[listen to the song tho srsly]

"Grey."

I grunted, rolling over to my side.

"Grey," the familiar voice whispered once again, this time dipping the bed as she sat down. She nudged my shoulder, "Wake up."

"Isla?" I murmured, rubbing the sleep off my eyes. Isla lifted her legs up to my bed just as I sat up, taking in the slightly blurry sight of her in front of me when clearly, the sky was still dark.

"Hello," she whispered. She had her blonde hair let down today, falling in golden waves down her shoulders. "You'll probably want to dress up with me here, so," she handed a folded gray t-shirt which she had obviously taken from my closet, "here you go."

"Thanks," I mumbled, trailing off to a yawn. Slipping on my t-shirt, I kicked my duvet off my legs. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I wanted to be the first to wish you," she sighed, pouting, "but I guessed your mother beat me to it."

I chuckled, "She's always the first one."

"The cake looks delicious though," she whispered as if telling a little secret, leaning over just a little bit closer. "Pity I can't eat it."

My eyebrows scrunched, "My grandmother ate all the time."

"No, it's not like I can't eat, like, at all," she explained, scooting over the right side of the bed to lean back on the headboard. "I can eat, but I can't taste anything. I'm never even hungry, and I actually can hold my breath for a really long time—more than twenty minutes, I tried—so I don't think that I even need to breathe," she said that all in one breath, admittedly quiet hard to keep up with, but I listened anyway, "basically the reason I'm still inhaling and exhaling is because I've been doing it all my life."

Somehow, seeing her still looking as happy as ever did nothing but make me feel bitter. Because if it were me in her position, I sure as hell would be pissed. "That's . . . weird."

"And such a bummer, honestly," she sighed, head turning up to look at me. I was a bit startled by the trivial move. "I had a pretty relentless sweet tooth back then."

I noticed that this was the first time she actually addressed herself in past tense. She didn't even hesitate on it.

"But let's not waste our time," she suddenly clapped her hands together, crawling over me on the bed to jump off the bed, standing up straight with her hand extended, "come on, get ready for school."

I narrowed my eyes. "It's still dark, what time is it?" But my phone wasn't on my nightstand when I reached to check.

"No phones today," she grinned, grabbing a hold of my hand, pulling me with her. "I don't want you checking the time every fifteen minutes."

"But—" I stopped myself. The look in her face was expectant, and the hold she had on my hands was scratching off the rational part of my mind. Before I could figure out what exactly it was that I wanted, I was already agreeing with a curt nod.

Her answering smile embarrassingly got my mouth twitching up into a small smile.

"Go shower first, I need to hide my present downstairs."

⌛️

"I thought we were heading to school," I craned my neck over my shoulder, just as we passed the turn to our high school. She kept on driving straight to the direction which I knew would only lead us to the lake.

"Psh," she waved a dismissing hand, shortly breaking her gaze from the empty road ahead of us to send me a small grin, "it's your birthday, who would ever want to spend their birthday learning?"

"I have a Chemistry test today, " I muttered, leaning back on the seat with an annoyed sigh, running my fingers through my hair.

"Screw that test."

I scoffed, "Easy for you to say, you don't need the grades anymore."

"Hey," she reached over to smack my arm lightly, "I still like to spend my spare time studying, thank you very much."

I looked at her weirdly. "Clearly you won't be needing that starting tomorrow."

"Don't say that."

My head snapped to face her. I purely meant that as a joke, because I thought that she was fine with it. Or at least that was how she had been acting all this time. Well I didn't like joking about it, but it seemed like she was, so I didn't think twice before saying it. "Um," I cleared my throat, "sorry."

No words were spoken after that. I truly didn't know what else to do other than stare at the view outside the window, wanting to change the subject but not able to push away the annoying echoes of my own stupid words.

Starting tomorrow.

The radio was merely a quiet hum now, blanketing the both of us with a heavy feeling.

⌛️

We were sitting on the corner booth of a local ice cream parlor Isla apparently loved, alone except for a small group of elementary boys I sometimes saw playing near the lake. We were both staring out the door at the darkening sky, both knowing exactly what this meant but refusing to address the barely-full moon surrounded by the stars.

"Can I ask you something?" I blurted out at last, turning to face her properly for the first time in fifteen minutes. She cocked her head, smiling, as if encouraging me to go on. "Just—how?"

She understood what I meant, I knew that, but I didn't comment when she just asked back, "How what?"

I swallowed, pushing away my now-empty paper cup. "How you . . . turned out this way," I breathed out, "because I've heard nothing but rumors about it. And none actually does make sense."

"Oh, that," she nodded absentmindedly, "you'll know soon."

When is soon? I almost snapped, but remembering how we turned out the last time I accidentally raised my voice at her, I channeled my frustration on crumpling a paper napkin instead. "Why not now?"

She fiddled with her plastic spoon. "I sort of made a promise with Mom," she began, one foot tapping along the song that was currently playing in the parlor, "so that she won't say anything until . . . you know, I'm not here anymore."

I thought it over. Surely, if she wasn't willing to publicize the reason for her death, it must had been a bad enough reason. But then I remembered Isla and her sometimes-childish way of thinking, and the thought was easily brushed off. It was probably a sickness or an unfortunate accident.

"But let's not talk about that now," she clapped once, "the reason why I forbid you from looking at the time was so that we could enjoy today, I don't think talking about my death is the best idea."

Don't make it sound so final, I wanted to say. Instead, my coward ass chose to smirk at her. "Then I want to hear more about your ex."

"What—definitely not," blush crept up to her cheeks, contrast to her rather pale skin.

"Why not?" I leaned over the table, propping my chin on left hand. "He's a cheat, surely it'll be easy enough to bitch about him."

She went quiet, fiddling with the hem of her white dress. "He's a good guy."

My jaw clenched. "Obviously not good enough."

"Well—everyone can make a mistake, you know," she said weakly, looking up through her long lashes, "the first one he ever made simply happened to be the worst of all. Not to mention hurt the most because my father was . . . pretty much the same."

Surprised that she even mentioned her father, I tried to conceal it by looking out the glass wall at the passing cars. "When?"

She laughed bitterly, "We just found out recently, but apparently it has been going on for years."

I hummed, slowly returning my attention back to her blank expression.

"But honestly, as much as I hate him for it, I'm much more disappointed at my older brother," she mumbled. This was the first time I heard that the Millers had a son. "He chose to go with my father after the divorce."

"What is he like?"

She let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. "Smart. Good with people. Basically the most picture-perfect son any parents could ever wish for."

She seemed like she had more to say, so I simply waited.

"He's the better out of the two," she whispered, "and no matter how Mom always said that she loves us equally, her actions sometimes say otherwise."

⌛️

Pushing the front door to my house tonight felt much harder than it should be. Because I knew that returning home was the last one on our imaginary to-do list, and I didn't know whether the brief moment I could swear she looked a bit transparent was just my head doing things or it really did happen.

Whichever the reason, it was why I lingered outside even after Isla walked past me inside.

"Grey, what are you waiting for?" she called from the sofa she was sitting on, looking so normal and relaxed that I could almost hate her for it.

Almost, for the next second I was already walking toward her then sat on the same sofa, just on the farthest corner away from her.

"Wanna watch a movie?" I said, sounding a bit too stiff even in my opinion.

"Wait," she took out my phone from her pocket, checking the time. Her face fell for the shortest second, but I noticed it nonetheless. That could only mean we had lesser time than we thought. In a flash she was up on her feet, carelessly throwing my phone onto the gray sofa. "On second thoughts, I better give you your present now," she said a bit too cheerfully.

I forced myself to smile.

"Close your eyes," she said softly, giving a little grin that I had become stupidly attached to. Way too attached considering the little time we had left. For fuck's sake, I couldn't even check the time to see just how long exactly until midnight struck. "I have your present. Don't look until I say so."

Of course, I was hesitant. Somehow, the way she was talking sounded a little bit like a goodbye. I let my eyes travel around her face, from her blue eyes, her long eyelashes, to the curves of her lips.

With a shaky intake of a breath, I closed my eyes. I heard rustles as she dug around for the package she had thrown so carelessly, and I was just about to check what was taking her so long when I once again felt the warmth of her close presence.

"Just like I had promised," she whispered, "flowers."

"Can I open my eyes now?" I whispered back. No. With no permission to look at the time, I felt like repeating the countdown over and over again. It felt horrible, I felt anxious, and I could almost feel her growing farther and farther apart, despite the fact that she just dropped something carefully onto my lap and her hands came up to my face the second after.

When I felt her lips on my forehead, my eyes snapped open.

She pulled back slowly, and then we just stared at each other. Her with a small secretive smile on her face, and me frozen stiff, taken aback.

She finally broke the silence with a soft whisper.

"Happy birthday, Grey Collier."

And that was all I truly needed to think, To hell with it, and just reached out, willing to forget that I wasn't supposed to have feelings for her when she was already a spirit and that I could lose her in any moment now.

She gasped when I pulled her to me, lips parting when I lifted my head, eyes closing when I moved to close the remaining distance between us. And I, too, closed my eyes, feeling my stomach drop as our lips finally, finally, brush.

But that was all it was. Just a touch as light as a feather.

She was gone before I could do anything more.