I stayed in the hospital, feeling hopeless. The days blurred together—white walls, hushed conversations, the constant beeping of monitors.
My dream of becoming a world-class violinist had shattered the moment I got into that accident.
One evening, I climbed the stairs to the rooftop. The crisp night air bit at my skin as the city stretched below, indifferent to my existence. My heart pounded—not with fear, but with a strange sense of finality.
"Giving up already?"
I flinched at the voice behind me. Turning, I saw a guy leaning against the rooftop door, arms crossed. He wore the same hospital clothes as me, his dark hair slightly messy, eyes sharp with amusement.
"Who are you?" I asked, too drained to react to his tone.
He tilted his head. "Hmm… who knows?"
I had no energy for this. Ignoring him, I turned back to the view.
Seconds later, he was right next to me, his gaze steady. "You're too pretty to give up though."
"Leave me alone," I muttered.
He shrugged. "I know that look."
I frowned. "What?"
"The one that says you think this is your only option."
Something about the way he said it twisted my stomach. I clenched my fists. "You don’t know anything."
He smirked. "Maybe not. But if you’re gonna do it, at least make it dramatic. Scream something cool. Flip off the world before you jump."
I stared at him, my emotions tangled in ways I didn’t understand. Unable to endure him any longer, I stormed back to my room.
He didn’t stop me.
The next day passed in a blur. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while my parents spoke to the doctor outside. Their voices were hushed, but I caught fragments—
"She’s not improving."
"We need to stay strong for her."
That night, I found myself on the rooftop again.
I hesitated before opening the door. And there he was sitting at the edge of the building, legs dangling, the wind playing with his hair.
What the hell is with this guy?
He turned to me with a smirk. "Ah, did I steal your spot?"
I scoffed, trying to ignore him.
I expected more teasing, but instead, he patted the space beside him. "Try sitting here. The wind feels different on the edge."
I frowned. "What, so you can push me off?"
He chuckled. "If I wanted you dead, I would've let you jump yesterday."
I rolled my eyes but, for some reason, stepped closer. I didn’t sit, just stood beside him, watching the city below.
He glanced at me. "You're still here."
"Shut up," I muttered.
His chuckle was softer this time. "Alright, alright."
And so it began.
Each night, I returned to the rooftop. Each night, he was there. Sometimes he teased me. Other times, we sat in silence. And slowly, our conversations stretched longer.
"Why do you keep coming here?" I asked one night.
He leaned back, gazing at the sky. "Why do you?"
"I asked first."
He exhaled. "It’s quiet. Feels like I can breathe up here."
I hesitated. "Yeah. I get that."
For the first time, he looked at me without his usual smirk. "Then why did you try to leave it?"
I swallowed hard. I had no answer. Or maybe I did, but saying it felt impossible.
He didn’t push me. Instead, he lay back, staring at the stars.
"You ever wonder what comes after all this?" I asked.
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "Yeah. But I think about what’s still here more."
His answer surprised me. I turned to him—and for the first time, I noticed how tired he looked too. Not just physically, but in a way that felt too familiar.
"I don’t know how to keep going," I whispered. "I... might not be able to play violin anymore."
His gaze sharpened. "You're a violinist?"
I stayed quiet.
"You know," he murmured, tilting his head, "stars don’t disappear just because we can’t see them."
I frowned. "What?"
"They’re always there," he continued. "Even when the sky is cloudy. Even when the sun is too bright. Even when you forget to look up. They don’t stop existing just because no one notices them."
Something in my chest ached.
I didn’t realize it then, but he was slowly becoming my anchor.
"What’s your name?"
He turned his head toward me, raising an eyebrow before smirking. "Took you long enough to ask."
Leaning back on his palms, he gazed at the sky. "What do you think it is?"
I scoffed. "What, you want me to guess?"
"Sure. Might be fun."
"Your name must be..." I narrowed my eyes, pretending to think. "Pervert."
He let out a laugh—an actual, genuine laugh that caught me off guard. It was warm, unguarded. "Yeah? Really?"
"You told me to guess," I said with a shrug.
Still grinning, he exhaled, tilting his head slightly before answering, "Fine, fine... I'll tell you. My lonely lady, the name’s Ren. Ren Tanaka."
Ren.
I repeated it in my head, rolling the name over my tongue. Somehow, it suited him.
"Ren," I murmured, testing how it felt aloud.
He looked at me then, his expression softer than before. "Yeah. That’s me." A pause. Then, with a knowing smile, he added, "Nice to meet you, Mel."
My breath hitched.
I stiffened, staring at him. "How... do you know my name?"
I had never told him.
Ren simply smiled, his gaze steady.
A strange, cold feeling crept over me. My fingers curled into my hospital blanket. "I'm... going back to my room," I muttered, standing abruptly. Without waiting for a response, I turned and rushed inside.
That night, I lay awake in bed, my thoughts tangled in unease. Did he stalk me? How could he possibly know my name?
The next morning, as the doctor checked my charts, I hesitated before asking, "Doctor, do you... know any patients named Ren Tanaka?"
The doctor paused, glancing at me curiously. "Where did you hear that name?"
My throat tightened. "Ah... well, I met him while taking a walk," I lied, not wanting to reveal the real reason I had been on that rooftop.
The doctor frowned slightly, then gave a small, almost amused shake of his head. "You... met him?"
Something about his tone made my stomach drop.
"Maybe there's another patient with the same name that I haven’t heard of," he continued. "Still, I’m glad you’ve made a friend, Mel."
A chill prickled my skin. "What about the one you know?"
The doctor sighed, sitting down beside my bed. "Ren Tanaka was in a car accident seven years ago. His parents didn’t survive, and he’s been in a coma ever since."
I felt my breath leave me.
"But he's strong. He’s still holding on—just like you." The doctor continued.
The words barely registered. My mind spun. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
Ren.
The boy who teased me, argued with me, sat beside me on that rooftop night after night. The boy who laughed. Smirked. Spoke as if he had all the time in the world.
I had been talking to a ghost.
Swallowing hard, I forced out a shaky breath. "Can I... see him?"
The doctor studied me for a moment before nodding. "Of course."
My legs felt weak as I made my way down the sterile hallway. When I reached the room, I hesitated before stepping inside.
There, hooked up to beeping monitors, lay Ren.
It was him.
His face was peaceful, his dark hair slightly tousled against the pillow, just like how I remembered it in the wind. The rise and fall of his chest was slow, steady, but his body lay still.
Too still.
I clenched my fists, my vision blurring. "You’re really here..."
But after that night, I never saw Ren again.
And I never returned to the rooftop.
Days passed, and I was finally given permission to be discharged. As I packed my things, the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic voices filled the hallway. A commotion.
Curious, I stepped outside, following the ruckus—until I realized where it was leading me.
Ren’s room.
My stomach dropped.
Through the small window, I saw the doctors and nurses gathered around his bed. His heart pressure had dropped. My doctor was there, desperately working the defibrillator, his voice urgent as he called out instructions.
My hands trembled. My vision blurred. The room seemed to spin as I stood frozen, unable to move. Until—
"Mel."
The voice was soft. Familiar.
I turned sharply.
Ren stood at the far end of the corridor, his usual teasing smile in place.
But no one else reacted to his presence. No one else turned.
It was just me.
He took a step back, then another—walking away.
Panic surged through me.
I ran after him, my heart pounding. He moved effortlessly through the hospital halls, always just a step ahead, until I reached the rooftop.
The cold air stung my skin as I gasped for breath, eyes darting around.
But he was gone.
My chest tightened. "YOU TOLD ME TO NOT GIVE UP!" I shouted into the empty rooftop. "YOU HYPOCRITE!"
A soft chuckle echoed behind me.
I spun around.
There he was—leaning against the railing, a playful glint in his eyes. "First, you called me a pervert. Now, a hypocrite?"
I let out a shaky breath, unable to hold back my tears.
"Don’t go." My voice broke.
His smile softened. "Mel."
He stepped closer, "Congratulations on your discharge." his expression gentle, filled with something I couldn’t name.
"Whatever you choose to do from now on, I know you’ll shine—just like you always did on stage."
My hands clenched. My chest ached.
"Thank you," he continued, "For spending time with me. "Thank you." his voice almost wistful. "For letting me feel what it’s like to fall in love."
Tears streamed down my face as I rushed forward, throwing my arms around him. His arms wrapped around me just as tightly. His warmth—his presence—it was real. I could feel him. I held on tightly, afraid to let go.
Ren exhaled softly, his chin resting gently on my head. “I wish I could stay.”
Then, I felt it—his warmth fading. His grip loosened, his presence growing lighter.
“No…” My voice broke as I clung to him, desperate to keep him here. But it was useless. His body was dissolving into shimmering wisps of light, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.
“I’m so glad I met you, Mel,” he murmured, his voice already distant.
I shook my head, my tears falling freely. “Ren—”
But before I could finish, he vanished into the air, his form dissolving like mist in the wind.
My arms tightened around nothingness, and I collapsed to my knees.
A sob tore from my throat.
"I love you too, Ren."
Ren, was gone.
THE END
