There is a girl. She is a bright as the sun outside with her smile spreading like rays between the clouds. She is only eighteen, starting her freshman year at college, starting her life. Her hair is long after years of growing it, the golden brown locks cascading down her back. She laughs so soft, her teeth as white as paper and her smile lines clear. Her eyes are ocean blue, the blue that is between the shallow and deep ends, and they’re so bright and filled with energy. Her tan skin glows, glittering in the sunlight, her red dress swaying as she walks. She wears white converse and carries a white purse strapped on her shoulder. She looks like a model next to everyone she encounters. She is never seen alone, someone always wanting to talk to her, to just be by her. Just by looking at her, you feel her happiness, that no matter what, everything is at peace when she is near.

It’s sophomore year, a hard year past. The same girl who once shined, walks all alone, her head is down and a gray hat is placed upon her bald head. Her gas tank rolls behind her, the wheels squeaking every minute.  The sun hasn’t come out in months, and the cold weather has begun to feel normal. Her once red dress is replaced with a hoodie and leggings, her white converse are dirty. Her skin is pale, her eyes are dull with noticeable dark bags under, her smile lines are faint. The girl who walked in on her first appointment, is no longer the same. She carries more and more pain with each visit, a year after of tearing her optimism away.

The hospital is never quiet, but in these moments, no one speaks. It’s mid December, the snow falls on the ground, making the interior feel cold and lifeless. The girl lays in her bed– room 202–third floor. She has decorated this room to make it feel like home; pictures stream the sides of the bed, a mirror is placed on the stand beside her. She has piles of blankets everywhere, and Christmas lights shine on the top of her window. She stares at her book, her eyes drifting from the words to the window. Her concentration is being distracted by the IV on her wrist, to the noise of the ambulances outside. She thinks of her life before all of this, and then about what is going to happen in the next years. She closes her eyes and leans against the bed frame.

She imagines herself the best way she can– on a hill where the sun can tan your skin in minutes, her long hair is tied back, and she wears her favorite red dress. It’s not imagination, it’s a memory. The girl thinks of her last summer day, the day after her diagnosis. She had found out something was wrong, the past few days of constant pain and two trips to the doctor showed evidence, and she wanted to live that final day in her home the best way she could. She was back in her hometown, on the hill by her house where she grew up. She was joined by a boy, her childhood best friend. Tom was her neighbor, and they knew each other since diapers. They shared the same dream of moving into the city and leaving the countryside. As soon as she heard about her illness, she had told him.

“Your life is at risk if you go, you know that right?” he says, a fearful expression on his face.

“Yes, I’m well aware. But nothing is going to stop me from fighting it.”

Tom never voiced the thought of her quitting her dream again. They both went to college in the city after that summer, no one mentioned her illness that was soon to hit her. She was checked in for monthly appointments at the nearest hospital from her school. Her parents showed regret when she left, but they never held her back from her dreams, and let her go with the assurance of Tom’s care.

The girl opens her eyes again, she stares at the snow outside and back to her room. On the table at the end of the bed, there’s a vase full of flowers. Tom went every Sunday, and has never missed one for a whole year. He was her small hope that everything was going to be okay. She refused to let him see her in the hospital on any other day, giving him Sunday as an exception. She knew he wanted to come every day, as he begged her each weekend he came. Today was Saturday, and Tom would be coming tomorrow. Opal had many favors to ask him for in the past year, from getting her the gross food in the cafeteria to helping decorate the room. But she knew that tomorrow, there was only one simple favors for her to ask. Linda, her favorite nurse came in exactly one hour later, her mouth in a frown when she saw Opal.

“Oh sweetie, I heard it’s time.” She said softly.

“It’s time. I called the school this morning, the doctor informed my parents shortly after. I haven’t told–” she stopped to breathe, “I haven’t told Tom.”

Linda didn’t hide her confusion, “Why not?”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. He will come and I’ll tell him.” Opal let out a short sigh, her tears were building up in her eyes. Linda nodded, and told her she would come back tomorrow morning, and wished her goodnight. Laying in her bed, Opal put the book away and turned off the lights. She closed her eyes and dreamed of the hill and Tom, wishing she could just go back to that moment. The following morning, Opal woke up gasping for air. She felt her lungs shutting down and her vision blurring as the last thing she saw was Linda running into her room, and Tom standing at the door way, flowers in hand.

When Opal opened her eyes again, she saw her parents resting on her right, their hands conjoined as they talked in whispers. She turned her head to see Tom, his hand was holding hers as he leaned against his chair, his eyes were closed. His face was red and tear stains were noticeable on his cheeks. Opal winced, knowing her parents had told him the news. Her mother turned to her, surprise in her eyes as she replaced her frown with a wide smile. She tapped her father, as he was already glancing down at her. His eyes held fear and great sadness, which he tried to hide with a smile.

“It’s okay honey. We know it’s time. It’s okay.” Her mother whispered. She looked up and nodded, signaling her father to follow her. They stood up and left the room. Opal looked over to Tom, who was awake. He didn’t try to hide the sadness across his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He said so quietly, she almost missed it. “I told you I wanted to know everything at the moment you did. Why?”

Opal took off the mask that covered her mouth, and exhaled. “I was going to tell you as soon as you arrived today. I didn’t expect it to be like this.” She paused for a moment, as a short trail of tears streamed down her face.

“I’m scared Tom. I’ve run as fast as I can, but it’s too fast for me. I’ve been caught.”

“It’s okay Opal, you don’t have to run anymore. You’re free.” He signaled her parents to come into the room again. All three pairs of eyes were filled with tears. They surrounded the bed, her parents holding her right hand while Tom’s tightened around her left.

“I love you guys. I love you Tom. Thank you for fighting with me.” Opal whispered, her tears freely falling from her eyes.

“We love you too honey, don’t forget that.” Her father said.

Tom shut his eyes tightly, and drew a low breath, “I love you Opal, I’ll see you next Sunday, okay?”

Opal let out a small laugh, “Don’t be silly, I’ll see you everyday from now on.”

He smiled softly, “I’ll think of that every moment I live.”

The next hours were the long and painful. The doctors came in and disconnected every type of help that was connected to her, they gave her a few words of wisdom and strength, and left her with her loved ones. Linda came and kissed her head, whispering how brave she has been throughout the year and that everything was going to be okay. Opal closed her eyes and thought of her life. She imagined herself on the same hill again and drew her last breath.