Borrowed Days

Elior’s POV

The hospital smells like bleach and fear.

I’ve been here so often that the nurses know my favorite drink, the doctor calls me “kiddo,” and the receptionist waves like we’re old friends. I smile back every time — mostly because it’s easier than letting them see how tired I am.

Dr. Navarro flips through my file, his brows furrowed. “Your blood counts are dropping again, Elior. You’ve been pushing yourself too much.”

I shrug. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He sighs. “You need rest.”

Rest. The one word I hate more than terminal.

Rest means staying still. It means waiting. It means dying quietly.

And I don’t plan to die quietly.

“I can rest when I’m gone,” I joke.

The doctor doesn’t laugh. He never does.

After the check-up, I sit by the window in the waiting area, staring at the sunlight painting gold over the glass. My phone vibrates — a text from an unknown number.

> Unknown: I came.

Unknown: The sunrise was okay.

Unknown: Don’t get too proud.

I smile instantly.

Luna.

Last night, she said she didn’t know if she’d show up. But she did. She actually came to watch the sunrise.

I reply:

> Me: Okay? Just okay? You’re breaking my heart.

Luna: It was too bright.

Me: That’s the point of the sun, Luna.

Luna: You’re annoying.

Me: And you texted me first.

She doesn’t reply after that, but it’s enough.

That one simple exchange makes the hospital feel less like a cage and more like a pause.

I spend the afternoon painting — badly. My room’s full of messy canvases: sunsets, oceans, faces I can’t quite finish. Lately, they’ve all started to look like her.

Luna Reyes, the girl who once wanted to die but now watches the sunrise because a dying boy asked her to.

It’s funny how life works. I’m running out of time, and she’s learning to use hers.

Maybe that’s the deal we didn’t say out loud — I teach her to live, and she teaches me to hope.

---

Luna’s POV

The sound of my mother yelling is the first thing I hear when I wake up.

It’s not new. It’s just… routine.

“Luna! Did you forget to wash the dishes again?”

I stare at the ceiling, the same crack I’ve been counting for years splitting across the paint. I could answer. I could apologize. But I don’t.

Silence is safer.

When she storms into my room, I sit up slowly, expression blank. She keeps shouting, words sharp and familiar — worthless, lazy, useless.

I’ve heard them all before. They don’t cut anymore. They just bruise quietly.

When she leaves, slamming the door, I sit there for a moment — then check my phone.

One unread message.

> Elior: You still owe me a smile today.

I almost laugh.

It’s ridiculous — a message that simple making my chest feel a little lighter.

At school, people still whisper. They always have. I’ve learned to move through hallways like a ghost, unseen and unheard.

But today, something small changes.

When I sit by the window, I look outside — and for a second, the sky looks different. Brighter. Not because it changed, but because I’m starting to notice it again.

It’s weird how someone I barely know can do that.

Elior, with his messy hair and terrible jokes.

Elior, who’s dying but talks about life like it’s a miracle.

I think about the way he smiled last night when the sun came up — like he’d been waiting for it his whole life. I’d been too busy squinting from the light, but he looked… peaceful.

Later that night, I go to the bridge again.

He’s already there, leaning against the railing with two cups of instant noodles.

“You’re late,” he says. “I was about to eat both.”

I raise a brow. “You texted me just to make me walk here for noodles?”

“Correction,” he says, handing me one. “For sunset noodles. It’s on the list.”

I can’t help it — I laugh. Just a little.

He grins like it’s the best sound he’s heard all day.

We eat in silence, watching the sun melt into the river. The sky burns orange, then fades into purple.

“Pretty, right?” he says.

I nod. “Yeah. It is.”

He doesn’t talk after that. He just watches the sky like it’s something sacred.

And I realize — he’s not afraid of dying. He’s afraid of leaving before he finishes feeling everything.