We had been close for almost sixth months when he began talking differently. I’d heard enough from his friends and family by this point to know he was acting strange. He’d leave me hanging for days at a time, and I was concerned.

Staying up nearly all night in conversation, we’d talked about society and love—crying in unfairness, and laughing together in fits of manic amusement. Holding me closer than usual, he’d murmured sweet things, always careful to say them quietly in case someone might have been listening. I knew how honest he was being though, the cracks in his voice weren’t apparent to everyone.

One day while he was supposed to be in class, I rang him. With no answer, I rang him again, and then a third time to no avail. By the time paramedics rushed in, there was nothing that could be done. He’d swallowed two bottles of pills and like that, he was gone.

They called me-his little blue cellphone-to hear his voice. I’d vibrate as usual, but soon tired of the stupid game—he never again would answer.