I don’t know what I feel as I look at the solemn shape of the grand building that faces me.

It’s raining, and as I stand under my umbrella, my eyes are fixed on the ghostly aura around the domed tower— an effect created by the unceasing barrage of water meeting the resistance of the roof, outlining everything above the ground like lines in a painting. I close my eyes, letting the constant and full sound of the rain fill my mind, replacing everything else.

I exhale, and it feels like dropping a weight in the ocean.

It’s my first day at King’s College, London, and I already know that I’m going to let anyone stop me from what I came here to do, no matter what.

All I’m worried about is getting to class on time. And, of course, I’m worried about John.

Casting all thoughts of him from my head, I run through the rain and into the main building.

Being on time is more important.

****

It was only after class that I bump into him; though in such a large school, I really doubt that it could have been a coincidence. We were both walking down the same corridor when he looked up from his book and… there he was again.

Stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back.

His eyes are the abyss: dark chasms with a black pool at its depths, sucking in anything that happened to fall in.

I wasn’t about to fall in again.

Moments pass before I notice his mouth is moving.

“…Isaac? Is that you?”

I blink. Of course he’d recognize me, even after the years that had passed— we were friends for so long, after. For forever.

“Hi, John.” I say, trying to keep the frost out of my voice and failing. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he just continues:

“Wow. I— I didn’t know you were studying here. I haven’t seen you here before, so I didn’t—”

Is he telling the truth? I can’t tell. Once, I had been able to.

“First day,” was my curt reply. “You?”

“First day too, but… second year. Listen, I just wanted to say—” His deeply defined face parts in a show of regret and sadness, begging me to listen, to forgive.

“I have to go.”

Whatever he has to say, I don’t want to hear it.

I had just begun to walk away, fighting that impulse to look back and see that crushed look on his face, when I hear him speak again.

“Wait.”

I don’t look back. I don’t want to anymore. But something makes me stop walking and listen.

“How about tonight? At the park, we can meet and I-I’ll explain everything? And this time, I’ll apologize, properly, and you don’t even have to forgive me, just… please. Let me do this. And I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

I say nothing. How could I, without betraying the rising wave of anger steadily rising in my chest, up to my throat.

I walk away.

And only faintly do I hear him say, “Ten o’clock, at the founders’ bench…”

****

The founders’ bench is like any other park bench, except for a little gold plaque which indicates its esteemed position among benches.

And I'm sitting on it.

I don’t know what made me go there. I just know that some part of me which I had previously believed to be dead to the world had compelled me to.

And so here I am.

Waiting.

Ten turns into ten-thirty, ten-thirty turns to eleven, and from then on it just keeps getting better. After that “sincere” promise, he had stood me up.

So much for a changed man, I think as I make my way back to my dorm.

****

Only when I came back into my room do I check my phone: it had been on silent. Five missed calls, none of them from John. I didn’t even know if he still had my number. Instead, another name appeared on my screen:

MRS. QUELL

John’s mom. Why would she be calling me?

Silently, something sinks in my stomach, weighing it down with all the worries that had plagued it for the past years.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

I call back, waiting anxiously for her to pick up. Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Without end. Until, finally—

“Mrs. Quell? Hi, I—”

Something is definitely wrong. She’s crying.

“What—”

And then she tells  me.

And I stop breathing.

“But… but… how did it—”

No.

It couldn’t be, how could it?

How could he be dead?