March 20, 2025
Suddenly, I could stand up again.
Not walk properly—let's not get ahead of ourselves—but stand. Upright. Vertical. A human flagpole. My legs trembled like overcooked noodles, yet the room erupted as if I'd just won an Olympic gold medal for Standing While Terminal.
Rachel gasped. "You're up!"
I lifted my arms dramatically. "Behold. Evolution."
She rushed forward, half ready to catch me, half afraid I'd topple like a badly stacked chair. Even the doctor froze mid‑step, smile plastered on his face but eyes flickering just a little too carefully.
That hesitation told me everything.
This wasn't recovery.
This was the body's encore.
The suspiciously energetic final rally before the curtain drop.
I rolled up my sleeve and held my arm out like a product demo. Purple bruises bloomed everywhere, needle marks crossing each other like an ugly constellation.
"Look, Rachel," I said solemnly. "If I ever get reincarnated, I'm coming back as a dartboard. It hurts."
She crossed her arms. "Oh? Now you're complaining about pain? You were full of life last night, staying up till 3 a.m. trying to snag tickets."
I pouted. "It was my ex's first interview since he made it big. I had to show moral support."
"You were refreshing the page like a maniac."
"I was manifesting success."
She snorted. "You broke up with him because his company was just starting and you didn't want to be a burden."
Her voice softened. "If he still loves you… would you ask him for help?"
"No." The word came out sharply.
"But his company's worth millions now. Covering your treatment would be—"
"No 'buts'," I said, tugging my sleeve back down like I could hide the truth that easily. "I won't go to him. And you are absolutely forbidden from going behind my back."
Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it again.
I forced a smile. "In his story, I'm the villain. The woman who abandoned him when he was at his lowest. If hating me makes his future easier… then fine. Let him hate me."
My voice wavered. I swallowed.
"Loving me would only hurt him."
I glanced up and immediately regretted it. Rachel's eyes were shimmering, her lashes trembling like she was about to flood the entire ward.
I grabbed her hand in a panic. "Hey—hey—nope. Stop. The aquarium already has enough water today. We're at maximum capacity."
She laughed weakly through her tears.
"Besides," I added quickly, puffing out my chest, "a little cancer can't beat me. I'm annoyingly persistent. Like spam emails."
"You are annoying," she muttered.
"We'll keep filming," I said brightly. "All the way until the day I'm completely healed. Then we'll do livestreams together. Make a fortune. Retire early. Buy an island."
She squeezed my hand. "You hate the sun."
"Fine. A cloudy island."
I grinned. "And by then? I won't even look twice at Evan."
That finally did it.
Rachel finally laughed, wiped her tears, and dragged me toward the ocean park.
Seeing her smile loosened something tight in my chest. "Come on, hurry!" I urged, half jogging, half being hauled along. "It's rare we get a day out. If we wait any longer, the ocean park will close and I will die with regrets—which is very inefficient timing."
"Don't jinx yourself," Rachel muttered, but she was smiling again.
I walked backward as I talked, flailing my arms for emphasis like a low‑budget motivational speaker. "I want to see penguins. And jellyfish. And maybe scream at dolphins for being too talented—"
"Ah!"
I slammed straight into someone.
A solid someone.
Chest-level solid.
Without even looking up, I bowed so fast my spine nearly folded. "I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going, I'll pay for your coffee, your lunch, your emotional damages—"
A familiar, cold sneer cut through my panic.
I froze.
Slowly, dreadfully, I lifted my head.
The world tilted.
He was standing right there.
Evan.
My feet stumbled back on instinct, like my body recognized danger before my brain caught up. Rachel sucked in a sharp breath beside me.
"Evan?" she said.
Over a year had passed, but success had clearly been kind to him. The sharp edges of struggle were gone, replaced with tailored confidence and an infuriatingly calm expression. He looked… whole.
And I looked like a ghost someone forgot to erase.
Still, after all those years, we still recognized each other.
"Maya?" he said.
His eyes swept over me, slow and thorough. Shock flickered first then understanding settled in. And finally, that smile appeared.
Not warm. Not cruel.
Mocking.
The kind that hurts more than anger.
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
Before he could open his mouth, I didn't let him finish.
I turned away and ran.
"Maya—!" Rachel shouted, scrambling after me, phone still clutched in her hand.
The camera shook violently as we sprinted. My lungs burned like they were being scrubbed with steel wool, my legs screaming protests they'd clearly filed weeks ago.
Wind roared in my ears. My vision blurred. The footage must've been awful—two grown women fleeing like fugitives, one wheezing dramatically, the other yelling, "DON'T DIE YET, WE'RE ALMOST THERE!"
Behind us, a voice cut through the chaos.
"Maya!" Evan shouted. "Do you hate me that much?!"
I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
Because if I stopped—if I let him look at me long enough—I was afraid he'd see the truth.
That I was already leaving.
Rachel finally caught my arm. "Maya—stop! You're going to collapse!"
I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping like a fish thrown onto land. "Worth… it…"