"Even when I'm not with you, part of me is still yours."
— Beau Taplin

One morning, I woke up and just knew something was wrong.

Not because of any strange numbers on a monitor,
not because of an unfamiliar beep on the ECG.
But because...

I didn't hear the cat.

The cat — white with brown patches — belonged to a nurse on the second floor.
It usually strolled under the hospital balcony while I basked in the sun.
Every time it meowed, I felt alive.
Because something was still alive around me.

But not today.

I sat up slowly. Dizzy.
And I saw cherry blossoms falling.
Not one or two —
many. All at once.

Maybe the season was shifting.
Or maybe...
I was about to fall out of this season, too.

—

He came late that day.

For the first time.

I waited from morning to nearly noon.
No sign of that familiar long coat on the bench outside.
I quietly drew a cat on the balcony glass.
Then lay back down. Stopped waiting.

Until the rain came.

And then he appeared.
A little wet. Still holding an umbrella.
But his eyes... were red.

"Sorry. They held me longer than usual today."

I looked up. Forced a smile.

"Are you ever late? In your job, I mean."

He didn't answer at first.
Then sat beside me.

"No. Never."

I nodded.

"Then I guess today's not my day to go."

He squeezed my hand.

"Not today."

—

I leaned against his shoulder.

"If one day... I have to go..."

He paused.
Didn't reply.

I smiled.

"I mean it. If that day comes... you'll be the one to come get me, right?"

Silence.

I asked again, slower this time.

"You'll be the one to... hold my hand and walk me past the line?"

He nodded. A breath more than a motion.

"If not me... then who else?"

—

That night, I passed out.

Like an old machine that just... turned off.
No warning. No pain.

One second I was speaking to a nurse —
the next, I heard my mother calling my name.
Distant. Echoing.
Like the end of a tunnel.

Outside, the rain poured harder.

I saw myself standing at the edge of my hospital bed,
looking down at my body.
Nurses pressing on my chest.
Machines screaming.
My mother crying.

And me —
caught in between life and whatever came next.

—

He appeared. Cloaked in black again.

For the first time in days, I saw him like that.
Not as a person.
Not a friend.
Not the guy who brought flan.

But Death.
Fully, clearly, unmistakably.

"I knew it," I whispered, as soft as breath.
"I knew you'd show up like this."

He stepped closer.
But didn't reach out his hand.

Just looked at me.

His eyes were redder than I'd ever seen them.
Not from tears.
But from fighting against what he was.

I stood still. Didn't run. Didn't beg.
Just asked:

"Are you really going to take me?"

He shook his head.

"No.
Not today.
I asked."

I blinked.

"Asked...?"

He nodded.

"I knelt.
In front of the ones who rule above.
The ones who've never let anyone live once the clock strikes."

"And they said yes?"

He looked at me for a long moment.
Then smiled.

"No.
But I didn't need their permission."

—

I woke to the sound of rain.

My heart monitor was still beeping.
The doctors sighed with relief.
My mother broke into sobs.

No one knew what happened.
But I did.

Today was supposed to be the end.
But he stayed.
One more time.

—

The next morning, I returned to the usual bench.

On the table was a white book — soaked with rain.
Opened to the one page that hadn't blurred:

"Death is just another path—
one that we all must take.
The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back,
and all turns to silver glass.
And then you see it."