My hand finds its way back to the shallow pocket in the front of my jeans, pulling out yet another lemon flavored coughdrop. As I remove it from its white and blue wrapper, my breath burns my throat.

The wrapper joins the accumulation of others in my back pocket as I pop the drop into my mouth. Walking down the street, I can’t tell if that bitter taste is from the candy or this sickening worry that’s been in the pit of my stomach all morning.

Waking up with the most painful sore throat ever known to mankind is never a great experience, but that wasn’t the scary part about this morning. The scary part was the text I’d received, sent at 4:23 AM, while I was still asleep.

[ _im sorry win, i needed to tell someone and u were the first person i thought of. goodbye, i appreciate u and i hope u dont miss me to much _]

The subway doors open, a rush of hot summer air whooshing around me. The car is full of people, but standing never bothered me. There is something _else_ bothering me right now, something more important.

“hope you don’t miss me too much”? How pathetic. If she left, then I would miss her more than anything. I would miss the way her laugh went up right before dropping back down, I would miss the way she couldn’t tell her “to’s” and “too’s” apart, I’d miss the way that she would drag one foot when her legs were tired.

_shit_.

I remember the time we were still in school, paired together for a project, and she half-assed everything, forcing me to do all the work. I loved it. I loved school, and she hated it. It was perfect.

_Shit_.

She loved the Greatest Showman. God, she’s not dead. Not “_loved”_, “_loves”_. She always gets the aux and she plays the track start to finish. I hate all the music, and the movie, but she doesn’t know that. I told her my favorite song from the soundtrack is From Now On.

_SHITTTTT_

.

am i in love.

.

Is it too late to realize? Was that what led me to see? One text, saying goodbye, and I’m almost completely certain that it means she’s leaving. On purpose. Forever.

Another coughdrop. Another wrapper. Another turn. Another taxi, splashing the puddles left in the divots from the overnight rain.

As soon as I had read the text, I called in sick to work and ran out the door. I just hope that I’m not too late.

I almost pass by her. _Almost_. How could I miss that ugly highlighter yellow bag? Her fashion sense is immaculate— she’s even told me multiple times she hates neon colors. That bag, I guess, is an exception. She never told me why. Only that it was special.

All the benches in the park are wet, just like the one she’s sitting on, but that doesn’t seem to bother her. I come to a stop a few feet in front of her.

“Hi?” it’s almost a question, like she’s uncertain that I’m really here to see her and not someone else.

“Does that text mean what I think it means.” _Mine’s_ supposed to be a question. That’s what it is. Then why does it sound like a statement?

She laughs dryly. _up and then down again_. “Straight to the point, I guess.”

“Does it?”

“Win.. I’m moving away. My family is falling apart, and my grandma in France just had a stroke. No one can take care of her, so of course _I _have to step up.”

Silence.

And then:

“But I don’t want to lie to you. I… I thought about it. I used to always tell myself that I wouldn’t, that I _couldn’t_… But…”

She takes a shaky breath.

“I just thought that if I decided not to do it, I could say that that text just meant I was moving.”

My throat is on fire My throat is On Fire MY THROAT IS ON FUC-

“But you’re not gonna do it right? Not anymore?”

She shakes her head, lip trembling.

“I’m sorry for any worry I caused you.”

I can’t say anything. I won’t say anything, or else I might cry. I just open another coughdrop, sit next to her on the wet bench, and take her hand in mine.

She bursts into tears, trembling heavy sobs, and I hug her to my chest.

“It’s gonna be okay.” I whisper.

I’m holding her hand tight, and I’m sure as hell never letting go.