Intertwined

"Do you ever wonder what happens after we die?"

Two hands were loosely intertwined, petite fingers dancing across the knuckles of a larger one. The movement halted for a few seconds, hesitant. Looking over to the face beside her, she studied the features of the male's face. He was facing towards the inky sky which was full of stars and signs, as if he stared long enough it would give him the answers he so craved. Entertaining the thought of his question, she hummed and turned to face the sky once again, her petite fingers continuing the paused dance across his knuckles.

"Not really," she mumbled, softly. The turn of his head towards her didn't go by unnoticed, and she tore her eyes away from the glittering midnight abyss. His eyes were searching, a pair of oceans watching her, waiting for her to continue her train of thought. A thought she would rather not entertain because of its weight.

Pursing her lips, she continued, weakly. "There are too many possibilities," she looked down towards their hands lying in the damp and moist grass beneath them - the dew had already gathered on the strands - intertwining her petite fingers with his, stroking her thumb over his "and no way of knowing which are the truth."

He hummed and looked up toward the sky once again almost longingly. Disappointed, but searching.

She wondered if that should've been her first warning sign.

***

They had met at the sprite age of seven. Two ignorant and naïve children seated beside each other in class. She remembered sneaking glances at him, his cherub features highlighted by the puppy fat on his body. He was shaking in his seat from excitement, trying to quell it by sitting on top of his small hands. The grin on his face was like the sun, a light in the face of darkness. His squeaky, childish voice leaking happiness as he introduced himself. She fell in love with his joy and light at first sight.

She only wished she could've been blessed with more of that light before it was so cruelly snuffed out.

***

They were teenagers when they began dating. Awkward growth spurts and braces, hormones and puberty. The first time they kissed, it was with too much tongue and their teeth had collided. Still, it was special for her because she was kissing the one she'd loved since childhood. It didn't matter that she could smell or taste the scent of onion-topped pizza on his breath from the date they'd just been on. She loved him, and now, she was sure he could begin to feel the same way towards her.

Smiling, she giggled from the rush of adrenaline and emotions welling up inside of her. Gazing into his rich, navy blue coloured eyes, she stroked his cheek, leaning her forehead on his. For now, she was content with this - this moment where his smile still held some of his early exuberance and his warm hands held hers so gently in the side of the street.

Yes, this was okay.

***

He began to act strangely some time into their early twenties. He smiled less, began to ask complicated questions about life that she could not, for the life of her, answer. She tried to cheer him up, she really did. However, no amount of dates, movie nights, favourite meals, late night activities or quiet strolls amid the abyss that the night had turned the world into would help him in his downward spiral that was his troubled questioning of all things existential.

All those times where he hugged her closely to his chest, as if afraid she would combust into nothingness went unspoken when they woke up in the morning. When he would stare at nothing, catatonic, she simply sat down beside him, a warm cup of tea in her hands, her head resting against his shoulder. Neither would later mention the tears that sometimes fell and made ripples in the warm beverage.

***

She'd thought things had turned better when he took her to their couch one day, her hands intertwined in his.

"I love you," she had looked towards him, shock and pleasure drifting through her. A tender smile had grown on her lips as she stroked his stubbled cheek. Stroking away his slightly curly fringe, she had leant in and kissed him, tenderly - gently on his slightly chapped lips. When they'd parted, a hairsbreadth away from each other, she'd replied, teary-eyed and fragile.

"I love you too."

Time was a fickle thing. And so, when she got the news, she wasn't really sure what to feel. Empty; devoid of emotion, perhaps. Like there was a void in her heart.

Her best friend, lover and husband had just committed suicide, after all.