It was almost midnight.
Sam woke with a start, with a heart beating like a marathon racer's. His body resembled that of a rain-drenched hen and his breaths could easily pass him for a teenager recovering from the orgasmic shock of a fourth round.
So, it was just a dream? Only a dream?
Sam had never been so close to death before and so, for the first time in his life, he could relate to his planted ex-schoolmate's father (may his soul rest peacefully, even in the pieces of him that were found to be buried). He, now more than the preacher that conducted the "planting" service, understood that there's a thin line between life and death; so thin that a single breath is all it takes to break it. He understood.
Too scared to go back to sleep, he sat on his bed with knees drawn up to the pillow between him and his laps.
"It's only a dream", he kept telling himself, "it's only a dream."
Time "snailed" away and after what seemed like two hours of sitting in the dark (which was only fifteen minutes), Sam was calm enough to remember every single detail of his dream:
It was Angela's birthday...and he couldn't wait for work to close that day so he could fulfill his heart's desire to the desire of his heart. In the last minutes of work, he strategically went through his plans to "spoil her" and couldn't find any fault to it.
Soon, it was 17:00 and it was Go-Time. The 30-minute drive back home seemed like forever because either his anxiety got the better of him or his car mysteriously was slower than usual.
Finally he parked his car under his favourite tree (nicknamed The Poet's Tree), jumped out and literally ran to his bathroom. Time was no longer on his right side, so he had to be super fast so nothing would be left behind.
By 17:50 (20 minutes behind scheduled time), he was back to his car; this time, smelling like a freshly plucked white rose growing by a waterfall (actually his perfume was named White Rose!).
18:15 met him at Angela's door, arguing with himself if he should knock or use his keys. The latter won and he unlocked her door, and went in.
All was unusually quiet; whatever happened to music-loving, opera-singing Angela? Maybe she wasn't back from work (she closes 18:30 and walks all the 20-minutes way back home).
Thanking the god of time, he seized the chance to kick off "PART-A" of his plan. Dashing into her kitchen, he started his well-known magic with aluminium, fire and spiced dexters of eons of experienced mastery in the ways of the kitchen. He was on to create a masterpiece.
18:40 and the table was fully set. Heaven was nowhere ready as he was, right then, to receive his Love walk through that door.
With more than 5-minutes to wait, he sank into her sofa to watch some t.v. and he was enjoying himself, until he saw it.
Envelopes!
At the far end of the sofa, tucked hurriedly behind the pillow. Retrieving all five of them and exposing his eyes to the markings made the sheets therein, he met the biggest shock of his life.
HIS SOON-TO-BE WIFE HAD 3-MONTHS...TO LIVE!!!
3-MONTHS!
He read more...and then more...and then more.
The fountain in his eyes overpoured, blurring his vision so much he couldn't see the colour of the paper anymore.
He didn't cry because she had less than three months to live.
He cried...because the three months...ended...last night.
