A full month had passed since Victoire had fallen into a coma. The doctors had done everything they could, but no one knew if he'd ever wake up. And then, one quiet morning, as sunlight gently filtered through the hospital window, Victoire's eyes fluttered open.
His gaze was hazy. His throat was dry. He felt like he'd been underwater for ages.
"Where… where am I?" he whispered.
A nurse walking past the room caught the sound and rushed inside, eyes wide.
"Victoire? Can you hear me?"
He nodded weakly.
"You're in the hospital. You've been in a coma for a month. You're lucky to be alive."
Victoire blinked, trying to absorb her words. His mind raced.
"My friends... Daniella? Andrea? Ryder?" he asked, voice trembling.
The nurse's face softened, but her eyes looked away.
"They haven't visited in a while. But don't worry about that now. Rest, you need your strength."
Two days later, Victoire was discharged. He was still frail, but he insisted on walking home. His body felt like lead, but his heart was heavier than ever. He needed answers.
He wandered toward Daniella's house, the one they used to gather at to rehearse songs, laugh, dream. As he got closer, he heard laughter, music, and the sounds of a party.
He approached cautiously, stepping close enough to peek over the fence. Balloons decorated the yard. There was a banner: "Happy Birthday, Daniella's Dad!"
All of their parents were there — Daniella's, Andrea's, and Ryder's. They were smiling, dancing, celebrating.
Victoire hesitated, then slowly opened the gate and stepped inside.
As soon as he did, the laughter died. The music seemed to mute itself. All eyes turned to him.
The father of Ryder stepped forward, frowning.
"What are you doing here?" he barked. "This is a private event."
"I… I just wanted to see my friends," Victoire replied softly.
The mother of Andrea scoffed loudly.
"Your friends? Honey, wake up. They moved on. You think they'd be waiting for someone like you?"
Victoire's throat tightened. "They never came… to the hospital. They never told me anything. Why?"
Daniella's mother stepped toward him, swirling a glass of champagne.
"They got selected," she said smugly. "That blue envelope? The producer from Washington? He saw your little video — that song you all wrote. He loved it. Offered them a future."
Victoire blinked in disbelief. "They never told me…"
Andrea's mother laughed cruelly. "Why would they? You're the one always holding them back. No future. No money. No name."
Victoire's heart ached.
"You don't know anything about me," he said, voice shaking.
"Oh, but we do," Daniella's mother snapped. "Even your parents abandoned you — left this world like cowards. And now you're still here, clinging to people who never truly cared."
Victoire flinched, pain flashing in his eyes.
"Don't talk about my parents," he warned.
"Why not?" Andrea's mother said coldly. "They're dead. Just like your dreams."
His breath caught. His fists clenched, but he said nothing. Tears welled in his eyes.
"They didn't even say goodbye," he whispered. "Not even a note…"
Ryder's father chuckled darkly.
"They didn't need to. They chose their future. You were just a leftover memory."
Without another word, Victoire turned and walked away. His heart was in pieces. His mind was numb. The air felt colder with every step.
He didn't know where he was going. He just walked.
Eventually, he collapsed onto a bench in a quiet park. His hands trembled as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn notebook — his songbook.
He flipped to a blank page and slowly began to write:
> I believed in us.
But you left me behind.
So today, I swear to forget you.
To rise without you.
To become something on my own.
He closed the book and stared up at the cloudy sky. Something inside him shifted — like a flame being snuffed out.
"No more tears," he murmured. "No more waiting."
He exhaled, his voice a whisper in the wind.
You'll never see me again.