There's no reason, there's no rhyme
I found myself blindsided by
A feeling that I've never known
I'm dealing with it on my own

Phone is quiet, walls are bare
I drink myself to sleep, who cares?
No one even has to know
I'm dealing with it on my own

-Malibu Nights, LANY

I’m dying.

And I know I don’t have much time left.

I sat in a professional office, the sound of the metronome clicking back and forth over and over again. In front of me was my psychologist, a man who I often saw when I was in university. Lee Jeno, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he tried to do his job- except that I never had to pay for my sessions.

But you see, when you’re dying, you tend to want to leave a mark everywhere.

You want people to remember you, you get scared of oblivion. So, I try to make connections. I buy flowers for the cleaning lady of my apartment building every Sunday. A different flower every week and now I’m running out of ideas what to give her.

At least when I die, she’ll remember me as the one who always gave her flowers. 

I try to help people as much as I can; recycling their trash for them and watering their plants. And I can see that they wonder why I do it but they let me do it anyway. To them, I might be the strange person who recycles trash for them but to me, I want them to wonder about my absence.

And every Monday, I come to see Lee Jeno in his office, a well-known psychologist who is married to the youngest daughter of the Kim family. He recognized me at first glance, asking me if I studied at SM University. Lee Jeno was always known to be very observative.

I was always around SMU, a pencil in hand with a notebook as I watched all of them live their lives.

And I came to the conclusion that if I couldn’t fall in love, at least I could write about it. I drew and wrote. Researching their lives as I went and listening to the grapevine, I wrote stories about them.

And today was the day I’d show it to someone else.

“So based on last week’s session, I know you are depressed,” Jeno said and I tried my hardest not to scoff.

“Bro, I’m dying.” was all I said.

Last week he made me take a test. It was supposedly to see if I was anywhere near mentally unstable and I don’t have to guess what I got. The questions were simple: Rather be asleep than awake? Check. Feel a loss in motivation in general? Check. Drastic changes in eating habits? Check, but it may because of my heart, not depression.

“And it may be manic,” he added.

“I’m dying, dude,” I said, leaning back. “Does it matter if I have depression?”

Jeno leaned forward, his hands clasping in front of him as his mind reeled. I know he was trying to wrap his mind around on how he was supposed to cure me but the thing is, I couldn’t be cured. Without a donor, of course, and that required a lot of money.

“I asked you last week to come up with hobbies,” Jeno said, clearing his throat and I know that he was going by the book. If someone is depressed, you tell them to distract themself. “And you said you already had one.”

“Yes,” I replied, bringing the book up and placing it on the table. Jeno frowned at the sight, the papers spilling out of my already filled notebook.

I was waiting for the surprise.

“You write?” Jeno asked and I nodded, keeping my eyes on him. “Like short stories?”

I nodded again, not being able to stop myself from smiling at him. He didn’t read them yet, the male skating his eyes over the papers inserted into the notebook. Some were crumpled, some were newly written and drawn. I had a few that were bound together because they were the same story and I saw Dr. Jeno reached down to grab the notebook before looking at me for permission.

“You’re the doctor,” I told him and he took this as permission. He started from the middle, finally reading what I had written down in the notebook. I stared at his face, waiting for his face to change and when it did, he looked up at me, surprised.

“T-This…” he began, flipping the page. “This is my story of me and my fiance.”

Ah, there it is. This realization.

I watched him flip a few more pages, his lips moving as he read the words. His eyes strained on my work and I couldn’t help but feel very proud even if he was the first one who actually read what I wrote.

“This is Jaehyun hyung’s story,” Jeno said in realization. “The story of when his ex-girlfriend came back from New York.”

I nodded, lifting the cup of tea to my lips to slurp the liquid without looking away from him. His reaction was by far the most interesting thing I have seen in the past year. I focused on Jeno, the male reading my story as he flipped through the pages a bit too aggressively for my liking.

“Dude, relax. My notebook is fragile,” I told him and his eyes flickered.

“This is Mark’s story. It started with Mark’s story, didn’t it? It’s the first story in your notebook,” he said to me and I nodded. I watched him read the stories, his eyebrows furrowing at some parts and that was when I realized that maybe I got it wrong.

In the end, I wrote whatever I heard. It’s not like I could go up to them and ask Jaemin and Yahoo, Mark and Muffin, Jaehyun and New York, Yuta and Charm, and Jeno and his bunny girlfriend if what the rumors were talking about were true.

“You got Jaehyun hyung’s dimples wrong,” he said suddenly, passing me a photo that I had drawn of Jaehyun and I rolled my eyes. Of course, I got it wrong! No one could replicate Jung Jaehyun’s dimples!

“­­Why isn’t there Haechan’s story in here?” he asked. Jeno frowned at the pages, flipping through them when I blinked at him.

“Lee Haechan? Didn’t he leave university beginning of the sophomore year?” I asked and Jeno nodded. “The stories I wrote are from SM University only.”

“Ah, I see. No wonder,” he mumbled under his breath when he flipped over to the end of the notebook. There was only one name at the end of the book, the pages not filled with words I have written.

“Kim Doyoung.” Jeno read. His eyes went to the photo that I have drawn of Kim Doyoung. Throughout university, I haven’t seen him with a girl- even once. He was always running after his sister or handling the debate committee.

I once drew a photo of him when I saw him in a cafe with Jaehyun’s ex-girlfriend. I knew they were close friends so I have always kept a close eye on them. I chewed on my bottom lip, seeing Jeno stare at Doyoung’s photo. I had put a lot of effort into the details for Kim Doyoung because he was the only one without a story.

Jeno put down the notebook, gathering up the papers, and putting it into the notebook. He seemed to be thinking of something and I sighed. They were my characters, part of a story I had created in my head and on paper.

“It’s good to know that you have a hobby,” Jeno told me, his eyes on me. “Why don’t you try to write a proper book?”

“Doctor…” I began. “I do not have the luxury of time.”

As much as I wanted to be remembered, I knew that I had to keep my wishes simple. I wanted to complete the things I had started but couldn’t finish. I wanted to end my sentences with a period and a small “The End”.

Beggars can’t be choosers was what I told myself on a daily basis.

“Yes, but…” Jeno paused. “As your therapist, my goal is to make you feel better. But as your friend, my goal is to make sure you are happy with whatever you decide to do. I know you have accepted that you’re dying but that doesn’t mean that you should stop having a goal.”

I watched as he continued to speak.

“The moment you stop reaching for something, you’ll lose yourself,” Jeno told me and I smiled.

If only he knew.

“Are you going to help me achieve my goal then?” I asked Jeno who frowned. He wouldn’t like this, but if he insisted, I guess it didn’t hurt to ask.

“What’s your goal?” he asked and I smiled once more, leaning forward to tell him.

[Doctor Jeno!]

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The first thing I did when I reached home was water my plants. My eyes landed on a photo stuck to the refrigerator. A pang sadness came as quickly as it went away as my eyes settled on my mother’s face.

In a moment, I’ll be right where she is.

In a moment, I’ll see her again.

Sometimes I wished that I didn’t know how my life would end and sometimes I was grateful to know what to expect. I slid onto the chair softly, opening the notebook that I had written in all throughout the university. My mind went back to when I told Jeno what I wanted.

“You want to write his story?” Jeno asked and I had nodded. “My brother-in-law-to-be has no girlfriend. The guy is a workaholic. All he does is work.”

“How are you so sure?” I asked back. “It doesn’t have to be a love story. It can just be a story of his daily life. Help a dying girl out, Doctor Jeno.”

Jeno paused. “Wait, are you saying you want me to help you tell him where he goes? Isn’t that stalking?”

“Yeah, but I bet they won’t throw me in jail if they know I’m dying.”

“You can’t use the dying c