Finished Melody, Empty Crowd

The night I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I saw a viral Do you have the guts? challenge.

Owen had tagged Emily: Do you have the guts to admit you take off his hearing aids so he wont hear us next door?

Emily replied instantly. Stop it. Stop being crazy.

Owen answered, Dont worry, I wont tell him. Im dying anyway. My final wish is seeing you two happy.

Commenters tore him apart, not knowing the truth. At the orphanage, when a drunk caretaker came for me, Owen locked me in a utility closet, taking the beating himself. Later, Emily gave up an Ivy League future and studying abroad to tutor me for three years so I could get into college.

I owed them everything. Even knowing they betrayed me, hating them felt like ingratitude.

The hospital calledOwens liver was failing, and I was a perfect match.

I looked at my stage II stomach cancer diagnosis on the desk.

Then I went to the hospital alone, signed the organ donation form, and signed papers refusing further cancer treatment.

After completing the pre-op tests, I sat in the hospital corridor for a long time, just trying to feel my own body before the sickness completely hollowed it out.

When I turned my phone back on, the video was gone. The comments were deleted. Instead, I had thirteen missed calls from Emily and seventeen from Owen.

I called Emily back.

She picked up on the first ring, her voice freezing. "Michael, where have you been?"

"Owen has been breaking out in cold sweats from the pain. Because we couldn't find you, he refused to take his pain meds."

"Do we really have to worry about you at a time like this?"

I opened my mouth, but my throat was incredibly dry.

She noticed my silence and paused. "Where are you?"

I stuffed the test results deep into my coat pocket. "Nowhere. I'm fine."

She let out a sharp sigh of relief. "If you're fine, get over here. Owen wants to take a photo."

Owens voice came through the receiver, weak and laughing. "Art, I want to take a decent portrait for my funeral. I don't want you guys remembering me looking like a corpse when I'm gone."

Emily immediately snapped at him. "Shut up. You look so awful right now even the Grim Reaper wouldn't want you."

She sounded harsh, but I heard the rattle of the water glass shaking against the table. Her hands were trembling.

When I reached the studio, Owen was already dressed in a crisp white button-down. He was so thin the shirt hung loosely on his frame. Emily stood behind him, her eyes red.

Seeing me, she frowned. "Why is your face so pale?"

Before I could answer, Owen smiled. "Hey, Art."

Emily immediately turned to support his weight.

I walked over and gently adjusted Owen's collar. He was just as thin when we were kids, pushing me into that dark closet. When the ambulance took him away back then, he still tried to comfort me. "Don't worry about me, Art. I might be skinny, but I can protect you."

The photographer broke my reverie. "Should we do the solo shots first?"

Owen shook his head. "Can we do a group photo of the three of us first? They're the most important people in my life. Then you can take my solo portrait."

Emily's face darkened. "Stop calling it that."

Owens eyes brimmed with tears. I looked at him and said softly, "Let's not do a group photo."

They both looked at me, startled.

I forced a smile. "You two should take a couple's portrait."

Owen froze. Emily frowned. "Michael, don't start."

I didn't look at her. I squatted down to meet Owen's eyes. "I'm just worried that if you go to the other side alone, other ghosts will bully you. You need some backup."

Emily went quiet. Owens tears spilled over, and I gently wiped them away with my thumb.

The photographer told them to stand closer. Owen hesitated to touch her. I took his hand and placed it in Emily's. "It's okay."

Emily looked up at him.

The photographer said, "Bride, hold onto the groom."

She didn't correct him. She just wrapped her arms tightly around Owen's.

I stood outside the frame, holding Owen's medicine bag and Emily's purse. The flash went off, bright and blinding. It struck me then that Emily and I had never taken couples' photos, let alone wedding portraits. I stepped slightly into the edge of the frame. In their perfect photo, my blurry shadow would be my final, quiet farewell.

After the shoot, Owen wanted to go for a walk. "Just for a bit. I want to look at the sky one last time."

Emily refused. "You're too weak to be moving around."

Owen looked down, silent.

I went to speak, but my vision went black. The blood draw had left me lightheaded, and a dull, heavy ache throbbed in my stomach. I leaned against the back of a chair to steady myself.

Emily saw me and knit her brows. "Michael, Owen is exhausted. Don't start acting sick right now and make him feel worse."

I forced a nod, picking up Owen's scarf. "Let's go. I'll walk with him."

The wind outside was freezing. Emily supported Owen ahead of me, and I lagged behind.

Owen stood by the railing, staring into the gray distance. "Emily, I have one last wish."

Her voice strained. "You have a lot of wishes today."

Owen didn't laugh. He looked back at me. Emily did too.

After a few seconds, she spoke softly. "Art, can you take off your hearing aids for a moment?"

I complied, and the world plunged into silence.

Emily turned to Owen. With absolute seriousness and devotion, she said something. Owen froze, then laughed through his tears.

They thought I couldn't hear. But I could read lips.

She had said: I love you.

A wave of bitterness washed over me. I wiped my tears, slowly letting my lips curve into a silent shape: I love you both, too. That was why I was willing to let them go.

Owen cried so hard his body swayed. Emily's face paled. She lunged to catch him. "Owen?!"

His eyes closed, his fingers still clutching her sleeve. Her voice shook with panic. "Owen, stay with me. Look at me! Do you hear me?!"

She carried him to the car. As she sped away, she forgot all about me.

I stood by the empty road, put my hearing aids back on, and hauled a cab to the hospital.

When I reached the emergency room, Emily was standing outside the resuscitation room. Her dress was wrinkled, her hands stained with Owen's nosebleed. The nurse told her to wash up, but she didn't hear. Her eyes were glued to the red light.

When the doctor stepped out, she rushed forward. "How is he?"

"His liver is failing," the doctor said. "We can't drag this out any longer."

Her lips trembled. "Haven't you found a donor? I don't care how much it costs!"

The doctor frowned. "It's not about money."

Her voice cracked. "Then take mine. I'll donate. Just save him."

I watched her from a few paces away. I remembered when my hearing first deteriorated and I was too terrified to sleep. Emily had stayed up with me until dawn. Her eyes had been red then, too. But back then, she had only patted my shoulder and said, "Don't worry." She was always so calm, I never thought she could break.

The doctor went back inside. Emily slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, sobbing.

I walked over and crouched before her. "He'll be okay. He'll get the donor."

She snapped her head up, her eyes bloodshot. "Michael, how can you say that so easily? Like it's nothing?"

I froze. She pushed herself up so fast her shoulder slammed into me. Lightheaded and weak, I lost my balance and fell to the cold floor. A sharp spasm of pain flared in my stomach, turning my vision dark.

But Emily didn't even notice. She glared down at me. "Owen almost died outside that door trying to save you when we were kids. Now he's dying, and you're just standing there telling me he'll be fine? Michael, when did you become so selfish?"

I sat on the freezing tile, unable to utter a word.

A nurse ran over to help me up. "Are you alright?"

"Just low blood sugar," I mumbled.

The nurse looked at my deathly pale face. "You really should get checked out."

Before I could answer, Owen's weak voice drifted from the room. "Emily..."

She spun around instantly.

Owen's first question upon waking was, "No donor yet?"

Emily held his hand. "I've sent people to get tested."

Owens eyes welled up. "Don't do it. I don't want you giving up part of your liver for me. And I don't want Art to be hurt either."

Hearing my name, Emily finally cast a glance at me. It was a complex look, filled with silent accusation that I was too detached.

Owen pulled a worn notebook from under his pillow. A sticky note on the cover read: Bucket List.

He opened the first page. "Took the photo. Check." He drew a tick next to it. Then he flipped the page. "I want to go to the old hilltop sanctuary to draw a blessing card. The old lady near the orphanage used to say that if the card is blessed, it can buy you some extra time." He smiled weakly. "I want to try."

Emily agreed. I leaned against the doorframe, my phone buzzing in my pocket.

It was a text from the hospital: Mr. Michael, please check in by 8:00 AM tomorrow. Pre-op preparations for organ donation have been confirmed.

I clenched my fists.

Owen noticed my silence. "Art, do you not want to go?"

"No, I just have some things to take care of tomorrow."

Owens eyes dimmed. "Are you tired of me, Art?"

My chest tightened. "No."

"I only have a few things left," he whispered. "If you don't want to come, it's okay."

Emily looked at me, her voice laced with cold irritation. "Michael. All he wants is for you to accompany him to get a blessing card. Is that really so hard?"

I locked my phone and smiled. "It's not hard. I'll go."

The next day, we went to the hilltop sanctuary. Emily helped Owen up the path. I trailed behind, my stomach throbbing. Every dozen steps, I had to stop to catch my breath. Emily only looked back once.

The sanctuary was quiet. Owen drew his blessing token first. When the priest read it, his face fell.

A bad omen. The card read: A fading life cannot be held, fleeting blessings cannot endure.

Owen stared at it, laughing quietly. "Pretty accurate."

Emily snatched the card and crumpled it. "Garbage. Draw again."

The priest shook his head. "One request per token. You cannot redraw."

Emily's face twisted with anger.

Just then, my token fell out. An auspicious omen.

The priest glanced at it. "A long life of peace, filled with abundant grace."

My fingers trembled. I had drawn it for myself.

Before I could pocket it, Emily reached over, took it from my hand, and pressed it into Owen's palm. "Take this. Wash away the bad luck."

Owen blinked. "But this is Art's."

Emily finally looked at me. "Michael, you don't mind, right?"

I looked at the card, then at Owen's deathly pale face. If this card really possessed any magic, let it protect him.

Owen walked to the relationship altar. The priest said, "A relationship token can only be drawn once in a lifetime."

Owen stepped back. "Then leave it for you and Art."

But Emily grabbed his hand. "Don't be afraid. Draw it if you want."

The wooden token clattered down. A perfect match.

The priest read: "Bound by life and death, a bond too deep to sever."

Strangers nearby murmured about what a beautiful match they were.

I stood to the side, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me. I covered my mouth, forcing down the metallic taste of blood. I stayed silent.

Emily helped Owen down the steps. Owen leaned on her, asking, "Where's Art?"

Emily looked back. I was far up the steps. "He's slow," she said. "We'll wait for him at the bottom."

I tried to keep walking, but the pain in my stomach was blinding. Dizziness washed over me, and my knees buckled. I couldn't do it. I turned back toward the sanctuary.

Next to the side chapel was a small clinic. A white-haired nurse helped me lie down and gave me some basic treatment. "You need to go to a hospital immediately. Any longer and you'll bleed out."

I grabbed her hand. "Don't tell the people outside."

When Emily finally found me, I had just sat up. She rushed in, exhaling in relief before her expression soured. "Michael, why did you run off here?"

"Look, I'm sorry about taking your card earlier. I'll take you to draw as many as you want later. Owen only has so much time left. Can we just keep him happy, please?"

I looked at her, nodding weakly. "Okay."

She helped me down the mountain, her phone buzzing constantly with texts from Owen: Did you find Art? Is he mad at me? Emily, please don't yell at him.

As she read them, she murmured to me, "Michael, let's just let him have his way this time."

Upon returning, I checked straight into the inpatient ward.

The doctor looked grim. "You have liver donation surgery tomorrow, but your current physical state makes this extremely high-risk."

I closed my eyes. "I know. But please, proceed."

That night, Emily called me three times. I didn't answer. When she texted, I didn't dare read them. Finally, I turned off my phone.

The next morning, news came from Owen's ward: a donor had been found.

Emily rushed to the doctor's office. Through the door, I heard her voice. "When is the surgery?"

"The donor has been admitted and passed all checks," the doctor said.

"I can compensate them," Emily said urgently. "Money, real estate, anything they want."

The doctor shook his head. "That won't be necessary."

In the afternoon, the nurse wheeled me out for my final tests. Passing the hallway, I heard Emily on the phone. "I still can't reach Michael. He's been acting strange since we got back from the sanctuary."

Owen's weak voice answered, "Go find him."

Emily fell silent for a long moment. "After your surgery. He's a grown man, he'll be fine."

The nurse wheeled me into the elevator. Just before the doors slid shut, I saw Emily look up. She seemed to catch a glimpse of my patient gown. She took a step forward, but the doors closed.

Later, Emily brought fruits and supplements to the donor's ward. I heard her asking the nurse outside, "Can I just peek in? I want to say thank you on behalf of Owen."

The nurse stopped her. "The donor needs to rest."

She hovered at the door. I kept my back to her, my hair messy, not daring to move or turn around.

Through the crack in the door, her voice softened. "His back looks... like someone I know."

My fingers clawed into the sheets.

The nurse smiled. "Ms. Emily, you're just stressed. Tomorrow's surgery will go smoothly."

She finally left. I let go, my palms slick with sweat.

On the day of the surgery, Owen was wheeled in first. I lay on another gurney, pushed through a side corridor. From a distance, I saw her tucking his blanket in.

Three hours later, the surgeon emerged to deliver the good news: "The surgery was a success."

She leaned against the wall, eyes tearing up. "He's alive... thank God."

But a second later, another nurse rushed out from the operating theater. "Who is Michael's next of kin?!"

Emily froze. "Are you mistaken? I'm Owen's family. Why would Michael be in the operating room?"

The nurse was frantic. "No mistake. The donor who gave his liver to Owen is Michael. He was already suffering from stomach cancer, and now after the transplant, his vitals are highly unstable. We need the family to sign an emergency consent form immediately!"