I was walking through the drizzle. A little easier on the stroll was the black-pitched highways and the uplifting music blaring from my headphones. The black sky seemed to desire forever and so did my disarray. The old, textured leaves had already fallen from the trees and fresh leaves had blanketed the branches.

My phone rang, interrupting the momentary silence. My eyes lurched when my phone beeped and it was almost like the ground was floating like a boat.

I had left my house with an increased heartbeat and clenched jaw. Next, I sat down on the bench next to an emerald-green pine tree. Time froze as I couldn't believe that my eyes were focused on a bullet penetrating my lungs and shredding my ribs through my chest.

I go over everything in detail. I need to know what happened on January 20. She’s smiling as if I’m narrating a tale. The ground beneath me sinks. Except my feet feel lighter.

I pull down my hoodie in the hopes of finding any scars—or at least my phone, but there’s none. I'm clean. I haven't been clean in a long time.

I'm wearing the same blue-washed jeans and the dusky blue hoodie my dad gifted me on my 17th birthday. I skid her arms and rush home. I need to be home. I need my mom.

I see my mom in a crimson sari with blended grey hair. I have not once seen my mother with grey hair in nineteen years. How long has it been? Just like in their wedding pictures, I see my dad coming up to my mom. Her collar is blanketed in his arms. Mom chuckles. It seemed like forever since I last saw my mother so relieved.

I rush over to give my mother a hug. I feel my body passing through hers, lighter than the air. Mom, I no longer smell like alcohol. I dash into my room. My room's dark blue paint has begun to fade, slightly shadowed by bouquets. I mean, why would someone give me flowers?

My artwork is affixed to the wall. My guitar appears to be fixed. My dim room seems lovely now. I run to my best friend Sai's house in the hopes that he will sense my presence or at least my spirit. It turns out he already graduated from school and moved out of town.

I am not sure which year this is. I sit on the same seat near the emerald pine tree where I was “shot” and lie in my realm of solitude. The air smells like burnt wires.

I tilt my head towards the north. I see her playing with the kids. I'm not sure if she's a spirit from another tragedy attempting to make a connection, or if the kids have really been playing with her. Apart from being adaptable and accommodating in any scenario, she seems to draw strength and serenity from within.

She disappears in every fraction of a second. Sometimes I see her in the park with the pine trees and sometimes near my home. Her eyes have a textured blue sheen. I see the entire universe in her eyes.

She comes closer. Her dark brown hair resonates with the ocean's waves. Her finger slides smoothly through my hair. Her lips' edges seem to resemble the edges of the cosmos.

“Anuv,”

Did someone just call me? I see it everywhere, but there's no trace. Oh, wait. That's my dad's car accelerating, resulting in speedy movement. It’s cold and my breath is warm. It is so warm that I can feel the heat. I can feel the pain in that heat. I cannot stop it. I see myself in the front seat.

Am I bleeding?

I roll my eyes everywhere. A split second later, I spot her in front of my dad's car. She is dead. She's wearing the same black sundress that I see her in every day. There are people all around. I am breathing. Everything has vanished as of late.

I'm not sure how many days, weeks, or months have gone by. Now we buckle every day below the dark blue sky with shiny bright stars. She hasn't ever uttered a word. I can touch her. Only her. My heart aches from the accident scene. The air smells like pine trees.

I need to know what happened after that. Have they forgotten about me? Never before have I wanted to live so much. I recall arguing with my father on January 20. I was drunk.

You take the boy out of the addiction, not the addiction out of the boy. The thing about addiction is that your brain goes straight into the substance without analysing the situation. Especially when you start at a very young age, your older self pays the price. We all paid the price. She did too.

Sai, my parents and I all deserved my apology. I ought to have answered my father's text and answered his phone. That would mean she would still be alive. I wouldn’t have been shot by the homeless in the park. My dad wouldn’t have run her over while taking me to the emergency room.

I killed her. I am to blame for her death. She's everywhere I look now. In the black sundress. Almost silent—circling in a loop.

This hurts. I open my eyes. I am in a room with white walls and machines and tubes fitted all over my body. My mom walks in a dark red sari and her hair is partially grey.

The ground beneath me sinks as I glance towards the window. I can't get words out of my mouth. I see her again.

Her eyes have a textured blue sheen. I see the entire universe in her eyes. She comes closer. Her dark brown hair resonates with the ocean's waves. Her finger slides smoothly through my hair. Her lips' edges seem to resemble the edges of the cosmos.

I inhale the medicated air as I feel the stitches above my ribs. I hold her again and this time her body goes through mine. In the same way that mine did with my mom.

These days, all I have left of her is what I painted. I go to the park and play with the kids there. I go to the beach and listen to the waves alone. The objects and people around me give me serenity. She did go but left a part of herself behind—the universe in her eyes.

Our time together was a glitch in the matrix, yet through it all, the stars were glowing brightly. And for the next millennia, the light from those times will shine down.