Pilot
There’s nothing like love. To love and to be loved—that is the most powerful thing in the world. And I was lucky enough to have both: to feel the warmth of a kind soul, a beautiful heart wrapped in the body of a man who loved me deeply. And to love him back with everything I had. Yes, there’s nothing like being loved… and loving in return. No matter how intense, no matter how beautiful, nothing compares to love.
Now imagine how it feels when that love is stolen from you—by a bullshit hit-and-run. The love you were given. The heartbeat you’d fallen asleep to a thousand times. The soul that lit up every shadow in your world. The voice that whispered your name like a prayer.
Gone. All of it. In one night.
One moment, he was on his way home to you, looking forward to your favorite home-cooked meal. The next, he was gone.
No reason. No warning. Just… gone.
That’s what happened to my Thomas; he was taken from me, and the love I cherished was ripped away. And my love? It had nowhere to go.
Who was I supposed to love now? There was no one else. No one worthy. No one deserving.
Only Thomas. Only him.
No one else.
Flowers.
Beautiful flowers filled the room—forget-me-nots, roses, carnations—layered in a riot of color and scent. The mixed floral fragrance was strong, intoxicating, almost overpowering. And in the middle of all that beauty was a sea of sobbing, grieving black— With me at the center.
I didn’t cry. I just sat there, numb with shock and disbelief. My eyes flicked between two images: the framed photo of Thomas, smiling with his earth-toned eyes—one like the sky, the other like grass—and his soft, light brown waves brushing the tops of his ears… and the open casket.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Desperate for a connection. But there was none.
No matter how hard I looked, how much I searched, I couldn’t find him in that box. That thing inside the coffin—it wasn’t Thomas. There was no soul, no warmth, no breath carrying soft whispers of love. It was just a shell.
And I refused to believe that Shell was him. He couldn’t be gone. He wouldn’t leave me—actually leave me—with no one to love and no love to receive.
To keep what little sanity I had left, I locked my gaze on the smiling photo and did everything in my power not to look at the fake lying in the casket.
I could hear the sobs from beside and behind me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t turn. I didn’t acknowledge. I kept my eyes where they belonged.
Then came the speeches. One by one, people stood to speak their peace.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Beatrice—Thomas’s aunt—standing and moving to the front.
“Hello, as most of you know, my name is Beatrice, and I’m my dear Tom-Tom’s aunt—”
A scoff escaped me before I could stop it.
Beatrice paused. Small murmurs stirred behind me. I didn’t look. I didn’t flinch. But I could feel her glare scorching the side of my face.
“Anyway,” she started again, voice a bit tighter. “My Tom-Tom—”
I scoffed again, louder this time, laced with disgust.
Beatrice snapped. “Do you have something you need to say, Cassandra?”
Still, I didn’t look away from the picture. My voice came out calm, flat. “Thomas never liked the nickname Tom-Tom, Beatrice. And when was the last time you even saw him? Five years ago? After he refused to give you twenty-five hundred dollars? So tell me, what could you possibly have to say about him?”
Silence. Every eye in the room burned into me. Beatrice cursed under her breath and stormed back to her seat. Someone else stood. Then another. And another. One by one, they took their turns—sharing stories of childhood, of high school, of college. Silly moments, touching moments, embarrassing ones and they all started the same way.
“Hi, I’m—”
I didn’t care. I didn’t care about their memories or their grief. The more I listened, the more I felt myself slipping. My grip on reality fraying at the seams.
The only thing holding me together was that picture. That smile. That memory.
And in my mind, like an old home movie, Thomas came alive again.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Bambi, anyone can sing, just like anyone can dance. You teach me how to dance, and I’ll teach you how to sing. We’ll be the perfect couple duo.”
“It’s movie night, and you know what that means—Horrorfeast!”
“Bambi, eat this,” he’d say, spoon in hand, smiling. “You’re sick, so I’ll baby you all you want.”
His breath against my ear, the soft nibbles on my neck— “Tonight, I want to be aggressive. You’ll give me what I want. I’m not asking.”
He wasn’t always that way. But when he was... God, I loved every second.
“I want us to have a couple song……… It’s not corny but adorable. You’re the dancer, I’m the singer. It’ll be perfect.”
He was always like that—thinking about couple songs, couple rings, matching outfits. Planning everything we’d share. That was just the kind of man he was.
And eventually, we did find our song.
“I... I just woke up from a dream. When you and I had to say goodbye. And I don’t know what it all means…”
His voice was beautiful—effortless. I could never match it, no matter how hard I tried. After a few months, he had every dance down nearly perfectly. Meanwhile, I was only just finding my voice. I wasn’t bad—but I wasn’t him.
Remembering him singing could make me forget everything—even this tragedy, and I especially wanted to forget this tragedy.
“Since I survived, I realized... wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow. Nobody’s promised tomorrow…”
Blink. I was in a car moving to where I didn’t know. Then again, I didn’t care as long as I could still hear his voice; his voice kept me tethered.
“So I’ma love you every night like it’s the last night, like it’s the last night…”
Blink. I was at the burial ground, standing between my mother and father. Another smiling picture of Thomas is on display, watching over us. Again, I turned inward, letting his voice drown out the grief, the loss, the aching weight of goodbye.
In my mind, his hand found mine, fingers intertwined. A soft, devilish smile on his lips.
And he kept singing.
“If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you. If the party was over and our time on Earth was through… I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile. If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you.”
I was shaken from my delusions by the gentle touch of my mother’s hand. I blinked slowly until her face came into focus. Blinking again, I looked around—we were in the living room of Thomas’s childhood home. How we got there didn’t matter, at least not to me. She studied me with a look full of confusion, worry, and heartbreak. “Are you alright?” she asked softly.
I gave a slight nod, the weight in my chest making words too heavy to speak.
“You’ve been out of it all day,” she added. “Just moving like a zombie.”
Again, I nodded.
She didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes as they scanned my face, searching for something—anything—that would make sense of what she was seeing. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m just tired,” I whispered. She gave a quiet nod in return and turned back to the crowd dressed in black, swallowed once more by the sea of grief.
I leaned back and let my eyes close again, slipping away from the mourning, from the questions, from the world. My body felt heavy, my mind drifting. And then, like a soft dream, Thomas’s smile appeared behind my eyelids. His voice followed, sweet and haunting.
“Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow. Nobody’s promised tomorrow. So I’ma love you every night like it’s the last night. Like it’s the last night…”
His voice curled around my aching heart.
“If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you. If the party was over and our time on Earth was through… I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile. If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you… Right next to you.”
—
The next time I woke, it was night. I was back in my childhood room, still wearing the same black dress. My long, dark curls were splayed across the pillow beneath me.
The day was finally over, but now that I was alone and everything hit at once.
I curled into a ball, clutching my chest like I could hold my heart together with my hands, the pain was unbearable. My whole body shook, emotions rattling inside me like a storm begging to escape. Tears streamed down my cheeks, soaking the sheets, and though my mouth opened, no sound came out—only soft, ragged breaths.
My Thomas. The light of my life. The only reason I had ever believed in love or being loved was taken from me in a hit-and-run.
Why him?
Why take someone with a heart like his? Out of all the monsters in the world—the rapists, the pedophiles, the cruel and wicked—why him?
Why take someone so good?
Why take the only person I cared about? The one I needed and the one I wanted. The only one I couldn’t live without.
It wasn’t fair. Thomas was mine—mine to love. His love belonged to me and only me.
And now… he was gone.
What the hell was I supposed to do now? Who was I supposed to love? Who was supposed to love me the way he did?
My tears came faster. My arms squeezed tighter around my chest. Love—I needed his love. I needed to love him.
Then I heard him again—his voice, warm and close, like he was right beside me.
A small, broken smile touched my lips. I closed my eyes tightly. And for the first time that day, my voice joined his—hoarse, cracked, but real.
“If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you. If the party was over and our time on Earth was through… I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile. If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you. If the world was ending… I’d wanna be next to you. Ooh… I’d wanna be next to you.”
