It wasn't surprising, really. In ten years, Luca had been my only friend—my only connection to the world outside these walls.
When the cake arrived, I opened the box and cut a small slice. I placed a single candle in the center and lit it. Closing my eyes, I made my wish:
May we never meet again.
My allergy meant I couldn't even taste the cake. The sweetness would have been lost on me anyway.
My phone alarm sounded—the countdown had ended. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out without looking back.
On the way to the airport, I sent Luca one final message:
"Let this be the end. There's no need for further contact."
It wasn't even a proper farewell. Just the quiet conclusion of ten years of my life.
I powered off my phone before boarding, but even then, it had been ringing incessantly—Luca calling over and over, like a man possessed.
The plane lifted into the night sky, and I watched the city lights shrink below me until they were nothing but scattered embers in the darkness.
I was finally free.
