Sitting in the cozy living room of his New York apartment, surrounded by the lush greenery of countless small plants thriving in pots scattered throughout the space, was Mike. The room was bathed in the soft glow of string lights draped across the walls, casting a warm, inviting ambiance. A faint hum of city life filtered through the slightly ajar window, blending with the earthy scent of soil and foliage. Mike sat cross-legged on a well-worn rug, facing a low coffee table cluttered with two steaming cups of tea and a small plate of cookies. The scene felt intimate, yet tinged with an unspoken tension.

  Across from him sat Trish, her presence as striking as ever. Her dyed blue hair fell in loose waves, framing her face, which was accentuated by a silver lip piercing that caught the light whenever she moved. She wore ripped black jeans and a local band t-shirt, completing her effortlessly punk rock aesthetic. Despite the casualness of her appearance, there was a sharpness in her gaze, a quiet intensity that demanded answers. This was Mike’s ex-girlfriend, Trish. Their relationship had ended awhile ago, not with a bang but with a quiet understanding that they were better off as friends. The breakup had been amicable, devoid of the bitterness that often accompanies such partings. In fact, their bond had only deepened in its own way, evolving into a friendship that felt both rare and irreplaceable. Trish was still one of Mike’s closest confidants, and he, in turn, remained one of hers.

  Yet, something had shifted recently. Mike had been distant, dodging her calls and canceling plans at the last minute. Trish wasn’t one to let things slide, especially when it came to someone she cared about. She leaned forward now, her fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic mug of tea Mike had handed her when she arrived. Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

  “Mike, why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, her tone direct but not unkind. There was a flicker of hurt in her eyes, though she masked it well with her usual bravado.

  Mike sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Blunt as always, Trish,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He admired her straightforwardness, even if it sometimes left him feeling exposed. He took a sip of his tea, buying himself a moment to gather his thoughts. The truth was complicated, tangled in emotions he hadn’t fully processed himself.

  “Is it your sister?” she asked, her voice softening as she studied his face.

  Hearing that, Mike froze, his breath catching in his throat. His hands tightened around his mug, knuckles whitening, but no words came. The silence between them was heavy, laden with unspoken grief and guilt. His lack of response was answer enough.

  Trish’s expression crumpled, her usual sharp edges giving way to something far more tender. “Oh, Mike,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry for what happened to her. I know you’re taking her death hard, and I’ve been giving you space to process it, but… it’s been nearly a year now since she passed. If you’re hurting, please, let me help. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

  Mike’s gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “That’s… that’s fine. I’m OK,” he muttered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

  Trish leaned forward, her piercing gaze locking onto his. “You’re clearly not OK, Mike. You’ve been cooped up in this apartment since the funeral, only ever leaving to go to work at the restaurant. The guys there are worried about you, you know. They’ve noticed how withdrawn you’ve been.”

  Mike’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Did they ask you to do this? To check up on me?”

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  “Yeah, they did,” Trish admitted without hesitation. “But it’s not just them. I’m worried too. Why are you avoiding us, Mike? Why are you shutting everyone out?”

  Mike closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as if the weight of her words was pressing down on him. He asked himself the same question: Why have I been avoiding everyone? As he turned the question over in his mind, he began to peel back the layers of his own psyche, confronting feelings he’d buried deep. And as the realization dawned on him, he found himself speaking it aloud, almost involuntarily.

  “I guess… I’m worried about you. And everyone else.”

  Trish blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean? Why are you worried about me and the others at the restaurant?”

  Mike hesitated, his voice faltering as he struggled to articulate the fear that had been gnawing at him. “It’s just… I don’t know… It’s just… Trish, people I care about just randomly die around me, and I don’t—” He was cut off abruptly as Trish reached across the table and flicked his forehead with her finger.

  “Owch!” Mike yelped, recoiling slightly and rubbing the spot where she’d flicked him.

  Trish leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression a mix of exasperation and affection. “Mike, you’re being stupid. Me and everyone else? We’re not going anywhere. You don’t get to push us away because you’re scared of losing us. That’s not how this works.”

  Mike stared at her, his defenses momentarily shattered. There was a rawness in her words, a truth he couldn’t ignore. For the first time in months, he felt the walls he’d built around himself begin to crack. Trish’s unwavering presence, her refusal to let him drown in his own fears, was a lifeline he hadn’t realized he needed.

  “I just… I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he admitted quietly, his voice breaking.

  Trish’s expression softened, and she reached out again, this time to gently squeeze his hand. “You won’t, Mike. Not if we have anything to say about it. But you’ve got to let us in. You’ve got to stop hiding. We’re here for you, but you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

  Mike nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling over him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to face the world alone.

  Suddenly, Mike was seized by a violent coughing fit, his body convulsing as he doubled over. He instinctively covered his mouth with his hand, the force of each cough rattling his chest. It took several agonizing moments for the fit to subside, and when it finally did, he pulled his hand away, his breath ragged. His eyes widened in horror as he stared at his palm—it was smeared with blood, dark and glistening. He had coughed up an alarming amount of it.

  Before he could process what was happening, the world around him began to warp. The cozy familiarity of his apartment dissolved, the walls bending and twisting as if made of liquid. Shadows crept in from the edges of his vision, swallowing the light and distorting the room into something unrecognizable. A cold, sinking realization washed over him again: this wasn’t real. None of it was. It was all a dream.

  His gaze snapped to Trish, who sat across from him, her expression unchanged, as if she hadn’t noticed the world unraveling around them. Mike’s heart ached as he looked at her, his voice trembling with sorrow. “I… collapsed here after coughing, and you called an ambulance. You went to the hospital with me. That’s… what happened. Trish, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with anguish.

  Trish’s face softened, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. She reached out, her hand brushing his, though it felt distant, like a memory slipping through his fingers. “It’s OK, Mike. We’re all here for you, always,” she said gently, her voice echoing as if from far away.

  Her words were the last thing he heard before the dream began to collapse in on itself. The shadows closed in, swallowing Trish, the apartment, and everything else. The world faded to black, leaving Mike suspended in a void, the weight of his reality pressing down on him as the dream dissolved into nothingness.

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