Chapter 6: Wishes in the Dark

“We’re all doing okay. I’m leaving for grad school tomorrow. Won’t be able to visit for a while, so don’t hold it against me, okay?”

“Oh, and I broke up with Brandon. I let him go. Maybe you’ll be mad.”

“I was the one who said I’d always stay, but I ended up running away.”

“But you’ll forgive me, right?”

I sighed, looking out at the trees, the sky. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Natalie, I’m just so tired.”

So, so tired.

A breeze swept by, almost like her hand ruffling my hair—soft, gentle, gone too soon.

I fell asleep against her tombstone.

When I woke up, it was already afternoon. I said goodbye to her photo, then hesitated and went to Brandon’s place.

It was one in the afternoon, sun blazing, but his curtains were drawn, no lights, the whole place pitch black.

As soon as I opened the door, the sharp smell of whiskey hit me.

I walked in, muscle memory guiding me, and found Brandon slumped in the corner, surrounded by empty bottles.

I crouched down, cleaning up, talking mostly to myself:

“I went to see Natalie. She hasn’t changed.”

“But when I looked at her picture, she felt like a stranger. She’s so alive in my memories, but in the photo, she’s faded, blurry.”

“I tried to remember her face, her laugh, but it’s all foggy now.”

“So I keep asking myself—what did she look like? What did her voice sound like?”

When I finished, I was right by Brandon’s feet. I put the last bottle in the trash bag, then crouched and looked him in the face.

My eyes adjusted, and I saw his expression—blank, cold, like he’d been carved out of ice, just staring at me.

I asked quietly, “And you? Is Natalie like that in your memory too?”

He didn’t answer, just breathed heavy. His eyes were bloodshot, fists clenched. I pretended not to notice, just gently put my hand on his arm, looking at him with all the sadness I had left, and said:

“Brandon, when you look for those substitutes, do you ever wonder if they really look like Natalie? Or just the Natalie in your head?”

“If she were still here, would she really be like that?”

I paused.

“And your feelings for Natalie—do you really love her, or is it just that she vanished? Like a game you never finished, a show that never got an ending, so now you’re obsessed with it?”

“You seem so deep, so devoted. But are you just in love with your own feelings?”

“Have you ever wondered—do you really love her?”

His hand shot out, and suddenly my face was stinging. He’d slapped me hard. My cheek burned, my mouth tasted blood. I knew it’d be swollen soon.

But I wasn’t mad. I almost laughed at myself.

I looked back at him. Regret flickered in his eyes, but he shoved it down, face hard and cold. He rasped, “Say that again.”

I didn’t answer. Just dropped my head. I wasn’t mad, honestly, and I didn’t blame him. But the tears came anyway—silent, hot, falling into his palm in the dark.

First time I’d cried since my sister died.

His hand shook, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

I said, soft, “This is the last time I’ll meddle in your life, Brandon.”

“My flight’s tomorrow. Don’t bother seeing me off.”

“If even this can’t wake you up, then just stay lost.”

Finally, I said:

“Don’t worry about the slap. I forgive you.”

I stood up, gave him one last look. He was still hunched in the dark, shaking, like he’d been carved out of stone and couldn’t move.

I stared at the person who filled my whole youth. Weirdly, I realized I hadn’t really looked at him in years.

I remembered the Brandon who always looked out for me as a kid, that lively, stubborn boy.

But now, he was someone else. Someone I didn’t know.

Underneath all the memories, he was just a stranger.

I wondered—after all these years, did I really love him? Or was it just obsession, like his with my sister, just chasing some ending?

I still don’t know.

I came back three years later.

No clue how Brandon knew, but he showed up at the airport to pick me up.

He was easy to spot. Taller, steadier, sharper jaw—more handsome than ever. People stared. He waved and smiled, “Over here.”

I walked over, and he just grabbed my suitcase, like nothing had changed.

We walked out together, side by side.

Like old friends picking up where they left off, the conversation came easy.

We’d already made peace. Six months after I left, he started messaging again—sent me hot sauce, snacks, random little things. Sometimes he’d Venmo me money for coffee.

We eased back into contact. He’d check in—how was school, anyone giving me trouble?

Sometimes I answered.

We were like regular friends, but with a history you couldn’t quite shake.

It worked—not too close, not too far.

His car was outside. As he tossed my suitcase in the trunk, I went to the passenger side. Before I could open the door, the window rolled down.

Inside was a girl with a round, bright face. She grinned, “Hey, are you Lila? I’m Sierra. Brandon talks about you all the time. Nice to meet you!”

I blinked. Brandon finished with the luggage, came over, and opened the back door for me. “This is my girlfriend. Seriously, she wouldn’t take no for an answer—had to come meet you.”

He sounded exasperated, but his smile was soft, almost proud.

Sierra leaned out, big brown eyes curious, taking me in.

I smiled back and got in the back seat.

Brandon got in, started the car, left hand on the wheel, right hand reaching for Sierra’s. She glanced back, stuck out her tongue, then slid her hand into his.

I kept my cool and joked, “Am I gonna walk into your wedding while I’m here?”

He laughed. “What about you? Meet anyone special overseas?”

“Break up, get back together, you know how it goes.”

We chatted like old friends, both steering clear of the past, until I got home.

When Brandon went to grab my suitcase, Sierra came over, eyes shiny as she apologized: “Sorry, I always thought you were like the ex-girlfriend in a romcom the guy can’t get over. When I said hi earlier, I was trying to be all alpha. Hope you don’t mind.”

“So Brandon wasn’t lying. There’s really nothing going on between you two.”

“Sorry.”

I looked at her, all open and unguarded, and smiled. “It’s fine.”

She grinned, whipped out her phone, and added me on Instagram.

Three days later, I saw her story: her and Brandon at a music festival. She captioned it, “Dragged the old man out clubbing. He didn’t know a single band, grumbled the whole time, but still stuck it out. Reward: a kiss.”

I was alone, standing on a breezy hilltop, my sister’s tombstone in front of me, just my bouquet of lilies there.

The wind whipped at my jacket, carrying the sound of laughter from a picnic down the slope. I just stood there, letting the quiet sink in.

I shut off my phone, looked at my sister’s smile—forever young, forever gentle—and said, “Natalie, I came to see you.”

Even if some people forget or drift away, I know—we’re all rooting for him now, aren’t we?

He finally moved on.

On the way down, I bought a piece of cake.

In the glow of a single candle, I had no idea what to wish for.

At sixteen, I wished I could marry Brandon.

At eighteen, I wished for him to be mine.

At twenty-three, when I broke up with him, I wished he’d finally move on.

At twenty-six, I realized… I didn’t have any more wishes left.

I used to say Brandon would be the one stuck in the past forever. But in the end, the one trapped in love and memories was me.

Honestly? I don’t feel much now.

Just a little regret, a little ache. I spent all my youth trying to save Brandon, but never got to be his moon.

Now, I’m just another friend in his life. Just someone passing through.

I smiled, blew out the candle.

In the hush of the dark, I made one last wish.

Lila, be happy.