She didn’t always use to be like this.

I pride myself on being her very first friend, a formidable albeit difficult accomplishment. She was one of those typical blue-eyed beauties, hair the exact colour of the sky when the sun dips into the horizon, seemingly setting the heavens alight. Her nature was as sun-kissed as her external appearance; it was a near impossible challenge to attempt to dislike her. I, on the other hand, was her polar opposite. Dark haired and pale, I was more of an introvert. However, I like to think that we complemented each other’s negative traits, just like how light and water coalesce to form a rainbow.

I had never once seen her sad or doleful. Maybe that was why she didn’t even blink when she told me she was “sick, very sick.” At that young age, I couldn’t sense the gravity of the situation and nor did she, it seems. “I’ll get well soon, I’m sure,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I’ve never had a cold last more than a week.” Which was why, when she didn’t turn up at school for more than a month, I deluded myself into assuming she had simply gone on a holiday.

One day she and her family dropped by my house for a visit. My eyes never left the matted carpet in our living room as her parents told us that her sickness had turned out to be a malignant cancer. Their words resonated into my ears but I refused to listen. I refused to even look at her, the pale, thin girl with unkempt, greasy hair who was once so ebullient and full of life. I didn’t recognize her, so I pretended to not know her, professed to myself that she was an impostor. In my mind, the “real” her was somewhere else far away, laughing and shaking her hair in the sunshine.

I look at her now, lying motionless on her hospital bed. It’s the first time I’ve visited her in nearly a decade, and so neither of us recognizes the other. “She’s dying,” her parents told me, tears in their eyes. “Please, visit her, and remind her of the friend you used to be.” And just like that, my delusions broke down.

I look at her now, and I can’t help but feel a sense of loss. She never used to be like this, you see. Lifeless and as colourless as the sheets she lies on. Our friendship didn’t use to be like this. We used to be unable to spend a whole day without seeing each other. We used to be inseparable. Her parents stand at a distance in their own bubble, watching me watching her. They never used to be like this either, overwrought and on edge. Even the ticking of my watch makes them jump.

I don’t react when her heart monitor flatlines; I take a deep breath and leave the room which has now become another remnant of my past.

Meeting her brought out the best in me, but losing her brought out the worst.
Believe me when I say that I never used to be like this.

Heartless.