My time with her happened to be during a worldwide outbreak of a novel disease. A state of emergency had been declared throughout Cahaman. In my neighborhood, all non‑essential establishments were closed, and barely anyone went outside.
Empty streets.
Sirens in the distance.
News anchors speaking in voices so calm it felt unnatural.
I think that atmosphere only strengthened her belief that the world was ending.
My brother and parents, on the other hand, had planned everything in advance. They left Cahaman early, choosing to wait out the pandemic at our villa. Ironically, it was located in a densely populated area—which, to me, defeated the entire point. I told them that. Repeatedly.
They didn't listen.
They never really did.
I stayed behind. My reasoning was simple: even though school was canceled, supplementary classes were still being held every weekday. The program came about after parents complained—while regular school was suspended, cram schools continued operating, widening the gap between students who could afford them and those who couldn't. The schools responded with limited-size supplementary classes.
I attended them. Actively.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
One day, someone knocked on our door.
At first, I ignored it. I assumed they'd eventually get the hint—that no one was home, or that whoever lived here didn't want to be disturbed. But the knocking didn't stop. It grew louder. More persistent. As if the person on the other side had all the time in the world and fully intended to use it.
I sighed and pushed myself off the chair.
"Who the hell keeps banging on the door?" I muttered, irritation already crawling up my spine as I twisted the knob and pulled it open.
That was when I met her.
"Hello!"
She had the most unsettlingly cheerful pair of eyes I'd ever seen—one blue, one green—and a dazzling smile to match.
Seraphina Carter.
The crazy woman who barged into my life unannounced, holding an axe like it was nothing more than a fashion accessory.
She stood there as if this was perfectly normal. Like people showed up armed at strangers' houses every other day. Her hair was messy, her clothes dusted with who‑knew‑what, and her gaze locked onto mine with a frightening intensity.
I don't usually talk much. When I do, it's usually for school presentations.
Conversations drain me.
People drain me.
But I made an exception.
For her—and only her.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The more I looked at her, the less I understood how she'd ever ended up with my brother. No matter how I tried to rationalize it, nothing added up. So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of.
I called my brother.
"You don't have to put up with her," Argon said immediately, his voice groggy and irritated. "Just call this hospital." He rattled off a number like he'd been waiting to use it.
"A hospital?" I repeated.
"She's been there before," he said flatly. "They'll know what to do."
That answer unsettled me—but I dialed the number anyway. A staff member picked up after two rings. When I explained the situation—who she was, where she was—they didn't sound surprised at all.
They said they'd come pick Seraphina up and admit her.
I lied and told them she had already left.
Just like that.
They told me to call again if she returned. I thanked them and ended the call, staring at the dark screen longer than necessary before calling Argon back.
"Are you sure you won't come see her?" I asked.
There was a pause. Then a scoff.
"What good would that do now? She's dying," he said bluntly. "And besides, she'd probably kill me the moment she sees me. You know—because of the cheating incident."
Silence.
"…You what?"
"Later, Xenon," he replied, already half-asleep. "I haven't slept since yesterday."
"You've just been out at a bar all night—!"
The line went dead.
Still unsettled, I called the hospital again. I lied and said I was her family. The doctor explained everything to me.
When the call ended, all I could do was sit there in silence.
She had ten days left to live.
Across the room, Seraphina was pacing lazily, inspecting my shelves, humming to herself as if she hadn't just blown apart my afternoon. She looked… fine.
That woman believed the world was ending.
That thought had twisted itself inside her mind until it grew enormous. If she was ending in ten days, then so was everything else. The world. Time. Meaning.
If she disappeared, then surely the world had no reason to go on.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I never really learned what happened between her and my brother. That was why I started observing her in the first place. I thought that if I stayed beside her while she was dying, I might come to understand something.
In the end, I learned a few things.
The angles of kissing.
The places in my mouth she liked best.
How brilliantly water glittered under the sunlight.
The sweetness of cake.
A perfectly normal sunset.
How deep I went inside her.
How good it felt to hear her scream my name.
How comforting it was to have someone waiting for you at home.
And so, after those ten days, Sera passed away.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Tomorrow, I'll get up early—just like always.
I'll go to school. I'll take my classes seriously, study diligently, get good marks, and go to a good university. I'll become the best adult I can be.
Whether the world ends or not doesn't matter. It was never important to me. I'll only do what I can—what's in front of me.
That mindset hasn't changed.
I won't mess this up. And even if I do, I won't become the kind of adult who picks up an axe, goes to an ex-girlfriend's house, and tries to murder her. I'll become someone wise and respectable. I'll earn my keep. I'll live properly.
I'm moving on with my life. Though that woman is no longer with me, I haven't changed one bit. I've only returned to my usual days of normalcy.
There's still a long life ahead of me.
Besides, I've always preferred my women silent and shy.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
That night, I opened my phone to set an alarm—and noticed a new video and several photos.
I clicked.
The screen flickered to life, showing the familiar living room. And then—there she was. Seraphina. In the frame.
"Xenon!" she greeted warmly, her voice bright, then glanced upstairs before returning her gaze to the camera. "I borrowed your phone while you were asleep."
My chest tightened.
"You know this is the tenth day, right? I'm excited for later!" she laughed, that infectious energy of hers still there even through a screen.
Then her smile faltered.
"But… you probably already knew the world wasn't ending, right?" she murmured.
She tilted her head, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "Rather… it's my world that will be ending," she said softly, sighing before forcing a small, bittersweet smile. "Xenon Sterling, I'm really thankful that I got to enjoy these past days with you."
Her words hit me like a blow I didn't see coming.
"You probably agreed to let me stay in this house since you took pity on me," she continued, voice steadier now. "I heard you talking to your brother once, but I pretended not to hear it. He must have told you that I'm crazy, right? Well… he probably knew I'd really kill him for cheating on me. The truth is… I have brain cancer. I'm not really crazy, promise!" She raised her right hand as if swearing it.
I could feel the weight of every word pressing down on me.
"Did you know about that revenge thing? That I wanted to find your brother and kill him? Well… on the second day, I completely forgot about him. I only lied about wanting to see him because I wouldn't have any reason to stay by your side any longer." She laughed, that same mischievous tone that used to make my chest ache.
"It's also funny how you got jealous when I asked about your brother. You were… so cute and handsome!"
She exhaled deeply, looking directly at the camera. "Thank you, Xenon, for staying by my side. I don't know if this is too early to say, but I really felt something for you. I love you. I really do. But I guess we met at the right place… just at the wrong time." Her laugh was tinged with sorrow.
"I just wish I had met you instead of your asshole of a brother. But then again… I wouldn't have met you at all if not for him."
Her fingers pointed at the screen, emphasizing every word. "I'm glad that we were each other's first… so tell that brother of yours that you slept with me and took my virginity! I would love to see how that smug face of his comes crashing down when he finds out you got my virginity first instead of him! I got my revenge in a different way though! Hahaha!"
She forced another smile, the brightest she could muster. "Goodbye, Xenon Sterling. I hope you live a long and happy life… maybe… just maybe… in my next life… we would be together. Happily… and hopefully the world won't end."
The video ended. The screen went black.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
I stared at my phone. Tears pooled in my eyes and fell onto the glass, blurring the screen.
I hated her so much. And yet… I ached for her just the same. I hated that I would never see her again. I hated that I couldn't hold her one last time.
I checked the photos, and they were filled with us.
Some were careless shots—me half-awake on the couch, her laughing somewhere out of frame. Some were taken too close, faces cropped, breath fogging the lens. Others were quiet, almost intrusive: the two of us asleep in bed, her hair sprawled across my chest, my arm locked around her as if afraid she might disappear even then.
My tears doubled. They wouldn't stop.
The world didn't end.
It kept going—loud, indifferent, intact—even though she was gone from it.
And I was still here.
…Why?
Even in death, she was no less insane. No less bothersome.
I hated her so, so much; I lament the fact that I'll never see her again.
That woman was far too carefree. She wasn't my type. Frankly, I hated her.
I hated how bubbly she was.
I hated how she always pouted—how it made me want to kiss her senselessly.
I hated how she acted cheerful even when she was in pain.
I hated how she behaved like the younger one when she was older than me.
I hated how I liked her cooking.
I hated how I worried about her, how I cared about her.
I hated myself for making her cry.
I hated her smile.
I hated her laugh.
I hated how light she was when I carried her—like she might vanish if I loosened my grip for even a second.
I hated how jealous I got because she was my brother's ex-girlfriend.
I hated how anxious I became whenever she talked about finding him.
I hated how wild and free she acted, only for me to learn she was inexperienced after all.
I hated how I became addicted to her.
I hated how she slithered into my heart without permission.
I hated her taste in music—trendy, shallow songs that came and went like disposable thoughts. Hearing one of them on the radio now made resentment surge in my chest. This kind of song was everywhere. Liking something like that… her artistic sense really was awful.
I hated how good she was at kissing. It angered me that she carried the ghost of someone else's past intimacy—something I couldn't erase no matter how hard I tried.
I hated how sweet she sounded in bed, even though it was her first time.
I hated her body. I hated how soft she was when I held her, how easily she fit against me, how natural it felt—as if she had always belonged there.
I hated her guts.
I hated her to death.
I really, truly hated women like her.
She was my complete opposite.
And yet—
I pressed the phone to my chest, fingers trembling, breathing uneven.
If I hated her so much, then why did the world feel unbearably quiet without her?
The house was the same. The walls hadn't moved. The clock still ticked with the same dull persistence.
And yet everything felt wrong.
There was no humming drifting in from the kitchen.No impulsive knocking on my door. No voice calling my name like it belonged to her.
I hated that absence most of all.
I hated how silence now felt heavier than noise ever did. I hated how my routines—once so comforting—now felt hollow, like I was performing them for no one. I hated how I still caught myself listening for her footsteps, still half‑expecting her to appear out of nowhere with that ridiculous grin.
I had always believed that once she was gone, things would return to normal. That I would return to normal. That her presence had been a brief disturbance—an anomaly I could outgrow.
But normal felt unfamiliar now.
Normal felt… empty.
I told myself this was fine. That this was how it was supposed to be. People came, people left. Life moved on. I had plans. Goals. A future that didn't involve her at all.
And yet, no matter how many times I repeated it, the truth remained stubbornly lodged in my chest:
She had changed something.
Not the world. Not time. Not fate.
Just me.
And I hated her for that, too.
I closed my eyes, pressing the phone tighter against myself, as if that might anchor me—prove that she had existed, that those ten days hadn't been some elaborate delusion.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Today, tomorrow, the days after, I'll live on.
Morning will come, whether I want it to or not. I'll wake up, wash my face, put on clean clothes, step outside, and move forward one step at a time. I'll do the things I'm supposed to do. I'll fulfill my responsibilities. I'll breathe, eat, sleep, repeat. Life will continue in its quiet, relentless way, indifferent to what I've lost.
If I say so myself, it's probably a good thing that I don't have a switch I can flick to instantly end the world.
If I did, I know exactly when I would have pressed it. Because the world felt unbearably wrong without her in it. Because the silence was too loud. Because continuing on felt like betrayal, like admitting that losing her was survivable.
Otherwise, the world would have already ended earlier today.
It would have ended the moment I realized she was truly gone.
The moment I understood that there would be no more messages, no more laughter, no more careless warmth filling the empty spaces of my life.The moment I felt how cruelly intact everything else remained.
But the world didn't end.
And because of that, neither can I.
So I'll live on—not because I'm strong, and not because I've healed, but because living is the only thing left to do. I'll carry her with me in the quiet parts of my days, in the things I pretend not to think about, in the moments when the world feels just a little too still.
I won't end the world.
I'll endure it.