"Oh, I told Dad about us, by the way."
I almost inhaled my entire drink. "You WHAT?"
She laughs so hard people stare. "Relax! He likes you. You know that."
I spend the rest of the day trying not to die.
But when she laughs and kisses me, like that solves everything, it really does. At least for a while.
Everything feels like a dream. A perfect, impossible dream.
Except dreams don't last. And some part of me knows, I'm living on borrowed time.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
It's late. One of those evenings where the sky looks bruised purple and gold, and everything feels too calm to be real. We're sitting on her porch swing, Lena curled up next to me, her head resting on my shoulder.
She says it like she's asking what time it is.
"So… did you tell your parents yet?"
The question lands in my chest like a brick.
I freeze.
"Uh…" My brain scrambles for words that don't sound like excuses.
"Not yet."
She tilts her head up, eyes narrowing playfully.
"Ash."
"I will," I say quickly, like that makes it true.
"When?"
"Soon."
She studies me, quiet now. Not angry, not sad, just… searching.
"I told my dad," she says softly.
"Yeah. And he didn't murder me. Which is still blowing my mind." I try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin.
Truth is, I can't tell her the real reason.
I can't tell her how walking through my front door feels like stepping onto a battlefield.
How Mom and Dad have turned silence into a weapon. Days of not speaking, then sudden shouting like thunder after a dry spell.
How home doesn't feel like home anymore.
So I say the only thing I can.
"I just… wanna wait till things are less… tense, you know?"
She nods slowly, but I see it. The tiny flicker of disappointment before she hides it with a smile.
"Okay. But don't make me wait forever, got it?"
"Promise," I say, even though the word tastes like a lie.
That night, I didn't tell my parents; I told Grandma instead.
She lights up like Christmas morning.
"My little gentleman!" she says, clutching my face in both hands. "I knew it! I knew she'd see what I see!"
She's already talking about meeting Lena, making cookies, telling her embarrassing baby stories.
For a few minutes, it feels good. Like I've shared this piece of happiness with someone who gets it.
But when I leave her room, the shouting starts again downstairs, and the dream cracks a little more.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
It's Friday, and the cafeteria feels louder than usual. Like everyone decided to set their voices to maximum chaos.
Lena and I are sitting together, sharing fries, when Josh drops into the seat across from us with the grace of a falling boulder.
"So," he says, eyeing our interlocked hands like they're an alien life form, "is this… official? Or is Ash still too shy to update his relationship status?"
Lena grins. "Oh, it's official. Sorry, Josh. Guess your crush on me is doomed."
Josh clutches his chest. "Tragic. But I'll survive. Barely."
Then he turns to me, smirking. "Dude. You do realize half the sophomore girls are planning your funeral, right?"
"What?" I blink.
He leans in like it's top-secret intel. "Word is, Lena Carter claimed you in public. That's basically a blood oath."
Lena laughs so hard she almost chokes on her fry.
Josh keeps going because, of course he does.
"I mean, I'd be terrified. One wrong move and poof. You're a ghost story."
"Thanks for the encouragement," I mutter.
He winks. "Don't screw it up, Romeo."
When he walks away, Lena squeezes my hand under the table, grinning like it's all a big joke.
The air smells like cut grass and sunscreen, that weird in-between of spring almost becoming summer.
We're walking down the cracked sidewalk toward Lena's street, and I'm carrying her bag because she "deserves royal treatment on Fridays." Her words, not mine.
"You're such a gentleman," she teases, swinging her empty arms like she's mocking me and proud of me at the same time.
I roll my eyes, adjusting the strap. "You just like bossing me around."
"True," she says with zero shame.
We're quiet for a minute, the kind of quiet that feels comfortable.
Then she giggles at something on her phone.
"What?" I ask.
"Oh, just… this reminded me of something." She pockets the phone and smirks at me like she's about to tell the best joke. "Did I ever tell you about the prophecy thing?"
"The what-now?"
"When I was born, my parents hired this fortune teller. Don't laugh, they were young and dramatic. And he told them…" Lena lowers her voice like she's setting up for suspense. "'Your daughter will never live past twenty-five.'"
She throws her hands up, laughing like it's the dumbest thing she's ever said.
My chest goes tight. "Wait. What?"
"Yeah!" She's grinning, all spark and sunlight. "My dad was so mad, kicked him out of the house. But Mom freaked out for months. Total meltdown. Like, oh no, my baby's doomed." She says it in this cartoonish voice and bursts into another laugh.
I stop walking. "Lena." My voice sounds wrong in my own ears. "That's—"
"Ridiculous, I know!" She loops her arm through mine, tugging me forward again. "Seriously, Ash, don't make that face. I'm almost seventeen. Guess the clock's ticking, huh?"
She says it like a joke, but the ground feels like it's tilting under me. My pulse is too loud, like it's in my throat.
"Nothing's going to happen to you," I say, and it comes out sharper than I mean.
She laughs again, soft this time, like I'm being dramatic. "Relax. It's just a stupid story. I don't believe in that stuff."
But I can't laugh. I can't even breathe right. Because nothing about her life, nothing about her ending, is funny.
And just like that, under the sunlight and her easy smile, fear roots itself in me, deep and cold.
I told myself I'd forget it.
I told myself it was just one of those things people say. Background noise, not a prophecy carved in stone.
But I still remember the exact shape of her smile when she said, "Can you believe that?"
Like she had forever.
She didn't.
She never made it to twenty-five.