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Past: One Month After the Accident—Twenty-Four Years Old

“Are you there, Lexy? Do you hear me, my love?” I rasp, my throat hoarse.

I slowly climb onto her bed at Manhattan Memorial, careful not to jostle her, and curl my body next to hers.

A lump forms in my throat.

“Lexy?”

She doesn’t answer me.

Of course she can’t answer you.

She’s in a coma.

She was transferred to long-term care yesterday.

It’s been one month since the horrid accident when they fished her out of the Hudson, her skin already turning blue, her body broken and battered.

If it weren’t for the anonymous Good Samaritan, she’d be dead.

Gone forever.

The odds aren’t optimistic she’d come out of it.

Too much time in the water, the brain deprived of oxygen for too long, not to mention the severe injuries she sustained.

“Lexy, I love you so much. Wake up, please .”

I lift her bandaged hands and kiss each of her fingertips.

With trembling fingers, I pull the ring out from my pocket and put it on her hand .

“You asked for a ring, Nova. I bought you the prettiest one there is. You’ll love it. It’s one of a kind, just like you.” The jewels glimmer under the dim light, my chest clenching as a fresh torrent of grief rains on me.

“W-Will you marry me, Nova?” My voice is barely a whisper.

Raw. Trembling. “Make me the happiest man on earth?”

Nothing.

No twitch. No movement.

Only the steady, merciless beep…

beep…beep… of the machines.

My heart pulverizes, the pain robbing me of breath.

All I can do is hold her tightly in my arms, wishing she could feel my presence.

I press kisses on her hair and shoulder.

“D-Do you blame me, Nova?” A choked gasp.

“If I taught you how to swim…maybe you could’ve escaped. I keep replaying that day in my mind.” My tears seep into the fabric of her hospital gown.

“Every moment, every choice. If I’d done one thing differently, maybe you’d be awake now. Maybe I could’ve saved you.”

That’s the thing with grief.

Oftentimes it’s laced with regret.

Because we never know when the clock runs out—when that brief kiss, that argument, that phone call, might become your last.

And once you realize…

it’s too late, and those painful, corrosive thoughts eat you alive.

I swipe away the wetness on my cheeks.

“Please don’t make me do life without you.”

My chest is hollow.

I can’t imagine a life without her.

I don’t want to imagine a life without her.

A ragged exhale escapes me, and I close my eyes and breathe in her scent.

My muscles seize. It’s all wrong.

Where’s the lavender?

Her lavender?

All I can smell are soap and cleaning agents.

Hospital smells .

Panic rears its ugly head.

My pulse quakes in my ears and my lungs constrict.

It’s like someone is stabbing me with knives—over and over again.

I can’t do this. I can’t be here.

I can’t see her lying there, hooked up to machines.

Clinging to life by the thinnest thread.

My panting breaths quicken and soon the room spins.

I can’t breathe. Why I can’t I breathe?

Mind swirling, I stagger off the bed.

I tuck the blankets around her shoulders and kiss her forehead.

Then I flee.

Some time later, I find myself inside Bhut Kitchen, where we were supposed to meet that night for our first bucket list item.

“ Namaste. How many people are in your party?”

I blink at the blurry shape in front of me—waitress, waiter, whoever.

It doesn’t matter.

“One.”

She frowns as she grabs a menu and motions me to follow her.

A pressure cinches my neck—the beginnings of a migraine.

I barely notice the lush decorations—bright, jeweled tones and fabrics I’m sure are beautiful if I care to pay attention.

A fork clatters as I brush past a table.

An older couple gapes at me.

I swipe my face, my week-old beard prickling my hand.

I haven’t shaved since the hospital visit and other than a quick shower this morning to make sure I don’t reek; I know I look like a mess.

The headache intensifies, and I wince.

Any normal person would go home and hide from the world, not trying to brave the ghost pepper curry challenge.

But I need to do something.

For her. For me.

“This is your table, sir. Would you like anything to drink while you look over the menu? ”

I shake my head.

“Water’s fine. And I don’t need the menu. One ghost pepper curry please.”

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, because nothing can 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.

While our tongues were burning, tears of pain mixing with joy, our faces a mess .

It’d be perfect.

Tears stream down my face as I swallow the curry, the lava scorching my throat and charring my insides.

Pushing my drink away, I focus on the physical pain, a distraction from the agony cleaving my heart in half.

Choked sobs rip from my throat.

I’m making a scene, but I don’t care.

“It’s spicy, isn’t it?” An older gentleman chuckles as he passes by my table.

“I think I dried my tear ducts when I tried ghost pepper curry too.”

Wiping my tears away, I look at the gentleman, who hands me a napkin, a sympathetic smile on his face.

He murmurs, “Damn ghost peppers.”

“Everything burns,” I rasp, my vision blurring again.

More tears fall and I sob into the napkin, unable to face the stranger anymore.

I can’t stop the tears.

I can’t stop the pain.

I can’t stop anything .

My Nova. My future. My heart.

My soul. My everything.

Burns.

Everything burns.