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It is approximately 8 in the morning when Illian started feeling a very small migraine coming.
The boy had waked up early and reached school on time as per the routine, and immediately went towards the locker. There was even more graffiti scrawled all over. He, of course, decided to turn a blind eye on this.
This is fine... He recited it almost in a whisper of a prayer and his padlock popped open. Hardly had it opened, a small piece paper blew away, and from the looks of it, a small blue envelope with only his name on.
“A love letter?” The idea crossed his mind before he banished it with a mental shrug.
Uncertain, Illian opened the envelope and read… a blank note inside of it.
A loud BANG made him jump as one beside him just closed with a loud bang. There was Helena: standing there with her usual playful look despite everything.
Helena was a quite opposite of Illian, pretty, friendly and kind. She was a bright and beautiful girl and because of her royalty she had garnished many people including her colleagues in school. She had long, curly brown hair and a beautiful smile, the sort of with whose presence cheerful people are created.
Illian was much less inspiring than he was portrayed in legends, for example. He had naturally light brown hair that was always disheveled, the only thing he wasn’t completely bad at was studies.
“I know your secret!” Helena said aloud, smirking triumphantly.
Panic seized Illian’s chest. He tried not to scowl and blinked at her. “What secret?” He said warily.
Her grin only grew. “You like Yvonne!”
He just looked at her, amazed at the audacity of the ill-constructed statement that the woman had just made. “I… what?”
“Don’t even try to deny it!” Helena said confidently flipping her hair. You know what you were staring at her the other day like? Don’t you worry though. I’m here to help!”
Illian wanted to explain, but the migraine increased, and he closed his mouth again, unable to find it worthwhile. He made a face and shook his head, heading to the classroom while Helena followed him, humming merrily and going on about how she was going to be his love doctor.
While Helena’s conclusion that they were in no way connected was of course far from the truth, she began to occupy Illian’s existence. First, he found it annoying because she was so perky while he was quite sarcastic. But as time went on, he discovered he had been smiling—really smiling—for probably the first time in what seemed ages.
What Helena did not know was that Illian was sick. Very sick.
But it was not only the migraines or the exhaustion he suffered from. It was even difficult to breathe as if it being socostly to do so. He never went to gym class at all—running or effort made his throat feel like sandpaper.
“Why don’t you ever join gym?” Helena had asked one day during lunch, her voice playful, but the question was downright serious.
“Doctor’s orders,” he said indeterminately, with little interest in his food.
After a few minutes Helena looked at him and then shifted the conversation deciding on telling him about the terrible incident she had with baking cookies the night before. Illian laughed in spite of himself.
However, those jokey moments could not disguise the fact that each day’s heavy feeling settled deeper into his skin or the way he became more tired as each day went on.
Even in home front, it was not any better. Illian had moved in with his uncle – a man who had not agreed to take him in willingly when Illian had lost his father only seven years before. His own mother had died during childbirth and his uncle never failed to remind him of it. If he provided the bare necessities, then his uncle was resentful and Illian soon understood not to expect anything more.
Late one evening when Illian was washing the dishes after a meal, the spasm of pain seized him in the chest. He blinked his eyes suddenly and the plate fell from his hands and broke into pieces on the floor.
He knelt, a fit which spelt almost unbearable agony convulsing his body. Blood spilled out when he withdrew his hand from his mouth, and he looked at the palm of his hand.
His uncle came to the door, he saw him and blinked, surprise turning into fear. ‘What-?”
Illian attempted to say something, to move his hand and close the distance, he was too weak to do more than gasp for air though and his actions made his uncle take a shaky step backward with a look of fear in his eyes.
“I…. Clean up after yourself,” he said and walked to the kitchen.
Illian stared at the blood-streaked floor, his vision blurring with tears.
The following morning, Illian came to school, but he was feebler than before, looking incredibly sick and one the verge of collapsing. Helena jumps to the detail almost at once.
“You look terrible,” she told him without any tact and sat down next to him in the courtyard.
“Well, good to see you have your spirits up,” he said the best that he could muster a smile.
She tilted her head a little and looked at me sternly saying, “I am not joking with you.” “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Illian stopped and looked at the notebook in his hand for a moment. It was filled with half-written symphonies which provided an escape to turbulent emotions.
“Helena,” he said her name hesitatingly, then he began “thank you… for everything.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “That sounded like you’re already saying your goodbyes,”
He forced a laugh. “It’s not. Just… thanks.”
The pressure of this was squatting heavy between them but they could not say anything this whole time.
It all started crashing on a Wednesday during history lesson.
The entire class saw the teacher ramble on on the effects of war and her voice was but a distant buzz. Sitting at the back was Illian, leaning over the table, his breathing barely a whisper.
And then suddenly was heard the noise of something falling, it was a chair that fell to the ground.
Helena turned her head violently in the moment when her heart stopped at the sight of Illian who was lying on the floor.
‘Illian!’ she cried out loud and ran to him. His face was paleand feverish.
Pandemonium broke out when the teacher shouting for an ambulance. Helena was crying besides him, but he didn’trespond.
It took the paramedics some time to pull her away from him as she was clinging on him very tightly.
She went to the hospital and started to pace in front his room nervously with her heart beating fast. Illian’s uncle was also there with his face down on the table.
A doctor came out of the room, looking serious. She already understood what it meant before he could say it aloud. She still listens, hoping.
The doctor said something that made the world tilt in front of her. She didn’t hear most of it. The only thing that she saw was Illian and the monotonous grey walls of the hospital room.
She stood beside his bed staring at him and pleaded, “Come back… please.” Her voice cracked. There was no response.
Four years later, Helena is 20 years old and one cold and rainy afternoon she walked through the cemetery.
She stopped momentarily by a woman facing a grave with the inscription S.C., peonies and white roses placed perfectly beside it. Helena proceeded further – before an elegantly carved tombstone she’d come for.
The name of the man that she loved was carved on the stone. Her lips quirked up into a sad sort of smile before she set the bouquet of lilies and a beaten up, worn notebook down.
“Hey,” she murmured softly. “How are you doing? I’m… okay. I became a singer, you know. I even wrote a song for you.”
The wind produced sounds which sounded like they were conveying the words she said.
‘I read your diary,’ the girl blurted out and her voice just trembled at the end of the sentence. The woman asked how he managed to lock up all that hatred inside him. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
She shook silently then tears began to well up in her eyes start to pour. “The song I wrote… would you like to hear it?”
‘Open wide thy windows, thou ill-tempered grey dawn.’ said Helena, as, the rain suddenly falling with a more violent force, the notes of her lost in the storm.
There was no one who could hear the melody, and it would never be heard again.
Three years later, she died in a tragic accident. Her grave next to Illian. A lily plant grew there, and its petals gently fell on the graves – a final gift for two lonely souls.