Before Elara vanished, Junie had never known the weight of regret.

He sat on the edge of the basketball court after school, the same place she once sat beside him, scribbling poems into her notebook. He remembered the way she laughed - always with her whole chest - and how she'd tilt her head when something felt too good to be true. He remembered the day they met: her bag filled with library books, her eyes filled with galaxies.

"I never said it," he murmured, staring at the scuffed floor beneath his feet. "I never told her she was my everything."

He thought he had time.

The memories rushed in - Elara laughing under the rain, their hands brushing in the library, their last walk home together. She had told him she felt like something was calling her. He hadn't listened. Hadn't asked the right questions.

He thought she was just dreaming.

But she had been chosen by something else - something beyond them. And now, he was left with ghosts.

In his heart, he carried every unspoken word, every moment he should've held her longer, looked at her deeper, told her what she meant. He thought he was enough to keep her grounded.

But love doesn't always win.

"I should've fought harder," he whispered into the night. "I should've followed her into that forest."

Tears came silently. Not out of weakness - but love. Love that had no place to go.

In his dreams, he saw her standing beneath the balete tree, eyes soft, mouth open as if she was about to speak. He would reach for her - but she would always disappear.

He wasn't angry at Pain. Not anymore. He was angry at fate.

And himself.

Because he had loved her.

And lost her.