered Irisia's laughter, the warmth of coffee, the soft shuffle of wrapping paper. It had felt so normal, so safe, and most importantly… so peaceful.
She glanced at her phone. There were no messages from Irisia. She thought about texting her, maybe joking about their "wrapping marathon," but decided against it. Irisia probably needed the rest after staying up so late.
By afternoon, the drizzle had turned into a steady rain. Elara was reading on the couch when a sudden knock came at her door. When she opened it, two uniformed officers stood in the hallway, their faces grave beneath the dim corridor light.
"Are you Ms. Elara Vale?" one of them asked.
"Yes," she replied, her voice tentative.
"Do you know Ms. Irisia Dawn? It seems she's listed you as her emergency contact."
Elara blinked, surprised. "Yes, well… her house is right over there. She's my neighbor, actually. Is… is something wrong?"
A ripple of unease passed through her. Why her? They weren't that close — not yet, at least. Maybe Irisia didn't have many friends. But no, that couldn't be right. Judging by all those gifts, Irisia clearly had people who mattered to her. So why list Elara?
Had this been the day before, she wouldn't even have been home by now. So why her?
The taller officer shifted slightly, then spoke in a gentler tone. "I'm sorry to inform you… your neighbor, Ms. Irisia Dawn, was involved in a traffic accident this morning. She didn't make it."
For a moment, Elara couldn't process the words. They sounded distant, muffled like someone had spoken through a thick wall.
She'd said those words countless times before, watching families crumble in front of her. So this was how it felt to be on the receiving end. It felt like surgery without anesthetics. At least that's how she felt.
"No… that can't be right," she whispered. "I just saw her last night. You must be mistaken. This can't be true!"
Denial, she was in denial. The same disbelief she had witnessed so many times before now poured out of her own lips.
The officer hesitated, then handed her an envelope. "We're sorry for your loss. She was holding this note… it seems she wanted you to have it."
The name on it was written in Irisia's neat cursive writing,
To: Dr. Elara Vale
Elara stared at it, her fingers trembling. She couldn't bring herself to open it. Not yet.
If only I'd been at the ER that night, she thought bitterly. Maybe I could've saved her. Maybe she'd still be here.
When the officers left, silence filled the apartment heavy and unbearable. Elara stood in the doorway, her mind refusing to move forward. Irisia's smile flashed before her eyes that quiet, knowing smile from the night before. Her knees weakened, and she sank to the floor, breath catching in her throat.
Hours later, she found herself standing outside Irisia's apartment. The air in the hallway felt colder than usual. She hesitated before entering she knew the passcode, Irisia had once mentioned it offhandedly. The apartment was exactly as they had left it. The boxes were still there stacked neatly, wrapped in ribbons and paper, each tagged with a name, a word, a picture, or a simple symbol.
Elara stepped closer, her trembling fingers brushing over one of the tags. The words came back to her, echoing in her mind like a whisper:
"If anything happens to me, please make sure these gifts reach their owners."
Her vision blurred with tears. "You can't be serious, Irisia… I don't even know who these people are."
But the gifts sat there quiet, patient, waiting for their owners.
Elara looked around the room at the ribbons, the notes, the little fragments of Irisia scattered across the floor and for the first time, she realized how little she truly knew about her friend.
Finally, her gaze returned to the envelope in her hands. Her heart thudded painfully as she tore it open.
Elara sat at Irisia's small coffee table, the unopened envelope trembling in her hands. The paper was soft, the handwriting delicate, familiar. She hesitated for a long moment before finally sliding her finger under the seal. Inside was a single folded page, written in blue ink.
She took a deep breath and began to read its contents.
Dearest Elara,
If you're reading this, then I am no longer beside you. Don't look so sad, my friend, life has always been borrowed time for me, though I've lived every moment I was given as best I could. I only wish I had been able to tell you more while I still had the chance.
You're probably surrounded by the gifts now. They look strange, don't they? To most people, they're just objects old, forgotten, misplaced things. But to the ones meant to receive them, they hold memories, promises, and chances yet to come.
I need you to do what I can't: deliver them. You might not understand it now, but as you begin, the path will open itself to you. Every gift carries a story, and each story will lead you to the next.
Start with the compass.
You'll find its owner where the city forgets to look a place where music once played, but no one listens anymore.
You'll know it when your heart stirs, even if your mind says you shouldn't. Trust that feeling, Elara. It will never lead you wrong.
I know this is asking a lot of you, especially now. But I also know you. Beneath your exhaustion, beneath the pain, you still care. That's why I chose you.
With love, always,
Irisia
The ink smudged at the edge, as if her friend's hand had trembled while writing. Elara read the letter over and over, her chest tightening with every line.
"Start with the compass."
Her gaze drifted across the room until it fell on a small box near the window wrapped in faded blue paper, a silver ribbon tied around it, and a tag that simply read: "The Lost North."
The rain outside had stopped. The world was still. Elara reached for the box and held it close, her reflection faint in the glass of the window.
"I'll do it," she whispered. "For you."