With nothing to do after yet another episode of getting ghosted, I head to the waterfall at the centre of Jewel. At once, all I could hear is the waterfall. The sound covers everything. It drowns the pseudo-zen chimes the mall is playing. I feel it wrestle over the space underneath the leaves of the trees here. It pervades even the deepest corners of my mind, and I feel I am nothing but the dull white of the falling water. The sound itself is white. The trees around it are still, unmoving, like unhappy children who are told not to go outside.

Now, it’s the fourth time I’m back at this place. I’ve nothing to do here, since I’m leaving anyways. But I wanted to have as much time with our imagined future as I can. The sun baking the wall so much it turns into a starved white. The air refuses to speak and move. I fidget with your ring, and counted the days left with you.

A jet booms above as I catch sight of the unopened boxes in the living room, the tape still securing tight the top of the box. There was this huge one by the window. That must be the bookshelves from the antique shop when we were shopping for furniture for our flat—but now it’ll be just your flat. In another life, or even just a few days ago, I would’ve opened it for a look, and gawked at its ornate rococo finishes again.

In the afternoon heat I let myself pause. This is the only place I can stop amidst all the planning I have to do. I hear only nothing now. I feel the acid tears again, and a howl rises from my tight chest again.

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