---- Chapter 5 This time, when | woke up, there was no beeping machine. There was no white ceiling. There was just... a strange, quiet detachment. | was floating, weightless, near the corner of the hospital room, looking down. | saw my own body lying on the bed, unnaturally still. A white sheet was pulled up to my chin. | was dead. The realization didn't come with a flash of terror or a wave of despair. It was a quiet, simple fact. The fight was over. The pain was gone. There was only this strange, peaceful silence. Then the silence was broken. Sarah was slumped in the chair beside my bed, her body shaking with silent, wracking sobs. Her grief was a physical thing, a storm that shook the sterile quiet of the room. It was a pain so immense that | could almost feel its echo, even in my detached state. | wanted to reach out, to tell her it was okay, that | was free now. But my hand passed right through her shoulder. | was a spectator. A ghost In the days that followed, | watched her. | watched as my loyal, brilliant friend became an executor of my final affairs. She made the phone calls. She met with the funeral director. She went back to my small, empty house and began the heartbreaking task of sorting through my life. ---- | watched her grow thinner, the exhaustion carving dark circles under her eyes. She moved like a robot, her actions precise and methodical, but her eyes were hollow. She was running on pure will, fueled by a love for a friend she had lost. One evening, | watched her sit on the floor of my studio, surrounded by my old sketchbooks and hard drives. She picked up my favorite hoodie, the one | always wore when | was deep in code, and held it to her face, inhaling deeply. "What do | do, Ethan?" she whispered to the empty room. "What am | supposed to do now?" She looked at my main computer, the one that held my final game. "| don' t know how to finish it without you." A part of my spectral consciousness screamed at her, Don't tell her. Please, don't tell Chloe. | didn' t want my death to be a burden on Chloe' s new life. | had made my choice. | wanted her to be free, even if that freedom was built on a foundation of lies and my own broken heart. Let my death be as quiet as my funeral was destined to be. As if on cue, Sarah' s phone rang, its shrill sound cutting through the quiet grief. She fumbled for it, her eyes widening when she saw the caller ID. It was Chloe. Sarah' s thumb hovered over the screen. | could feel her internal war. She answered. "Hello?" Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. ---- Chloe' s voice on the other end was bright, almost unnaturally cheerful. "Sarah! Hi! | know things were... tense... the other day, but | wanted to put that behind us. Mark and | are getting married!" | watched Sarah' s face. Every muscle tightened. "We' re having the ceremony this Saturday," Chloe continued, oblivious. "It's going to be at the Botanical Gardens. It would mean a lot to me if you came. As a sort of... peace offering." Saturday. This Saturday. Sarah' s eyes darted to a small calendar on my desk. She had circled the date in red ink. Next to it, she had written one word: Funeral. The phone slipped from Sarah' s hand, clattering onto the hardwood floor. Chloe' s cheerful voice became a tiny, tinny sound coming from the speaker. "Sarah? Are you there?" Sarah didn't answer. She just stared into space, her expression a horrifying mask of disbelief and dawning rage. The universe wasn't just playing a joke; it was staging a full- blown, cruel farce. My funeral and Chloe' s wedding were on the same day. She slowly bent down and picked up the phone, bringing it to her ear. She didn' t say anything. She just listened for another moment before ending the call. She stood up, her movements stiff. She walked over to my computer, her face set like stone. She looked at the screen, at ---- rl the icon for my game, "Chloe's Star." Then she looked back at the hoodie she was still clutching in her other hand. "Oh, Ethan," she whispered, her voice breaking into a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. It was the sound of a heart breaking. "She's getting married. On the day we bury you, she' s getting married." | floated there, a silent, helpless observer to her pain. There was nothing | could do. The date was set. The tragedy was written. My quiet, humble funeral would be the forgotten counterpoint to her lavish, joyous wedding. And all | could do was watch.