I looked down at the bottle of pills in my trembling hands, tears streaming down my cheeks like a river of despair. This is it. I’m finally going to do it. I’m going to end my life. It felt like a heavy fog had settled over me, suffocating and relentless. No one would miss me; in fact, my family would probably be better off without me. The thought echoed in my mind, a cruel whisper that filled me with a hollow sense of relief. This is what I wanted right? this what everyone wants right.....right?

With shaking hands, I opened the bottle and poured the pills into my mouth, their bitter taste mingling with the salt of my tears. I chewed them frantically, desperate for the pain to end, and washed them down with water until I had emptied the entire bottle of antidepressants. The world around me blurred as I tossed the empty container aside, feeling a deep ache in my chest as I leaned against the wall, hugging my knees tightly. I gazed up at the ceiling, feeling utterly detached from reality.

“I’m ready,” I muttered to myself, each word laced with a profound sense of finality. My insides felt like they were on fire, an unbearable turmoil that made it hard to breathe. Every breath was a reminder of my suffocating sorrow, of everything that I'm letting go.

I laughed weakly, the sound barely escaping my lips as a hollow echo of what it once was. Except, I never even had it all in the first place to lose. I had already lost it—my happiness, my joy, everything that once filled my heart with light. I had lost the love of my parents and my siblings, the warmth of friendship that used to surround me like a comforting blanket. Each loss felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, suffocating and relentless.

I choked back a sob, clutching my chest as if I could physically hold together the fragments of what remained. My heart ached with the memories of laughter shared and moments cherished, now faded into shadows of longing. The emptiness within me felt vast and consuming, an unyielding void that echoed with reminders of what I could have had.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over as I fought to regain control. It was as if every breath I took was a reminder of all that was missing—every heartbeat a painful reminder of the love that had slipped through my fingers like sand. In that moment, I felt utterly alone, adrift in a sea of sorrow where hope seemed like a distant shore, unreachable and hauntingly beautiful.

Suddenly, the door burst open, shattering the silence like glass. Someone rushed toward me—my mother.

“Royal!” she cried out, her voice breaking through the haze of despair that enveloped me. But it felt distant, as if she were calling to me from behind an impenetrable barrier. “What have you done?” The panic in her voice pierced through my fog for just a moment.

I smiled weakly through my tears, but it was a smile tinged with sadness—a farewell to the pain that had consumed me for so long. As darkness began to close in around me and my eyes grew heavy, I let them flutter shut. I could hear her shouting and crying, but it felt like background noise fading into oblivion.

Finally, I allowed myself to drift away into a forever sleep—free from sorrow and heartache. In that moment, I believed I was finally gone.

My eyes flung open, and I looked around at the unfamiliar environment. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, and the harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Wait… a waiting room? My heart raced as I took in the stark white walls and rows of plastic chairs. I glanced to my right; a woman sat there, her brow furrowed in confusion, mirroring my own thoughts. Where the hell am I? Is this what being dead looks like?

“Royalty Prince,” a voice called, slicing through my chaotic thoughts. I winced at the sound of my name and turned toward the source. A lady sat behind a reception table, her expression neutral yet expectant. “Is that you?” she asked.

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

“Your next,” she stated simply, her tone flat.

Next for what? My mind raced as I stood up, hesitantly following her pointed finger to a room just across from her desk. The door loomed before me, and with a deep breath, I pushed it open.

Inside was an even stranger sight: everything was white—the walls, the office table, the chair, even the couch looked as if it had never seen another color. Who designs an office like this? A chill ran down my spine as I stepped further inside.

“Please have a seat, Mister Prince,” came a voice from behind me.

I spun around to find a middle-aged man dressed entirely in white, looking at me with an expression that was both serious and oddly comforting.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to sound brave but failing miserably.

“Please just have a seat so we can talk,” he replied softly, gesturing toward the white couch by the window. Reluctantly, I walked over and sat down while he took his place behind the desk.

He picked up a file that lay open in front of him and cleared his throat. “Royalty Prince, 22 years old… cause of death: overdose on antidepressants—suicide.” He looked at me intently. “Is that true?”

I gulped hard, struggling to process his words while trying not to panic. “Ye-Yes it is, but wh-what’s going on? Ho-How do you know that? Aren’t I supposed to be—you know—dead?”

He nodded solemnly. “Well yes, you are supposed to be dead—actually, you’re not fully alive; you’re in the waiting room.”

“What?” My mind raced as confusion washed over me again.

“The waiting room, it's like a space inbetween life and death,” he repeated patiently.

“But why?” My voice trembled with anxiety.

“Because you committed suicide,” he explained gently. “You see, mister Prince, suicide cases around the world are becoming alarmingly common. So we up here decided to create what we call the Life Exchange Program.”

“The what?” My brows knitted together in disbelief.

“The Life Exchange Program,” he reiterated slowly as if explaining it to a child. “This program is specifically for suicide cases like yours. We exchange the lives of two people who have committed suicide; they both live each other’s lives for two years. If by the end of that time they choose to embrace their new life, they are allowed to keep it.”

I felt my heart drop into my stomach as I absorbed his words. “But what if they don’t want to?”

He sighed heavily. “Then they choose death over life; they will actually die.”

“So that’s what I’m going to do?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Yes.” He picked up another file from his desk and opened it with deliberate care.

“We’ve already found someone for you to exchange lives with; you both committed suicide at exactly the same time.” He stood up and walked over to me, handing me the file.

“Oliver Hicks,” I read aloud from the cover page. The name sounded oddly familiar but slipped away before I could grasp it fully.

“So will you do it?” he asked again, his gaze steady.

“But won’t people who know him realize something’s off? They’ll know it’s not really him!” Panic began bubbling inside me again.

He shook his head calmly. “No, you’ll have his life—his memories, not all—but you will still use your own name and face. The memories of those who knew him will adapt; they will only see your face and your name in their recollections.”

“To guide you through this process,” he added as another figure entered the room—a little robot hovering just above the ground. It didn’t look like any robot I had ever seen; its features were soft and human-like.

“Hello! I’m Leon!” it said cheerfully with an animated smile.

“Hey,” I replied weakly, still grappling with how surreal this all felt.

“He’ll be your personal guide—a friend who will help you navigate your new life,” explained the man in white.

“So this Oliver Hicks is going to be me?” I asked hesitantly.

“That’s right.” He leaned back slightly in his chair as if gauging my reaction.

“But if Oliver committed suicide too… how can I be sure his life wasn’t just as miserable as mine?” Doubts flooded my mind like water filling a sinking ship.

The man sighed again but didn’t rush me. “That’s true; we can’t guarantee anything about his life or experiences. But think about it: isn’t there any part of you that wants to try? You’ve already chosen death once.”

I looked down at the file in my hands—my heart heavy with uncertainty yet strangely lightened by curiosity at what lay ahead. If there was even a glimmer of hope that Oliver’s life could be different from mine… perhaps it was worth trying?

After a long pause filled with swirling thoughts and emotions, I looked back up at him with newfound determination shining in my eyes. “I’ll do it.”

A smile broke across his face like dawn breaking after a long night. He immediately took back the file from me and nodded approvingly. “Good! Now hold on.”

“What do you mean—” Before I could finish my sentence, he snapped his fingers sharply.

In an instant, it felt like every breath in my lungs was violently ripped away from me; everything around me faded into darkness until there was nothing left but blankness enveloping my senses…