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She nods and turns away, but quickly pauses and asks me, “Sir. It’s not my place to ask, but…are you okay? Do I need to call someone for you?”

Call someone.

I struggle an inhale.

That person would’ve been my Nova if she were awake.

I finally look at the waitress, a young woman with straight black hair and large eyes, currently shining with concern.

“No.” I swallow. “You don’t need to call anyone for me.”

She nods and slips away. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the headrest.

Images of her flash through my mind. Hair the color of the most beautiful sunset. The freckles on her cheeks and nose—constellations of the heavens drawn on her face.

Her crystal clear blue eyes. The life in them. The spark.

Will I ever see them again?

My phone buzzes—text messages from Dad or my siblings, no doubt. They’re concerned about me. After the accident, I pushed myself to finish the audit. I buried myself with work—doing everything I could to not feel.

Once we submitted the filing, Dad announced my real identity to the company. Trey gaped at me in shock and I promptly put in two weeks of vacation.

I couldn’t do it. Keep pretending my life didn’t end when her car plunged into the river.

“Sir, here you go. Our famous ghost pepper curry. Please be careful, the bowl is very hot. The ghost pepper is one of the spiciest peppers out there. If you want to switch to a milder curry, do let us know. Here’s a glass of milk as well—it helps with the spiciness.”

She places the food in front of me and walks away.

Staring at the steaming contents, the spicy fumes make my eyes water. I think back to what she said before.

The gift of hope. Because, if you believe it, who’s to say it isn’t true?

Grief grips my chest, excruciating, and I make a vow—send a message to the universe, as she’d say.

You’ll wake up, Lexy. Because you’re a fighter. The girl who chases whimsical dreams and impossible possibilities. Until you wake up, I’ll carry your torch, your dreams, your bucket list. One item a year. For you. Because I know you’re fighting hard too.

It’s the only thing I can do for her.

Starting with the first item on her list, the ghost pepper curry challenge.

“I-I’ll fight for you, Lexy.” My eyes burn—but this time, it isn’t from the spicy fumes.

I dig into the curry and rice and shove a big spoonful into my mouth.

The searing intensity of the ghost pepper hits me right away. My mouth is on fire and my tongue and lips swell. My immediate instinct is to reach for the glass of milk.

But I stop myself.

Moisture pools in my eyes as I shove another spoonful into my mouth, ignoring the inferno, the sensations of a being burned alive, becausenothingcan compare to the agony of being at Bhut Kitchen, eating ghost pepper curry, without her.

She was supposed to be here.

I was supposed to be laughing and crying at the same time with her, my body cursing me for doing this challenge, which would turn into a competition.

She’d joke and say something outrageous to make me lose my concentration. Then I’d pull out the ring and drop to my knee next to the table.

And ask her to marry me.