I froze.
I wanted to say something. That I’ll come back. That we’ll write more music together beneath the honey moon. That we’ll kiss and dance and live.
That I’m going to marry her one day.
She’ll wear my ring, and I’ll sing her songs, and we’ll build something that doesn’t feel like an ending.
Now I’m floating somewhere between the warmth of Annie’s goodbye and the cold fluorescent lights above me.
Plastic. Rubber. Oxygen.
My eyes sting. Maybe I’m crying. Maybe I’m dying.
I try to picture her.
Annie in her pink sweater, hair swinging in front of her face, hands cradled in mine.
But the lights blur. The voices fade. The borders of the room distort and shift as the beeping grows distant.
And then—
Water.
The splash of it. Chlorine thick in the air. Light refracted on the bottom of a pool. Bare feet on concrete.
My name echoing faintly through summer heat.
Stella?
I’m not in the hospital anymore.
I’m somewhere else. Somewhere I haven’t dared to return to in years.
And she’s here.
The water is warm. It laps at my ankles as I stand at the edge of the pool, sunlight flickering across the surface like broken stars. Somewhere, cicadas hum. A song plays.
Our favorite song.
The sun pulses, gentle and golden and strange.
“Chase.”
Her voice floats toward me, familiar and distant, like it’s being pulled through time.
I turn, and she’s there.
My sister.
Older than I remember, not a girl anymore. Hair tucked behind her ears, freckles faded, towel slung over one shoulder, and skin glowing like summer never ended.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Only air.
She kneels by the water, dipping her hand into it. Ripples bloom around her fingers. “I’ve missed you,” she says softly.
My throat doesn’t work right. My voice isn’t mine. “I’m dreaming. You’re not—”
“I know.”
