Days Remaining: 5Bank Account: ₹50
"It's a radio tower," Elian wheezed, hands on his knees.
They were standing at the top of Holman's Hill. In front of them stood a rusted, skeletal metal structure rising into the night sky. It had a blinking red light on top. It hummed with electricity. It was definitely not the Eiffel Tower.
"Use your imagination," Lyra said, spreading her arms wide. "Wide base. Pointy top. If you squint until your vision goes blurry, it's basically the same thing. Just... industrial chic."
"It smells like rust," Elian noted.
"That's the authentic French experience," Lyra insisted. "Now, come on. We have a reservation."
She led him to the edge of the hill. She had stolen a checkered blanket from Elian's linen closet. She spread it out on the grass. From his backpack, Elian produced the feast: A long, slightly squished baguette, a block of cheese cut with a butter knife, and two cartons of grape juice.
"VOILÀ!" Lyra cheered softly. "Haute cuisine."
Elian sat down. He poked the straw into his juice box. He looked at the city below. From this height, the grid of streets looked like a circuit board of gold and amber.
His eyes drifted to his own neighborhood. He could see the streetlights of his block. He could almost pinpoint his house. He thought about the dinner. He thought about his dad saying: "We can get a bucket of paint next weekend."
Next weekend. Elian checked his phone. 5 Days Left.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. The juice box crumpled in his hand. He wouldn't be there next weekend. His dad would buy the grey paint, come to his room, and find... an empty bed. Or a body.
"Elian?" Lyra asked, noticing his sudden stillness. "You okay?"
Elian didn't answer. He was staring at the lights of his house. "I promised him," Elian whispered.
"Promised who?"
"My dad," Elian said, his voice trembling. "I promised I'd help him paint the room grey next weekend. I told him I'd do the work."
He turned to Lyra, his eyes wide and wet. "I lied to him. I'm not going to be there."
"Elian..."
"The list is done," Elian said, frantically flipping open the notebook. He pointed at the crossed-out items. "We did it all. Bungee jumping. The cart. The parents. We finished the game."
He threw the notebook onto the grass. "I thought it would help. I thought if I finished the list, I'd be ready to go. I thought I'd feel... finished."
He grabbed his hair, pulling at it. "But I'm not finished! I just started! I just made friends! I just learned how to talk to my parents! I just found you!"
He stood up and paced on the small blanket, agitated and terrified. "It's a trap," he choked out. "This whole month was a trap. You taught me how to love being alive right before you take it away."
Lyra sat on the grass, watching him unravel. Her chest ached. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to scream. But the rules choked her silence.
"I don't want to go," Elian sobbed. "I don't want to go to the other side. I don't care if it has ice cream. I want this ice cream. I want this rusty tower."
He dropped to his knees in front of her. He looked at her with desperate, wild eyes. "The glitch," he said. "At the hotel. When you were solid."
Lyra stiffened. "Elian, don't."
"You felt it," he pressed, leaning in, his hands hovering near her shoulders, afraid to pass through. "It hurt, but you were real. If you can be real... maybe I can stay? Maybe we can cheat the system?"
"We can't," Lyra whispered.
"Why not?!" Elian shouted. "We cheated the noodle challenge! We cheated the security guards! Why can't we cheat this?"
He was bargaining. He was begging. "Is there a trade? Can I give you something? Can we run? If we hide, maybe Death won't find me on Friday?"
"Death finds everyone, Elian," Lyra said, her voice cracking. "The rules are absolute."
"I don't accept that!" Elian wiped his face aggressively. "There has to be a loop-hole. You're a Reaper. You know the code. Think, Lyra! Think!"
"I am thinking!" she snapped back, tears forming in her own eyes. "Do you think I want this? Do you think I want to watch you leave?"
Elian stopped. He looked at her. "Then help me," he whispered. "Please. I promised you a date in Paris. Not this fake Paris. The real one. I promised my dad grey walls. I promised myself I wouldn't be invisible anymore."
He slumped forward, his forehead resting on his knees. The adrenaline was draining out of him, leaving him shaking and hollow. "I can't leave now," he mumbled into his jeans. "I finally like who I am."
Lyra reached out. She hovered her hand over his back, letting the chill settle on him like a blanket.
"You're not leaving tonight," she said softly. "You have five days. A lot can happen in five days."
Elian lifted his head. He looked exhausted. His eyes were red-rimmed. "Five days isn't enough."
"It has to be," Lyra said. "Because it's what we have."
Elian stared at her. He looked at the blinking red light of the tower. He didn't accept it. He couldn't.
"I'm going to find a way," Elian said. His voice was quiet now, but stubborn. "I'm going to look through every book. Every legend. I'm going to find a way to keep this life. And I'm going to keep you in it."
"Elian..."
"Don't tell me it's impossible," he warned. "Just... stay with me. Help me look."
Lyra looked at the boy who was declaring war on fate. She couldn't give him the answer he wanted. But she could give him her time.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll stay. I'll help you look."
Elian nodded. He laid back down on the blanket, but his eyes stayed open. He stared up at the metal beams, his mind racing, looking for a solution that didn't exist. "I won't sleep," he murmured. "If I sleep, I lose time."
"Rest your eyes," Lyra said gently. "You can't fight fate if you're exhausted."
"I'm scared to close them," Elian admitted. "I'm scared I'll wake up and it'll be Friday."
"I'm here," Lyra said. "I'm watching the clock. I won't let Friday sneak up on you."
Elian looked at her. He trusted her more than he trusted the universe. Slowly, painfully, his eyes began to droop. The emotional crash of the breakdown was heavier than any physical fatigue. "We'll find a way," he mumbled, his words slurring. "Paris. Grey walls. Us."
He fought it until the very last second, but eventually, his breathing evened out. He fell into a restless sleep, his hand twitching on the blanket, reaching for something he couldn't hold.
Lyra sat there, guarding his sleep. She looked at the city lights. She looked at his hand, relaxed on the grass. She thought about his plan. She thought about his promise of "Us."
"You'll find a way, Elian," she whispered to the wind. "You're stubborn enough to find a way."
She looked at her own fading hand, then back at his solid chest. The gap between them felt wider than ever. "But ways don't always lead to the same place," she murmured, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "Even if we end up in the same world... we can't have the same fate."
She lay down next to him, curling her smoke-like body around his warmth. She closed her eyes, wishing, just for tonight, that the rules of life and death weren't so damn strict.