Chapter 7
743words
I had already written the fourth item in my notebook: “4. Take a walk in the forest on the outskirts of town.”
Saturday morning, we met at the bus stop at the entrance to town. He wore a professional-looking hiking backpack, in stark contrast to my small shoulder bag that could barely fit a notebook and wallet. “Are we going on an expedition to the Amazon rainforest?” I pointed at his bag.
He unzipped his bag and displayed his equipment like a quartermaster: a detailed hiking map with the route marked in red pen; a compass; two bottles of water; several energy bars; and a small first aid kit. “Better safe than sorry.” He handed me a bottle of water, his expression as serious as if we were about to face venomous snakes and wild beasts.
I stopped joking. I knew he just wanted to ensure my absolute safety.
The entrance to the forest wasn’t far from the bus stop. Once we stepped inside, the volume and temperature of the world instantly changed. The noise of the small town was sealed off behind us, leaving only the rustling sound of feet treading on thick fallen leaves. The air was filled with a fresh fragrance of earth and pine needles, cool but incredibly refreshing as it filled my lungs. Sunlight filtered through gaps in the tall canopy, casting dappled shadows that shifted as we walked, like scenes from a silent movie.
I breathed in greedily, like a fish that had been in murky waters too long, tasting clear water for the first time. I had never imagined that green could come in so many varieties. Dark green, emerald green, olive green… they layered upon one another, extending to the horizon.
We walked slowly along the path Jack had mapped out, saying nothing. But this silence wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable. As if we no longer needed words to fill the space between us.
We stopped to rest in a small clearing. I sat down against a massive oak tree, looking up at the sky above, fragmented by leaves. “I used to think the world was gray,” I spoke softly, afraid to disturb the tranquility. “Like a broken TV, nothing but static and buzzing.”
Jack sat down beside me, tearing open an energy bar and handing it to me. “And now? Is it fixed?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head, took the energy bar and bit into it. It tasted like compressed biscuit but was very sweet. “Maybe they just changed the channel.”
I looked at him. He was bending down, fiddling with some wild grass at his feet. Sunlight fell on the side of his face, outlining his clean profile. He always seemed so calm, so certain, as if nothing could fluster him.
If I really only have three months. This thought emerged without warning. But this time, it no longer brought fear and despair. I looked at the forest before me, felt the wind on my cheeks, listened to the calls of unknown birds in the distance. All of this felt impossibly real. So real that I couldn’t help but cherish it.
“Jack.”
“Hmm?”
“If I really have less than three months,” I turned my head, looking at him very seriously, “I want every day to have meaning.”
He raised his head and looked at me. Something flickered in those always calm eyes. It wasn’t surprise, nor was it joy. It was a more complex emotion, like a deep, bottomless lake—peaceful on the surface, yet with turbulent currents underneath.
He looked at me, just kept looking, the smile at the corner of his lips gradually fading away. For a moment, I felt he wasn’t seeing me, but looking through me, seeing someone else, or something else. That look carried an immense sadness, one that could almost crush a person.
But he quickly averted his gaze, lowering his head to continue fiddling with that unfortunate patch of wild grass, his voice returning to its usual tone. “It will be,” he said. “Every day of yours is meaningful.”
