It had been a week since Ryan had seen Suzanne enter the hospital.
He hadn't told her what he knew — not yet.
But something inside him had shifted.
Every morning, he made sure to arrive at school early, saving her favorite seat by the window. He'd slip a small note or doodle onto her desk — little things that made her smile.
> "You're stronger than your coffee today." ☕
"Homework? I've got your back."
"Smile alert: you forgot yours yesterday."
When Suzanne arrived, she'd always laugh, shaking her head. "You're such a clown, Ryan."
But her eyes sparkled again — the way they used to.
---
At lunch, he started bringing extra snacks "by accident."
"Oops," he'd say, holding out an extra sandwich. "Guess I made too many again."
She'd roll her eyes, but she always accepted. "You're terrible at math."
"Only when it comes to sandwiches," he'd reply with a grin.
It was in those tiny exchanges that she found her peace again.
And Ryan — watching her laugh — found his purpose.
---
One afternoon, while they sat beneath the big oak tree behind the school, Suzanne looked up at the sky and said softly,
"You ever think about how fragile time is? Like… how quickly it slips away?"
Ryan hesitated, his chest tightening. "Yeah," he said finally. "That's why I don't waste it. Especially not with people who matter."
She smiled faintly. "Good answer."
They sat in silence for a moment — the kind that doesn't need filling. The leaves rustled softly above them, sunlight spilling through like gold threads.
Ryan wanted to reach out, to take her hand, to tell her he knew — but he couldn't. Not yet.
Instead, he promised himself silently:
I'll make every day lighter for you. Even if you never know why.
---
Later that week, during art class, Suzanne's hand began trembling again while painting. She tried to hide it, but Ryan noticed immediately.
Without a word, he took her brush gently. "Hey," he said with a grin, "you're overworking it. Let me help."
Together they painted — his hand steadying hers, colors blending on the canvas.
It wasn't perfect, but it was theirs.
When the bell rang, Suzanne looked at their painting — a bright sunrise breaking over the ocean. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
Ryan smiled. "Yeah. Like a new day."
---
That evening, Suzanne wrote in her diary:
> "Ryan's been… different. Softer. Kinder.
He doesn't ask questions anymore — just shows up.
I don't know why, but somehow, it feels like he knows what I need before I even say it."
---
And across town, Ryan closed his own notebook after scribbling just one line:
> "She doesn't know I know.
But she'll never face another dark day alone again."
He turned off his lamp and looked at the stars through his window.
Somewhere out there, he believed, the universe was listening to his quiet promise.
---