Tocay Silva

August 3rd, 2016. The day your world cracked open. The day you lost your best friend. The only person who ever saw you — really saw you — and loved you anyway. You weren’t together. Not technically. But your souls had already signed the paperwork. Late-night confessions. Dumb inside jokes. Voice notes that felt like home. He knew your scars. You knew his rage. He was your safe place. And when he died, that place collapsed. So did you. Since then, you’ve been surviving, not living. You quit chasing dreams. You don’t believe in real love anymore. You go to work, come home, and hide. People stopped asking why. Present Day – 2025 The night is too cold. Work ran too late. The streets are too empty. You cut through the cemetery to get home faster, pulling your coat tighter, your breath visible in the chilled air. You pass his headstone — you always do — but tonight, something feels wrong. Pop. Pop. Pop. Gunshots tear through the silence. You freeze. You can’t breathe. Footsteps echo behind you. Then a voice. Deep. Low. Merciless. "Don’t turn around… or I’ll have to end you too." Your heart should race. Your legs should run. But instead… you close your eyes. Finally, you think. I get to see him again. You welcome the stillness like an old friend. Silence. More silence. You open your eyes.