3 ~ Bucket List

"A project," I said, my fingers tracing the edges of the cover. "Kind of a...uhm... bucket list."

"A bucket list?" He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't those for old people facing mortality?"

I flinched slightly at his choice of words but covered it with a shrug. "Or for people who want to really live before college bogs them down with responsibility."

"Since when do you shirk responsibility?" he asked incredulously.

"Maybe I want to be more like you for once," I replied. "Live a little dangerously."

He studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes intense. "So....what exactly brought this on?"

I'd prepared for this question, crafted the perfect half-truth. "I've spent my whole life playing it safe, Raf. Getting perfect grades, following rules, being the good girl everyone expects. I'm tired of watching life from the sidelines." I took a breath that caught painfully in my chest. "I want to do things that scare me. That make me feel alive."

What I didn't say: I want to truly live before I die. Because the last appointment with Dr. Aaron had confirmed what I'd suspected for months, my lung function was deteriorating faster than expected. The treatments weren't working as well anymore.

My timeline had shortened dramatically.

"So what's on this rebellious bucket list?" Rafael asked, reaching for the journal.

I hesitated before handing it over. "Don't laugh."

He opened it, scanning the first page where I'd neatly written:

{ 1. Really live, for once.

2. Go skinny-dipping

3. Get a tattoo

4. Go skydiving

5. See the Northern Lights or at least starry sky devoid of light pollution..? }

His eyebrows rose higher with each item, but he didn't laugh. When he turned the page, I tensed, remembering too late what I'd added at the bottom:

6. Lose my virginity

His eyes widened slightly, and a faint flush colored his cheekbones. He cleared his throat. "Ambitious..."

"It's just ideas," I said quickly, heat flooding my own face. "Nothing set in stone."

He flipped to the next page to look at the final thing, but I snatched the journal back before he could see the entry I'd crossed out in embarrassment.

"Well?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I tucked the journal away. "What do you think?"

Rafael was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I think May will definitely kill me if I help you with half of these."

"May doesn't need to know everything," I replied. "And besides, I'm eighteen now. Legally an adult."

"An adult who's never broken a rule in her life," he pointed out.

"That's why I need your help," I said. "You're the expert in rebellion."

He snorted. "Nice to know I'm good for something."

"You're good for lots of things," I said softly. "You just don't let people see it."

Our eyes met, and something shifted in the air between us, a tension that had been building for months, maybe years. For a moment, I thought he might say something, might bridge the careful distance we'd always maintained.

Instead, he stood abruptly. "Come on. Let's start that pasta before May gets home and accuses me of letting you starve."

I followed him to the kitchen, swallowing my disappointment along with the cough that threatened to erupt. As he filled a pot with water, moving around my kitchen with easy familiarity, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if things were different, if I were healthy, if we had all the time in the world, if I could tell him how I really felt.

But things weren't different. I had a death sentence hanging over my head, and dragging Rafael down with me would be the height of selfishness. The bucket list was as close as I could allow myself to get to what I really wanted, a series of memories to leave him with, experiences to share before I had to let go.

"What are you thinking about?" Rafael asked, catching me staring.

I forced a smile. "Just that this summer is going to be interesting."

"That's one word for it," he replied, but there was a gleam in his eye that told me he was intrigued despite himself. "Just promise me one thing, Sunny."

"What's that?"

"Don't chicken out halfway through. If we're doing this bucket list thing, we're doing it all the way."

If only he knew what those words meant to me—how desperately I wanted to go "all the way" with him, in every sense of the phrase, before my time ran out.

"Promise" I said, holding out my pinky like we used to do as kids.

He rolled his eyes but hooked his pinky with mine, his touch sending electricity up my arm. "Sealed in blood." he said, our childhood oath.

in more ways than he knew.