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𝟛 𝕎𝕖𝕖𝕜𝕤 𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒
IT HAD been nearly three weeks since Kiama had last been shot and admitted to the hospital, a traumatic event that had shaken not only Jah's own world but the lives of those around him. In the wake of that fateful day, Jah found himself grappling with a heavy weight of worry and sorrow, an emotional burden that was hard to shake off. He had missed many days of school, his once-bright demeanor dimmed by worry and fear for his friend's life. The halls that once echoed with laughter now felt hollow, and Jah wandered them like a ghost, disconnected from the vibrant energy that used to fill his days.
The toll on Jah's health was evident, as he struggled to find comfort in food and the simple acts of daily living. Meals that had once been a celebration of flavors now lay untouched on his plate. Sleep, too, eluded him; in the quiet of the night, his mind raced with thoughts of Kiama, replaying the events that led to that fateful moment and wondering if things might have turned out differently. Each day blended into the next, leaving Jah feeling more exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Friends and teachers noticed the change, their concerned glances and gentle inquiries offering a small balm to his distress, but nothing seemed to fill the void that Kiama's absence had created.
Though he had the support of his family, Kiama's brothers, and a close circle of friends, he felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Their comforting words and reassuring presence were like distant echoes, unable to fill the void in his heart. The laughter and chatter around him felt hollow, a stark contrast to the vibrant conversations he once shared with Kiama. In moments of solitude, he would catch himself longing for her voice, her contagious laughter, and the warmth of her smile. He needed Kiama more than ever; she was his anchor, the one who understood him in ways no one else could. But the cruel reality of the situation loomed over him like a dark cloud—Kiama wasn't there. She lay unconscious in the hospital, trapped in a coma, while he wrestled with the aching absence of the person who completed him. In those desperate moments, he could only replay memories of her, clutching onto the hope that one day she would wake up and bring light back into his life.
And now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through the many goofy photos and videos of them together, he wiped a tear that emerged in the corner of his eye. Each image brought back a flood of memories—a burst of laughter during a silly dance-off, the warmth of shared smiles on spontaneous adventures, and the quiet moments that spoke louder than words. It was a bittersweet nostalgia, a reminder of the joy they once shared and the inevitable distance that had crept between them. He paused at a particularly charming photo where they wore matching hats, their faces alight with happiness, and he felt a pang of longing wash over him. The weight of what was lost settled heavily on his heart, and even though he tried to smile at the memories, the ache of absence lingers, pulling him back to days that felt so vibrant yet now, just out of reach. Each click of his thumb further deepened the ache, a mix of gratitude for the moments they'd shared and sorrow for the silence that now filled the space where laughter once echoed.
