Morning hit me like it always did—too bright, too early, and entirely unwelcome. I stayed in bed for a few minutes, pretending the world outside didn't exist, listening to the distant traffic hum and the faint sound of Clara's voice next door.
"Rudra! Are you even alive?"
I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. "Barely," I muttered.
She laughed, that same laugh I couldn't get enough of, and I felt a small warmth creep into my chest. Even after years of knowing her, she could still pull me out of my own sulking. Maybe that was why I needed her so much.
Dragging myself upright, I rubbed my eyes and glanced around the room. It still felt empty, too empty. Three years since Mom and Dad died, and some days it felt like yesterday, other days like a lifetime ago. The apartment didn't echo with laughter anymore. Their absence was quiet but loud in all the ways that mattered. And yeah, it sucked.
My hand found the pendant Clara had given me months ago. Tiny, delicate, and ridiculous, but it was mine now. It reminded me she was real, that she cared, and that even if some parts of my life had gone to hell, some things were still steady. She was steady.
I threw on my hoodie and jeans, shrugged into my backpack, and headed out. Clara was already leaning over her balcony, waving like she was conducting a morning parade.
"Morning!" she called. "Move your lazy butt!"
"Fine, fine!" I shouted back, trying to act annoyed but failing.
By the time I reached the bus stop, she had a coffee waiting for me. Black, no sugar. She slid it over with a smirk. "Don't screw it up."
I smiled, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and embarrassment. "Thanks. For… this. And for everything, I guess."
She laughed again, and I felt lighter already. Somehow, the world was bearable when she was around.
---
Class was the usual blur—notes, lectures, doodles I probably shouldn't have been drawing. My mind kept wandering to her, to the small moments of connection we had. That morning, I sketched her laughing at something ridiculous a guy behind us whispered. I wasn't proud, but it made me feel less hollow.
Lunch was our usual spot in the courtyard. Clara was buried in her medical notes, head down, hair falling into her face. I plopped down beside her, feeling the familiar mix of comfort and chaos.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," she replied, pushing hair behind her ear. "You're quiet today."
"I'm not," I said, shoving a bite of sandwich in my mouth. "Just… thinking about stuff. Life, school, probably the state of the world. Normal things."
She rolled her eyes. "You make normal sound dramatic."
"Exactly," I said. "Normal needs drama. Otherwise it's boring."
Then I let it slip. "I dreamed about them last night."
Clara looked at me, soft and steady, and I realized how much she understood me without words. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. It's just… Mom and Dad. Covid hit, and suddenly they weren't there anymore. Some days it hits harder than others."
Her hand found mine across the table. Warm, steady. "You're not alone, Rudra. I've got you."
I didn't need more. Just that. Her presence, her hand, her acknowledgment. That was enough to anchor me in the chaos of my grief.
---
Afternoon classes dragged, a blur of lectures and pencils scratching on paper. But even in the monotony, I thought of her, of the tiny moments that defined us—her laugh at my terrible jokes, her impatience with professors, the way she chewed on her pen when thinking hard. Small things that somehow mattered more than they should.
Afterward, I found her by the courtyard fountain. She was staring at her notebook, pencil tapping lightly.
"Daydreaming?" I teased, sitting beside her.
"Just… thinking," she said. "About life. Assignments. Maybe everything."
I laughed softly. "Life is messy. And ridiculous. And terrifying. But sometimes… worth it."
She tilted her head at me. "You say that like you're some philosopher."
"Or an idiot," I countered, grinning.
We were quiet for a while, just watching the city move around us. I pulled out my sketchbook and doodled her face. Not perfect, not even close. But it was her, and that was enough.
"Do you ever think about the future?" she asked quietly.
"All the time," I admitted. "Art, NYPD, life after college. It's all messy. Scary. Unpredictable."
"Messy's fine," she said. "You just figure it out. I'll be here."
It was simple. It was real. It was enough. Her faith, steady and unwavering, made me feel like maybe I could stand taller, maybe I could survive the emptiness I carried.
---
Evening came, the streets glowing with city lights. I walked home slowly, feeling the weight of the day but also a little lighter. The pendant pressed against my chest, a reminder that even in the mess, there was some anchor.
I thought about our shared history—the mornings, the nights, the laughter, the small fights, the quiet talks. About how she had been there, like a constant, while the rest of the world fell apart around me.
I wanted to tell her everything. About the grief, about the hopes, about the little velvet box tucked in my jacket pocket. But for now, I just walked beside her in thought, held the pendant, and let the city hum around me.
Because some things, some people, were worth everything.