CHINEDU, a man made for others

that creeps in softly, without announcement. The kind that speaks in whispers. The kind you feel more than hear. S

n the doctors who had seen this cycle before. But somewhere inside me, so

graduates. One year of service to the nation. Everyone goes through it. Everyone talks about it as a rite of passage. But I had already missed two months staying b

nded. All the effort would be wasted. I'd have to start again. I'd have

step away from that hospital felt like betrayal. Like abandonment. I carried him in my heart the entire jo

we shared bunk beds and dreams and secrets whispered under mosquito nets. His eyes were tired, sunken, but still glowing faintly with

a whisper. "Don't worry. I

rely. I smiled. He smiled. We held hands. I

unaware that it would be the las

-

way back, eager to return to his side, hopeful that I'd find him a little better-m

lly, I open

Chinedu's photo-one I had taken of him laughing, full of

willing it to mean something else. A metaphor. A tr

again. I called friends. Nothing. My hands tremble

my sister

she did the one thing that confirmed everything-I

ing. Deep, primal, soul-tearing wailing. The kind of sound that breaks the ai

ld col

ot physically, but spiritually. The kind of falling whe

didn't want to pick up. I didn'

cracked

id through sobs. "

speak. I

ung

hen I

ed in half. The promise I had once made to Chinedu came flooding back: "If you go, I'll go too." That wa

I meant to

was brief, but the intention was clear. I wanted out. I wanted to stop breathing. I wanted to silence the unbe

ne rang again. I

aid the words that stopped

to bury two so

ther who had already buried dreams

, that pull

t a part o

-

buried the f

n't t

w I would not survive the sight of his body lowered into the earth. She knew

e was

didn't want to see the casket. I didn't want to see the

full color, in motion. Laughing. Walking with lon

e never stood beside it. Some days I wonder if it's peaceful there, if flowers bloom,

u doesn't live

s in my

o his kindness. He lives in the patients whose medical bills he quietly settled, never seeking recognition. He lives in the old

ves i

what humanity should be. He lives in the dreams he dared to speak out loud-the free school, the hospital

estored. Smiling. He doesn't speak in these dreams. He just stands besi

y reach for my phone to send him a text. Days when a memory flashes and for a seco

I

ed me to finish what he started. To build that school. To ra

comes a companion, walking beside you, sometimes whispering, somet

will see

ital bed. Not behind swoll

he always did. And on that day,

act of kindness, in every word of hope, i

die. They just become the breat

.. he was ma

eath, he