A quick oneshot.

There's one curse word...which is not enought to mark it as mature...so I guess if that really matters to you...don't read it?

Otherwise, enjoy.

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*tap tap tap*

He was typing on his phone again.

He had become so busy.

And I don’t mean the “oh I have work to do busy so we can’t meet” busy since we still eat lunch together every day, but the “my mind is on something else (or someone else) so I can’t pay the slightest bit of attention to you” kind of busy.

We were sitting at a cafe we regularly frequented.  In a booth seat; I across from him.

I stared at his face.  His long eyelashes reflecting the sunlight from that bright summer day.

He was staring down, at his phone, for the millionth time since the start of lunch...scratch that, the first time, since he hadn’t even looked up yet.

The short lunch hour we were given to spend time together felt like an eternity of silence, with the occasional *tap*.

I had glanced down to the food leftover on my plate, and the untouched meal on his.

I sighed.

Lunch was almost over as the alarm beeped from my phone.

I got up from the table and the chair under me screeched against the wooden floors, louder, that time because of the unbearable silence.

The other cafe goers spared a glance in my direction and I sent them a small bow in apology for interrupting their free time.

I guess he didn’t notice me stand up because I didn’t notice him stir. At all.

I payed for our meal and swiftly left the cafe.

I couldn’t bare that tense atmosphere any longer.

 

And that was how the remaining lunches of that week went.

 

*tap tap tap*

an awkward stare

the beep of my alarm

the screech of a chair

the apology to the other cafe patrons

and the bell on the door ringing after I had closed it shut

 

All of this happened without a single word coming out from his mouth.

 

Except on that following Saturday.

Saturday was...different.

 

He stopped typing.

He looked up.

He ate his food,

He split the bill.

He walked me home.

He broke up with me.

 

“Why!? What have I done?  Who is it that you have been texting me to ignore me for an entire week?”

 

Silence.

That was the only reply I had received, the only hint he would give me for our fleeting relationship.

 

He kissed me on the forehead and hailed a taxi.

That was the last time I had ever saw him.

And to this day, the soft touch of his sweet lips still lingers on my forehead.

 

 

 

Tuesday.

That was the day I got a text that had changed my life.

It was also the day he died.

 

He was dead.

My ex of 3 days had died.

 

Why?

 

Was it an accident?

Was he sick?

Was he murdered?

 

The text answered all my questions.

 

My dear beloved,

 

I know the past week has frustrated you to the ends of the earth.  But I felt that it was something that I needed to do.

You have been wondering what I have been typing, yes?

It is my last wish, my last hope, my last love letter, my will.

I love you.  So, so much.

More than you could possibly imagine.

But as you know by now, it is impossible for me to love anymore.

My dear, do not miss me, do not waste your time mourning over someone like me.

I want what’s best for you, and now that is for you to move on.

I know that I may be asking you too much but after pondering over it for the past week, typing and retyping what I must say to you, I have come to this conclusion.

I truly want you to be happy, and I want you to find someone worthy of you.

 

As you have probably guessed by now, I have been sick.

Very, very sick.

I won’t trouble you with the details but I am sick enough to die.

I am walking my final days on earth now.

And I am choosing to walk them with you.

You may think that just sitting with you at lunch, typing this message on my phone was a mistake, but honestly I wasn’t able to move my fingers on the keypad without you by my side.

Just seeing you, inspired me to keep living, to keep writing, to give you any sort of closure.

 

Do you wonder why I did not tell you of my illness?

Even I do not know the reason.

It might have been some petty pride of mine, or the fact that I did not want you to fret.

In fact I am contemplating sending this note to you in the first place.

Would it be better to let you think I am a cheating bastard, not worthy of your love?

Let you believe that I moved on so you can too?

I don’t know.  But, if that would have been the better option, let this text be my last act of selfishness.

Let me explain myself just so you can hate me a little less.

Please.

I love you.

And I always will.