The lights in the hospital room buzzed like angry bugs. They were too bright, too loud, and too alive for what was happening. The room smelled like hand sanitizer and sadness. Machines beeped quietly, like they were trying not to be rude. But none of it could hide the truth.

Drizella was dying.

She lay there in the bed, pale and still, with wires stuck to her arms and chest. Her breaths were tiny - like she was scared to take up too much space. Her dark hair, messy and tangled, spread across the pillow like spilled ink. Her eyes weren't really focused anymore. They drifted, like she was already halfway gone.

But Theodore was right there, holding her hand like it was the only thing keeping her tied to the world.

His hands were strong, the kind you get from kneading bread every day. He used to smile so much, especially when he was covered in flour, baking ridiculous things like cinnamon-maple-swirled croissants or chocolate-stuffed baguettes. But now his face looked like it had forgotten how to smile. His eyes were red from crying and tired from not sleeping. He looked older than he really was.

"Drizzy," he whispered, his voice cracking like glass. "Just hold on. Please. Just for a little longer."

Drizella gave a breathy laugh, but it sounded more like a cough. "For what?" she whispered. "So I can chase him again? So he can ignore me all over again?"

Theo didn't answer. He just looked at her like his heart was breaking and he didn't know how to stop it.

She turned her head slowly toward the window, even though there was nothing out there but the dark. "It's funny, you know," she said. "How I ruined everything... for someone who never even looked back."

And then the memories started flooding in, fast and sharp.

She was eighteen when she first saw Dante. He was standing in the middle of the college quad like he owned it. His hair was messy on purpose, and his smirk was the kind that made girls giggle and boys want to punch him. Drizella didn't stand a chance.

He made her feel like the main character. Like there was something in her that only he could see. He'd tell her, *"You're different, Drizzy. You get me."* But then he'd hold hands with someone else in public and act like she didn't exist. She hated it... but she loved him more.

She gave him everything. Helped with his homework. Stayed up with him after his parties. Brought him food when he was too lazy to get any. And every time he dumped her without actually saying the words, she broke a little more.

And every time, Theodore was there. With tea. With blankets. With soft words like, *"You deserve more than this, Driz."* But she never listened. Not once.

Because Dante was the sun, and she was the stupid moth that flew into him over and over again, even when it burned.

The worst time was when she introduced him to Clara. Clara was her cousin - quiet, sweet, always painting flowers and skies. Drizzy thought maybe Clara would help Dante soften. Maybe he'd change.

But he didn't.

He dated Clara. And then he stayed with her. And then, one horrible, rainy morning, Drizella's mom called.

"He's getting married," she said. Her voice was soft, but not soft enough to hide the pity in it. "To Clara."

That was the moment something inside Drizella broke for real.

She dropped the phone. It hit the ground with a loud *clack* that echoed in her tiny apartment. Her knees gave out, and she curled up right there on the floor, crying so hard she couldn't breathe.

Then she stood up. Wiped her eyes. Put on her shoes. And ran.

She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care. Her thoughts were like shattered glass. All she knew was that she had to get away.

She didn't see the car.

There was a loud screech. A flash of light. And then pain - sharp, crushing pain - and then everything went black.

And now, here she was. Dying. And Dante still hadn't come.

Not even a stupid text. Not even a single flower. It was like she never existed to him at all.

But Theo - Theo was still there.

He looked at her like she was the only person in the world that mattered. His hand gripped hers tighter. "You can't go," he whispered. "You promised we'd make cinnamon rolls together. You can't leave me."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't let him take more from you," she said, her voice barely more than a breath. "Promise me, Theo. Promise."

He nodded, crying now. He didn't even try to stop the tears. "I promise," he whispered.

A nurse came in and checked the machines. She didn't say anything, but her eyes said everything. It was almost time.

Drizella felt the cold creeping up her legs. Her hands were numb. The pain was fading, and that scared her more than the pain ever had.

She closed her eyes. Saw Dante's face again. That empty, perfect face. And Clara, smiling beside him, still believing the lie.

Her heart gave one last weak beat.

And then... silence.

The beep from the monitor turned into a long, flat sound.

"No!" Theodore screamed. He leaned over the bed. "Drizzy! Please! Don't go!"

But she was already gone.

Gone with a heart that had been full of love and hope and dreams, crushed by a boy who never saw the beauty in it. Her last thought - if you could even call it a thought - was a wish.

*Please. Let me do it over. Let me choose differently. Let me love someone who actually loved me back.*

Meanwhile, in a fancy building downtown, Dante stood in front of a mirror. He looked perfect, as always. Clara was behind him, smiling and fixing her makeup.

They were about to get married.

Dante looked at himself and felt... nothing. He was supposed to feel excited or nervous or something. But he just felt empty.

The truth was, he didn't love Clara. Not really. She was easy to be with. She didn't ask hard questions. She didn't make him feel vulnerable.

She didn't love him like Drizella did.

But Dante didn't think about Drizella. Not really. He had pushed her out of his life like a bad dream. She was just another girl who cared too much, and he didn't want to think about that.

Except... sometimes, late at night, he did think about her. Not on purpose. Just flashes - her smile, her laugh, the way she looked when she talked about books or wrote in her journal. And when those memories came, they made his chest hurt.

But he never reached out. Never apologized. Never wondered where she'd gone.

And when she died, he didn't even know.

Years passed. The marriage didn't last. Clara left him after two years, saying she was tired of feeling like she didn't matter. Dante tried dating again. Tried partying again. Tried pretending again.

But none of it filled the hole inside him.

He died alone. In a cold apartment, surrounded by expensive things that meant nothing. No one showed up to the funeral. Not even Clara.

And he never knew that the girl who loved him most died waiting for him.

Theodore never reopened the bakery.

The sign stayed up. The windows stayed dusty. People in the neighborhood wondered what had happened to the cheerful young man who used to give kids free cookies and joke about "top-secret muffin experiments."

He still lived upstairs. Every now and then, people saw him walking, holding a book that had belonged to Drizella or sitting in the park with a blanket and a box of pastries he never ate.

Sometimes, he baked. Not for customers. Just for her.

He never stopped missing her.

He never stopped hearing her voice, especially at night.

He survived. But he never really came back.