A star's story

Can we meet tonight? At our usual place.

Sure. What time?

Just before midnight. I have something for you.

Ooh, I’m excited. What is it?

You’ll see.

He puts down his phone, a giddy feeling in his stomach. It’s been almost three years since they have been together. A calendar sits on his table, a date two days from today circled and dotted with mini confetti. She had drawn them when she came over. “Now you won’t forget your own birthday, silly.”

Even though there’s still some time before his time resets for another year, she’s always been unpredictable like that.

He meticulously checks his outfit and his hair, putting on the cologne she had bought for her. He doesn’t have to though, his clothes and everything he owns hugs the scent like they don’t want to let go.

The clock tower outside chimes eleven and a half times as he makes his way to the rooftop of the coffeehouse they religiously visit. The fairy lights that decorate the space gleam more brightly today, or maybe it’s just his own delusional imagination.

She sits on the ledge at the corner like usual, her dark waves lifting slightly every time a breeze passes. The sky’s clear today, the moon’s light shining on her face, casting her in an ethereal glow. His heart clenches as it always does when he sees her. How can I be so lucky?

“Boo.”

She startles a little, turning away from the sky to smile at him. “I didn’t notice you, you cheeky boy.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re always more obsessed with the sky than me.”

She laughs, then proceeds to a box tied with a dainty ribbon. “Here, I wanted to give you this.”

He tries to untie it when she swats his hand lightly. “Don’t open it now,” she chuckles, “you can only use it at exactly five minutes before midnight tomorrow, okay?”

“Then why did you give it to me so early?”

“Just promise me.” She holds out her pinky.

He takes it and presses their thumbs together. “Always and forever, estrella.”

She giggles before lying down on the mat. “Why do you always say that? It’s so cheesy.”

He takes his spot by her side, lacing his fingers with hers. “‘Cause I mean it, every time.”

She spends the next few minutes pointing out constellations and stars that he also slowly grows to know and identify. “There’s Cassiopeia as usual. Orion’s shining so bright today.”

“Is that Ursa Major? It looks familiar.”

“Yeah, it is! You’re getting better at this.” Her eyes gleamed as she looks at him with a grin. He flicks his hair in reply. “Of course, I’m just that great of a learner.”

She lets out a laugh. “Or maybe I’m just that great of a teacher.”

They lie in comfortable silence, hearing the clock tower chiming twelve times. “Hey, do you think stars are actually the souls of dead people?” He turns to see her gazing at the sky again. “Maybe after they’ve passed, they don’t ascend to Heaven, but rather to the sky, where they can still watch over their loved ones and guide them with their light.”

“I have never thought about that,” he answers, “but it does make sense. I would be glad to know that the stars are actually my ancestors or something watching over me.” He takes her hand again, pressing his lips to her knuckles, earning a chuckle from her. “Now, my lady, it’s getting late. How about we return back to our humble abodes and take a rest?”

She gets up and dusts herself off. “Alright then, kind sir, you can take your leave first.” He tilts his head in question. “I can walk you home like always, estrella. I don’t mind.”

She shakes her head and gives him a twinkling smile. “It’s okay, I want to stay here a little longer.”

“Then I can—”

“It’s okay, really, and it’s really late. Your mum might start to worry.” seeing that he’s still reluctant, she adds, “It’s fine, I’m fine, I’m just staying here for a little while longer. Don’t worry.”

He reaches her hand and squeezes it, saying softly, “alright then, don’t stay too long. Text me when you get home, okay?” She squeezes back and nods.

Just as he starts down the stairs, he heard her call, “wait—”

He turns back to see her running towards him and was hit by her body and arms wrapped around him tightly. He returns it immediately, burying his face in her dark waves, smiling. “Why the sudden show of affection, estrella?”

She clutches him even tighter. “I don’t know, it just came over me.”

He takes a deep breath, the ever-familiar scent of lilies and laundry detergent relaxing his entire being. “Te quiero, amor.”

“I love you too, silly boy.”

…

Shit, why is it so bright?

He sits up from his bed, blindly searching for his phone. The clock shows that it is ten in the morning. Morning? He checks his phone and sees no messages from her. There’s a pit in his gut when he texts her but only one tick is shown. This has never happened before.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not available—” What? He frantically dials her number again.

“Sorry, the number—”

He paces back and forth in his room, then inhales sharply. Okay, maybe her phone died, and she was too tired to charge it. She’s fine, she’s fine, she’s fine. Right?

He forces himself to put down his phone and continue with his routine. I will check later and there will be a reply. He goes downstairs to get his breakfast and listen to his mum lecturing his siblings again, but he can’t shake the weird feeling that something was off.

No older notifications. The tick still remains in solitude. He grabs his coat, practically running down the stairs and out the house. He presses the doorbell at her front door, his leg anxiously shaking.

The door finally opens slightly, with her mother peeking out. “Hello…?”

“Hey, Mrs Sullivan, I just want to check if Celeste is home?”

At the mention of her name, she opens the door wider, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, Evans…” She wraps him in her arms as she sobs. Dazed, his hands come up to pat her back in habit.

“I don’t understand. What—what is going on, Mrs Sullivan?”

She pulls back, wiping her cheeks and gesturing him to come inside. She quickly brings out two mugs of hot chocolate but it doesn’t taste as sweet as usual. Mrs. Sullivan sniffles, cupping the mug tightly. “Celeste didn’t want to tell you about this. You know she’s a highly independent girl her entire life. She doesn’t like to rely on others, thinking she can shoulder everything on her own.” He nods dumbly, the sinking feeling in his gut worsening.

“Aortic aneurysm. It was too late when we realised and got a check-up. That stubborn girl had been dealing with the pain for so long and didn’t even bother to tell us till it was too much.” She grabs a tissue from the box and blows her nose. “I’m so sorry, Evans, you gotta understand.”

He reaches out a shaky hand and clasps her, his voice wobbling. “No, no. D-don’t tell me she’s—”

She sniffles again in reply. “Her surgery was before dawn. The doctors said that there were too many complications halfway. She was under anesthesia, she didn’t feel anything. It was—” Mrs Sullivan blows her nose again, her voice breaking. “They said it was peaceful, she wasn’t in pain no more.”

It was like his world became muffled, Mrs Sullivan’s voice was distorted. No, no, this can’t be true. This isn’t real. He pinches himself and hisses when he felt the sharp sting. This is real.

“No, I just saw her last night. She looked fine. She is fine. It can’t be.” He buries his head in his hands. “It can’t be.”

Gentle arms wrap around his shoulders as Mrs Sullivan whispers, “I’m so sorry, Evans, I know how sudden this news is. We really didn’t want to keep this from you, but she insisted.” He nods slowly, turning to face her. He realises how she has her mother’s eyes, the exact same shade of green with a little brown spot at the side of the iris.

The lump in his throat becomes bigger as he swallows his tears. “I understand, Mrs Sullivan. It’s just— I saw her yesterday. She seemed a little off and I should’ve known better. I should’ve held her longer. I should’ve, I should’ve…”

Mrs Sullivan’s eyes glisten as she rubs his arms in comfort. Then she gets up and goes into her room before coming back with something in her hand. “Before she went into the operating room, she told me to give you this.” She opens her palm and there it is, the pendant necklace she’d always wore. “She wants me to tell you that now, she is home,” she whispers, as if talking any louder would disturb the fragile peace in the room.

They embrace again at the door and he promises to visit often. Dragging his feet, the hole in his heart grows bigger and bigger with every dazed step he takes back home. He clutches the pendant tightly, gingerly cracking the little star open. A picture of him stares back at him. It’s one that he has never seen before, probably taken when he wasn’t looking. The other half is a picture of herself grinning. From the way she was angled, it’s as if she was smiling at him.

The corniness of it brought another wave of grief as he clasps it around his neck. It’s exactly like her.

For the rest of the day, he lies in bed, ignoring all the questions and concerns his family throws at him from time to time by his door. The amount of times he has swallowed and clamped down his tears would’ve set a world record, but he knows she would be mocking him for being such a crybaby.

It is dark outside when he finally gets up and washes his face. His eyes are filled with unshed sorrow, his hair disheveled from running his hand through it a bazillion times.

Wait, her gift. What time is it?

He runs back to his room, taking the box and checking the time. It’s ten minutes before midnight. He exhales in relief as he tentatively unties it. Inside, there’s a video cassette tape with ‘E and C <3’ labeled with familiar handwriting.

At five minutes before midnight, he sets everything up and presses play. It starts off with a clip of him staring at horizon when they took a trip to the beach. He turned to the camera and chuckled when he saw her recording. “What are you doing now?”

He hears her giggling off-screen. “What’s wrong with recording memories?” Hearing her voice again feels like a punch to the gut, tears threatening to surface once more. The scene changes to pictures of him and the both of them together, the first notes of their song filling the room with its melody. Candid photos of him drinking his coffee, a white foamy moustache forming. Selfies of them at the park, movies, the arcade and the aquarium over the years. A video of her placing flowers in his hair when they went for a picnic. Another of them riding the roller coaster at the carnival.

Then the montage changes to her sitting at her desk with a cake. She lights the candle and smiles at him, or rather, the camera. “Happy birthday, Evans,” she says as the twelve chimes rang out through the town.

The silence cannot be louder as a sob creeps up his throat, the dams finally breaking. (His cries echoed around the room, the pain in his voice shaking the very foundation of their love that had engraved itself into his heart.

That night, he climbs to the rooftop, shifting his eyes to the stars hanging up in the sky. He pictures her as the brightest star, his mind mixed with sorrow and and a tiniest bit of comfort.

The tiny dots twinkle back, a last farewell but an everlasting promise.