The next day, with puffy red eyes, I received the concerned attention of my colleagues. They all knew about my illness, so any good news was immediately shared with me.
I stared at the invitation on my desk, and my long-dormant heart began pounding again. This was the invitation from a foreign music company that I had worked hard to secure for Miles. My colleagues were genuinely happy for me.
I warmly embraced them and dashed towards home without a second thought. As I reached the front door, I paused, trying to calm my racing heart. Just as I was about to pull out my key, a woman emerged from inside. The overwhelming scent of her perfume nearly suffocated me.
I stood there, stunned, like a lost child. The woman touched my face and teased, "He's doing well." The perfume slowly dissipated, but my thoughts were consumed. Doing well? Was Miles satisfied with her? It seemed that without me, anyone else in his life would do just fine.
Lifting legs that felt like they were weighed down with lead, I made my way to the living room. Miles was there, shirtless, wrapped in a bathrobe. I thought I would confront him, but after hesitating for a long while, I couldn't utter a single word.
Miles, unfazed, continued playing his game. "Go make dinner, and don't always make those bland dishes. It's good to change things up once in a while." The words, seemingly innocuous, struck me deeply, as if he were comparing me to another woman. I should have realized it sooner. As he had said, eating the same dish every day can get tiresome. In his heart, I was never irreplaceable.
Knowing I was going to die, what was meant to be a celebration with the invitation had now become our dignified farewell. I pulled out the invitation and handed it to him. Miles glared at me, annoyed I had blocked his view of the game, but his expression changed as he read the invitation from the foreign music company.
With a trembling hand, he took the invitation, asking in surprise, "What's this?" I responded with a long-lost smile, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "They've taken an interest in your song. They've invited you to discuss it further."
In disbelief, Miles rubbed his eyes and read the invitation over and over again. Watching his tear-filled eyes, I saw the proud and carefree boy from my memories. He ran to me, stumbling over his words, "Did you submit this for me?"
I nodded with a smile, handing him his plane ticket. "Go, this is a great opportunity." Miles took the ticket and asked, "Aren't you coming with me?" I shoved my own ticket to the bottom of my bag. "This is your chance for discussions, it wouldn't be appropriate for me to go."
He didn't question it, just looked joyfully at the ticket. "Great." He then suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace, as if trying to merge me into his flesh and blood. Listening to his rapid heartbeat, I closed my eyes. His voice, choked with emotion, said, "Naomi, I will bring back good news. We won't have to live this hard life anymore."
I turned the "future" over and over in my mind. Future? I'm dying, how can we have a future? I nestled closer to his chest, hiding my falling tears. "When you come back, I'll give you a present."
Miles broke into a teary smile, nodding vigorously. "Alright, you wait for me." He bent down and kissed my hair. I tilted my head to catch his light kiss, treating it as our final farewell, immersing myself in the fleeting love.
Let me be selfish this last time. After all, he will no longer be mine.