The days that followed Rainan's return to San Felino moved in slow, golden frames—like a dream he didn’t want to wake from.
Mornings were gentle. He would wake up to the sound of birds and the soft clinking of his mother’s pans in the kitchen. Sometimes, he’d walk in to see his father reading the paper with his glasses slipping down his nose. He’d kiss the top of his mom’s head, pretend to tease his dad, and sit with them like everything was normal.
And for a while, it almost was.
He spent afternoons walking hand in hand with Angelo, their conversations light and silly, sometimes thoughtful and quiet. They watched sunsets from the rice fields or by the lake, leaning against the hood of Angelo’s truck. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all—just rested in the comfort of each other’s presence. Rainan would steal glances at Angelo when he wasn’t looking, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his smile curved slightly more on the left, the way he laughed from his chest. It was everything Rainan ever wanted.
But joy sat beside fear.
At night, when no one could see, Rainan would lock himself in the bathroom, hunched over the sink, trying not to cry as the pain in his stomach twisted like knives. The fatigue was growing heavier by the day. Some mornings, it took everything in him just to stand. His skin had paled, his body aching in ways he couldn’t ignore anymore. The fever came in waves—then the vomiting, the chills. He wore long sleeves, smiled more, made jokes. No one suspected a thing.
But it was killing him slowly. Not just the cancer—the hiding.
He couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Not when they looked so happy. Not when Angelo looked at him like he was the best thing to ever happen to him.
He felt like a liar.
So when Adrian called out of the blue, asking for his help with a new architectural project in the city, Rainan didn't even hesitate.
“Just a few days,” Adrian promised, his tone teasing. “Any longer and your boyfriend might hunt me down thinking I stole you.”
Rainan laughed softly, forcing the sound. “Guess I better pack fast before he shows up with a bat.”
But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
This was his chance—to disappear, even briefly. To breathe. To be somewhere no one expected him to be strong.
When he arrived in the city, Adrian welcomed him like always—warm, a little sarcastic, too observant. They worked together for a day or two, drafting, revisiting designs, talking business. But Rainan’s thoughts were elsewhere.
And then, he made his way to Dr. Elias’ clinic with dread curling in his stomach. He hadn’t seen the doctor in months. Part of him hoped maybe things had improved. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.
But hope is cruel when it's false.
After a few tests, scans, and hushed whispers between nurses, Dr. Elias called him into the office. Looked at him with those tired eyes, gently placing the test results on the table without saying a word, Rainan already knew.The older man’s face was pale with sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Rainan,” the doctor finally said. “It’s worsening faster than we expected."
Rainan clenched his fists. “How long?”
Dr. Elias looked away, as if ashamed to answer. “A month. Maybe less.”
A month.
Thirty days.
Thirty sunsets. Thirty mornings. Thirty chances to say goodbye.
He nodded slowly. Mechanical. Then stood.
He walked out of the office like a ghost, the sounds of the hospital muffled around him—distant cries, monitors beeping, nurses chatting behind desks. It all faded into background noise.
His steps faltered when he reached the hospital chapel. It was small, quiet, dimly lit by flickering candles. He stepped inside, and for the first time in a long while, Rainan let himself break.
He dropped to his knees in the empty pew.
His shoulders shook.
He clutched the edge of the bench like it could anchor him to the earth.
“Please…” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Please give me more time.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks, falling onto his hands.
“I still have so much to do. I still want to live,” he wept. “Why now? Why me? Haven’t I been good? Haven’t I given enough? Why give me love only to take it away so soon?”
He sobbed harder, gasping, his words tumbling out in a blur of agony and desperation.
“I don’t want to say goodbye yet. I’m not ready. I’m not ready…”
He stayed there for what felt like forever, praying—not even knowing if someone was listening.
And then, as he tried to stand, the world around him tilted. His vision blurred, the walls swaying.
His knees buckled.
And darkness swallowed him whole.