Blueshift

“I’ll be back when I finish.”

He wasn’t lying. At least not at first. I’m sure he meant it wholeheartedly. He was certain that he’d make his way back to us once he finished. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to. It’s just, I don’t think he knew what finishing meant. He didn’t give himself a finish line. I think that’s why he’s disappeared. With no end, Hunter didn’t realise his promise was a paradox.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where it started. Where we started. I’ll begin there.

…

Hunter and I were unlikely friends at first. During secondary school, year 7 when we were 12-years-old, we were seated next to each other in almost every lesson. Our initials were the same: Hunter Atkins and Helena Adija. That improbable coincidence situated us side by side in almost every endeavour, especially at the beginning. My only hours free of him during the school day was lunch time and P.E.

Naturally, I wasn’t particularly fond of him. It wasn’t because of his personality, behaviour or anything like that. It was more so the situation and the idea of seeing him all the time. I’m sure he felt the same way. Eye contact was kept minimal, exchanges only occurred when required (like reading from the same handout), and outside of class we rarely crossed paths.

My dislike of him was almost a defence mechanism. Children are cruel, and I didn’t want relationship rumours to spread when I was just about trying to understand what life was supposed to be as a teenager. I suppose Hunter was the same. He made no effort to warm the cold barrier between us. It wasn’t until a science lesson we were forced to talk to each other.

“Alright everyone, listen up. You’ve been strategically grouped up based on your grades. Don’t blame me if you’re not with your friends, blame your test results. There’s only one group of three, the rest are two,” Mr Silvers announced to the class, advancing a slide on his presentation.

Mr Silvers’ hair was long, wispy, and coloured perfectly to match his name. I never once saw him out his lab coat and running shoes. He always had the latest and most fancy running shoes. He was an older man but that never stopped him incrementing his pedometer. Not even the rain could prevent him pacing up and down the world.

I squinted from the back desk seeing my name sandwiched between Hunter and Andy. Our grades couldn’t even separate us. I looked up to see Hunter poking around the room, looking for Andy. Andy would serve as an adequate buffer, I thought. I didn’t know much about him, but I heard from some friends that he was a “cool”-type of guy.

Not before long, we were standing around our equipment: a boring tool, a carrot, an onion, a microscope, a couple of beakers, and a few glass plates and covers. I double checked the equipment checklist and the steps.

“Do we have everything?” Andy asked.

“Looks like we’re all set. We’ll need iodine later, but we’re good for now,” I said.

Mr Silvers wandered around the classroom eventually coming to our table. “Hey, Hunter and Andy, you both scored joint lowest in the class. I grouped you with Helena because listening to her is your only hope in the practical part of your grade. Listen more in class, and do everything she says.”

As my cheeks flushed, I sensed spores of envy and disappointment. Hunter and Andy nodded. Mr Silvers fluttered away, leaving the others waiting for me to make a move in anticipation. I calmed myself quickly, picking up and rereading the experiment steps.

“Looks like we have two experiments to do today. Carrot core in water to demonstrate osmosis and observing plant cells via onion cellulose,” I said, lowering the paper to see two polar faces. Hunter’s eyes were wide and curious. Andy's were shut as he yawned.

“What do you need me to do first?” Hunter asked.

“Um, you could start extracting the carrot core, I’ll start peeling the onion, and Andy you can prepare the slides,” I said.

“Slides. Uh, like the glass thingy?” Andy asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Right, yeah, yeah. This is gonna be easy.”

“Ouch!” Hunter hissed, covering his thumb.

“Hunter you good bro?” Andy asked, cautiously edging his body away.

“Yeah I’m alright, just cut my thumb a little,” Hunter replied, showing a droplet of thick blood seeping from a shallow cut.

Andy paused momentarily before gagging. “Oh god,” he said as he was quickly overpowered by gravity. The moment he started falling, Mr Silvers swiftly appeared, sweeping him up. It took Mr Silvers full strength to lift the seemingly skinny kid. His height contributed to most, if not all, of his weight. Hunter and I watched silently in awe of Mr Silvers’ spryness.

“Helena, Hunter, I need you to very discreetly take Andy to the nurses office. I don’t want to start a commotion so keep this quiet. Head straight for the door and tell no one. You do this, and you all pass the experiments,” Mr Silvers said. “Got it?”

Hunter and I exchanged a glance, telepathically reaching a mutual agreement. We both nodded in unison. Hunter swiped the blood across his thumb and primed his shoulders. Mr Silvers passed Andy over like a heavy ragdoll. I carried him from the other side and we hobbled out of the classroom.

As we trudged down the hallway, Hunter frequently spoke to Andy, keeping him conscious. “Andy, who’s your favourite ninja turtle?”

“Turtle…ninja? Do–N-no-. Mi–chelelel–angelo,” Andy replied.

“Michelangelo? Yeah he’s funny. I like him too. His nunchucks are awesome. My favourite is Raphael. He’s the strongest.”

Much of their conversation flew over my head. I was familiar enough that I had a favourite turtle, but not enough to justify why other than headband colour. I went along with it, to help quell the stress of the situation. “Yeah I like Raphael too. He’s…cool.”

“Exactly! He’s cool!” Hunter said, loosening his grip on the heavy and sinking Andy. “Whoops,” he said, lifting him back up.

We arrived at the nurse's office with Andy in one piece, and (probably) with no commotion in the classroom. We briefly explained the situation, they were understanding and took him off our shoulders. They added ‘hemophobia’ to his medical records, and waved Hunter and I farewell.

As Hunter and I walked back, I felt the air around us was still cold. I looked up to try to break the ice only to see Hunter smiling ear to ear, his head clearly in the clouds. I thought about saying something to bring him back down to Earth, but I couldn’t. He looked too happy.

“You don’t know a thing about ninja turtles do you?” he said, coming back down himself.

“No, I do. I know Raphael is, like Michelangelo, a ninja turtle named after an Italian artist.”

“Right… artists. And what colour is Raphael’s ninja mask?”

“It isn’t blue…right? Obviously not. That would be the other guy. It’s obviously…ora– no. Pur–. Wait, no! Red of course. Because that’s my favourite colour! That’s why he’s my favourite turtle. He’s cool!” I said, excitedly lying through my teeth.

“You really are a genius,” he said sarcastically, beaming.

“When did it become obvious I don’t know anything about ninja turtles?” I asked.

“The moment you agreed with me about Raph being your favourite,” he chuckled.

“Hey red is very cool!” I rebutted. “Red…Oh my gosh, I forgot, your thumb! Is it okay?” I grabbed his hand, examining his thumb.

“Not if you squeeze like that,” he said, as I quickly loosened my grip.

“Sorry!”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m all good. I cut myself all the time. Not on purpose obviously. Only when I do dangerous things like climb trees. Or barbed fences. Or fight dogs.”

“Wow…you really are a dumbass,” I said, grinning. We exchanged a laugh and before we knew it we were back in class, packing away our unfinished experiment.

Hunter and I would talk more often during the endless lessons we had together, eventually leading to a friendship. A group formed around us, joining my friends and his. Before we knew it, the five of us would hang out all the time, doing everything together. Hunter, Andy, Hannah, Artur, and Helena. It was corny, but we liked to call ourselves “hahah”. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

At first the group had some teething pains. Since Hunter and I were the bridge, the two sides didn’t really talk without us being present. That was until Andy became the unnamed group leader, planning excursions and outings. He was a “cool”-type guy, but more than that he was just a lanky teenager who valued comradery and stealing my homework answers.

Artur was also academic, eager and outspoken. Opinionated would be one description that wouldn’t entirely encapsulate how much he complained. If his grade was lower than mine, the test paper had an issue. That meant most test papers had issues. He and I almost rivalled each other… if rivalry meant he was always short of the top spot.

Hannah was my first and closest friend during school. Basketball was the only thing that mattered to her in life. And rightfully so, since she was the only student to graduate and move to America with a university scholarship to play professionally. I appreciated her focus through the years. From the first day I met her she had drive, incrementally paving the way to her dream. Her indifference to judgement instilled me with confidence. She admired my inclination to academia, and I hers to basketball.

Our group had gone through adolescence together. From the trials and tribulations of a barely stable education system, to navigating the extreme difficulty of learning to skateboard. We did it all and we did it all together. There were moments of drama and times where some of us were disconnected for whatever reason. But ultimately, we always made up and stayed locked in together.

The reports of Hunter’s disappearance broke all our hearts. But the heartbreak started long before the news broke.

Hunter had been missing long before his disappearance.

…

In the heat of exam season, Hunter and I would study together until the sunset. Our subjects crossed over even when we had the freedom to select our own. I thought surely we’d be diametrically opposed when it came to that at least, but I suppose not. At least that’s what I would say if I didn’t strategically pick things he was good at, and if he didn’t pick things I enjoyed.

We both appreciated art, though admittedly I wasn’t particularly good at the practical aspect of it. I found history to be fascinating and thankfully the curriculum aligned with my curiosities. Similarly, Hunter liked history and could quickly grasp all things war. Science was a must for me. That was Hunter’s weak spot, but with time – and through my incredible tutoring – he drastically improved.

The last optional subject we chose was computer science. I wasn’t bad at it – I wasn’t particularly bad at anything – I only found it unbearably boring. That was the only subject Hunter seemed truly confident in. I found out later that he only chose it because he thought I was going to. He too found it boring.

On the May of our final year 10 exams, Hunter and I were crammed in a corner table of the local library, Bogle Library. The rest of “hahah” were still at school. The entire borough was out studying for their summer exams.

Year 11 students were agonising near the printers, waiting for their sets of past papers to dry off. Sixth formers were on the computers, evaluating their life decisions, tracing the years that led them to where they were. Meanwhile, year 10’s and below were studying more liberally. Attempting to enjoy their youth, as kids should. However, the aroma of stress was too prevalent to ignore.

It was surprisingly noisy for a library, but that was unsurprising for all of us there. Music leaked from headphone users maxing out the volume in a counterintuitive attempt to focus. Keyboards and mice discordantly clicked and clacked while printers painstakingly puked on plain paper. Footsteps and murmurs echoed in from the corridor whenever anyone would open the door.

The older students would aggressively jolt their heads and stare at anyone talking louder than a whisper. Half of them spent more time looking at people than their textbooks.

I never could sympathise with those kids even when it was my turn as the older student. A library is ideally a quiet place for reading and studying, but that simply wasn’t possible for Bogle Library. Adults had long abandoned it, and so it became a hangout hub for kids and teenagers. Noise was as guaranteed as rain in England.

Fortunately, the corner table Hunter and I were at was situated in an already noisy area; near printers and other murmuring year 10’s. Those “quiet nerds” – as Andy would call them – were far from us. We could talk, although still relatively quietly, without any confrontation.

Hunter tapped the physics textbook with his pen. “What’s up?” I asked, quietly.

“I still don’t get it,” he said, unenthused.

“Which part exactly?” I asked, edging closer to him.

“This doppler thing makes no sense.”

“Oh that’s easy– um it’s got an easy trick to remembering it,” I said. “You see, you’ve got this wave source, right… like a police car. Its siren makes that wee wah sound. When it's not moving, it constantly sounds the same. Let's say every second it goes wee and wah.

“When it's traveling towards you, the wee wah sounds like it’s a higher pitch because the waves are closer. The waves are closer because the car is travelling to where the wave is. Remember one wee wah a second. If I’m moving to the wave and I’m wee wahing every second then the waves are technically close. So it’s more frequent. Higher frequency. So that means higher pitch. And at the opposite side, the waves are further apart. Lower frequency, so a lower pitch.”

“Wee wah’s, huh?” Hunter said, amazed.

“Does it make sense?”

“It always does…after hearing your explanation,” Hunter stammered. “You’re really sure about this, aren’t you?”

“About the doppler effect? Yeah I’d hope so. If not, we’re both failing,” I said.

“No, I mean about science. Physics and all that stuff. You’re good at it, but more than that, you love it. You’ve got this focus, I see it in your eyes. While we all slog through these textbooks, you read them like you’ve read them a million times before. You really love it.”

“Remember my granny from my family’s barbeque last weekend?”

“The one that said I was a handsome young man and who gave me 5p to buy a 30p Fredo?”

“Yeah that granny,” I sighed before going back to being serious. “She used to say something to me all the time. ‘Love your family, love your friends, and love your life.’ I never understood what she meant by the last bit, so one day I asked her what loving your life was supposed to be.

“She said, ‘It’s whatever you spend your day doing. If it’s dancing, painting, singing, playing sports or learning, then make sure you love doing it. And if you love doing it, make sure you’re doing it to your greatest ability.’ When she said that, it clicked in place. Why should I care about any of this if I don’t love it? Why should I do any of this if I don’t give it my best shot?”

“And you’re sure that academics is…life?”

“I’m sure that physics is. The rest of the subjects I do are a means to an end.”

“Where does it end for you? Being the best physicist?”

“There are stages to all of it. The next stage is getting good grades to secure my place in college. After that it’s getting into a good university. From there it’s levelling up. Physics is dense, so levelling up is finding what I love the most in there. Right now I’m sensing astronomy, but that might change. Right now I love physics as a whole but let's hypothesize it is astronomy I take further. In this scenario I guess the end would be discovering something groundbreaking in astronomy. But like I said, right now I love all of physics.”

“Any space in there for love for a person?” he asked, adding: “Pun intended.”

“I wouldn’t have invited you to 3 years of family barbecues if there wasn’t,” I answered, finally taking the plunge.

We were practically dating at that point; talking almost everyday, meeting each other's families, going to the cinemas. Admittedly, I was scared to title our relationship. I was too frightened to even ask what we were to each other. Part of me felt that we were best friends who happen to be opposites in every way. A boy and a girl who could confide in each other and love each other’s company. Like Hannah and I, except he’s a boy.

The other glaring difference with Hunter and I was that I was romantically attracted to him. I don’t remember where it started but I remember when I realised. We were in Year 8. Hannah just told our classroom bully, Jamie, to shut up after he berated our geography teacher almost to the point of tears. He ended up storming out of the classroom and the teacher high fived Hannah.

The whole class was in awe, bellowing a victorious cry. The bully was shut down and everyone was unequivocally impressed. During the chaos, we exchanged a single glance and smile. Without a word, I knew exactly what you would’ve said. For some reason, I had a feeling you knew what I would say. I had always felt comfortable around Hunter. But this time, I felt a different kind of comfort stir.

I started to make a conscious effort to not make things awkward between us, but that wasn’t needed. No matter what I realised or how strongly I felt, our dynamic never changed. I did suspect that he potentially shared similar feelings, but it never showed. At least I never caught it.

I’d love to say we were in a war of confessions (where we tried tricking the other person into confessing their feelings), but that would be entirely untrue. When we were together, we simply existed in each other’s company. Of course, I wanted to advance our relationship. Only, I didn’t want it to come at the cost of our friendship.

The group was also at stake. If the two founders dated and fell out, it would destroy the fabric of the group. Everyone will feel the need to pick a side. Passive aggressiveness would be a stock ripe for investment. There would be less love in the world. Our whole lives would take a turn no one would’ve expected.

My thoughts would often spiral into that pit of pessimism – or realism as I’d often argue to myself. But after four years of friendship, Hunter made the first real move. The least I could do was transparently reciprocate as best I could.

And it was surprisingly easy. Not a single negative thought swam through my mind. A tranquil, refreshing breeze swept through instead, leaving a calming sensation. All doubts became mathematically disprovable via some proof of contradiction. Stresses of internalising my adoration were finally released. I finally, as overtly as ever, admitted I liked Hunter more than a friend.

“Does that mean you like me?” Hunter asked.

I grinned. “I dunno, does it?”

Squinting, Hunter analysed me from head to toe. I felt judgment across the board. I made micro-adjustments to my posture, uncurled my toes, and tugged my socks up an inch. I felt my cheeks flush but there was nothing I could do there. “I think it does,” he finally said. “And since it does, I guess I gotta ask, do I like you?”

“Only you can be sure about that,” I said, somewhat cautiously.

“Good, because you’re just about the only thing I’m sure of.”

No official declaration was made. There was no ceremony, no commotion, or hullabaloo. Within a study session we went from close friends to super close friends. Our peers in the library were the first to find out. We didn’t notice how quiet it was or how loud we were speaking. When we finally looked away from each other, we saw a constellation of heads looking our way spelling “Shut the F*** UP!”. We left shortly after.

When we told the rest of “hahah” they weren’t surprised. Andy said, “Wait you guys weren’t dating? I had a chance with Helena this whole time!” and dropped to his knees. We all got a kick of that.

Nothing really changed in the group, but plenty evolved between Hunter and I. At the core, our dynamic was pretty much the same…just a tad more evolved.

The end of year 10 exams came and went without a hitch. Before we knew it we finished our year 11 exams. We all passed with grades that satisfied us all and aligned with our future goals. Except Hunter.

Andy had a knack for engineering which fortunately toughened him up and got him over his hemophobia. Hannah got solid grades across the board which protected her basketball dreams from scrutiny. Artur continued being a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Close, but never quite able to touch the sun (my grades).

Hunter was the only one left conflicted. Every couple of years we were given a sheet titled “Who Do I Want To Be?” I used to call it STEM propaganda. They persuaded students into picking STEM related subjects and languages (since they were very unpopular), promising they’d make it big and it would raise their prospects.

They were half right, but why pick something you don’t have an affinity for and have a chance of failing? Having more options is great, but it’s never worth the cost of your overall grades. Failing “good prospect” subjects leads to bad prospects.

I saw through their cheap tricks, but, luckily for the school, I had set my sights on science since I was in primary school. Unsurprisingly, it worked on most students. Spanish and French had an all time high class for GCSE’s in our year group at the time.

Hunter had just about passed every subject. His Art grade was marginally higher than all of the others, so naturally he was going to take that further. He enjoyed it marginally more than everything else, but he didn’t love it. He couldn’t imagine taking it anywhere. It never helped him answer the big “Who Do I Want To Be” question. It only helped fill one of three subject slots for his A-Levels. The other two subject slots were a coin toss.

We spoke about this topic a handful of times, Hunter's conclusion always being, “I’ll figure it out.” Leading up to the day we chose our subjects, he became less talkative, more contemplative. His eyes were hollow, lost more in intricate thought. He had nothing but disregard for reality. Whatever he finds will surely solve everything, I thought.

…

The end of summer surly crept, with minutes of daylight fleeting with every passing day. With that “subject selection day” came. The group met at school in the morning. The skies were sparsely clouded while the sun, accompanied by an inoffensive breeze, was gleeful and warm. Each of our “appointments” were scattered throughout the day, ending at 3pm, giving us time to hang out at the park afterward.

We sat at a picnic table outside the science building. Hannah and Artur played the slowest game of chess while Andy provided intense football-style commentary. It was thoroughly entertaining for the five minutes, but definitely distracted them, contributing to the game's unexpected longevity. Hunter and I were off to the side, talking telepathically until one of us broke the silence.

“How left ‘til you’re up?” he asked.

Slightly startled, I checked the time on my phone, “About 5 minutes.”

“Remember when I asked you out last year?”

“Hard to forget. If this were a book it’d be just a few pages ago.”

“If it were a book for me it’d be the front cover. I remember it like I remember my name. I said you are the only thing I’m sure about. It’s still true, and I’ve got a feeling it’ll always be true. You’re all I want, and I’m sure you’re all I’ll ever want. But that’s not going to work is it?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure how to answer. I knew he wasn’t breaking up with me, but to anyone else it would sound like he is – the cliche ‘I’ll always love you’ spiel. When you spend enough time with someone, you become fluent at reading between their words. It’s like a super power. Super empathy. You’re able to see how they got to where they’re at, understanding where they’re going.

He realised the same thing I did a long while ago. I wasn’t going to be around his day to day forever. Up until that point, we shared every lesson together, every break and lunchtime, every study session, every after school, every holiday.

The life I was investing in was to become more difficult, more competitive, and more intense. Needless to say, I imagined I’d always have space for him, but not in the way we were. The kind of life we were living was never going to last forever, and he finally realised it.

Everyone around him found something while he couldn’t see any viable options. He didn’t enjoy anything. Now of course, it’s easy to ignore that when thinking about careers from a financially incentive perspective, but that wasn’t the case for him. He didn’t believe he was patient enough to try to reach an office 9-5. He had no belief in himself.

“I’m sure you realised too,” he continued. “You’re not going to be able to help me revise like before. Sure we can study next to each other, but the tutoring can’t continue. It can’t carry me anymore. I know it’s gonna get harder from here and you need to study yourself. Hell, I need to learn to study by myself.”

“I wish these years lasted forever,” I said.

“I don’t. I’m looking forward to the rest of our lives together. It’s only the end of now. Whatever you pick up there, pick for you not for me. I’ll be okay.”

“Did you decide what you’re picking?”

“Yeah, but I’m not telling you.”

“Is one of them art?”

“... Yeah. You better not pick that.”

“Why? Because I’m bad? Is that what you’re saying!?” I said, cheekily.

We laughed about it for a few minutes, before I rushed up to pick my A-Levels. I ended up choosing only academic subjects: maths, further maths, physics and chemistry. For most people, that’s an impossible quadfecta. For me, it was a fun challenge.

Sometimes I’d feel guilty about being more academically gifted. Most people struggled finding derivatives while I found them effortlessly. Complex numbers felt like a missing piece that was there all along. Concepts in physics were intuitive. Everything just made sense to me. Most of the time it was easy. But every time I watched Hannah shoot a three-pointer guarded by two defenders, I’m reminded not all people are equal in this world. Some are good at school, while others aren’t. Some can shoot a basketball while others can barely dribble.

Hunter ended up choosing art, business studies, and IT. He was decent at all of them, above average in art. He seemed nonchalant about his picks. I thought they suited him. Having those subjects opened many doors. He had two (at most three) years to pick a path to follow for his life as a young adult. I’d always be in his corner, but at the end of the day, he would have to choose his own path otherwise he’d never have “happy life” check off.

At least that’s what I told myself.

Who do you want to be? A concise and decisive question with answers spanning infinite variations. Impossible to perfectly predict what someone would say, but you could easily approximate based on their personalities, hobbies, and interests.

A sociable person is likely to work in a field requiring social skills. An introvert is likely to work an indoor job. Someone who often uses computers is likely to work with one. A person who can handle stress is more likely to work in a position of leadership and guidance. A person inclined to problem solving is more likely to work in a field with problem solving.

This is all “likelihood”. It’s still difficult to accurately predict what someone would want to be, and importantly, for how long for. The average person switches careers more times than they have children. I doubt duration is even something most people consider.

However, I think it’d be relatively easy to predict where the following hypothetical profile would end up: introverted, likes a challenge, enjoys problem solving, has expensive hobbies, and strives to be on the forefront of cutting edge technology. This person would naturally end up in a technology related job.

Higher paying than the average, not a leadership position, rather a foot soldier in the arms race for the “cutting edge”. This person would end up as a senior engineer. Could be software, or anything adjacent. The work perfectly intertwines with the rest of their desired day to day. It would last for as long as they feel they need a big pay check.

In my case, I like discovery, I’m collaborative and curious, my hobbies are party and board games and hiking, my interests are anything science, and I want to contribute to the scientific community. From that you could probably tell I’d want to be some kind of scientist. That would be accurate since I’m still working towards it. I want to be a physicist. The job doesn’t pay highly, but that’s fine by me. I don’t feel the imminent need for a lot of money, just enough for rent, a few nights out and a holiday or two a year. Priorities could change, but that’s me for now.

Hunter had no answer to the question. His profile was open ended. He was sociable, and more extroverted than introverted. He was easy to work with, his hobbies were… he didn’t have many, but he enjoyed hanging out with friends and adventuring. His interests were varied and endless. He had no inclination to anything physical nor academic. He was indifferent to all of it.

How could anyone predict his answer? “Who do you want to be?” How could he have an answer? What did he love to do? What did he want to do? What did he not want to do? What did he want? What did he need?

Across the sky, scattered and stretched to the horizon, bulbous white clouds plump with vapour dominated the day. It wasn’t until sunset, as if scripted by nature, did they vanish, allowing the sun to beam a golden hue against a purple backdrop. It wasn’t atypical for a summer in London, but still it always felt too beautiful for the city I knew

Hunter and I were seated at a park bench, watching the violet sky. We spent the day with the rest of “hahah”. Summer splintered us physically with Hannah traveling to the US and almost everyone else, including myself, preparing to move to university. We stayed in contact virtually, but it had been a while since we all linked in person. Results day provided us the perfect opportunity to hang out. Like we used to.

As the sun dragged the rest of the sky, we lost friends to obligations one by one until only Hunter and I remained. All of us, except Hunter, were going to university. Hunter decided to take a gap year. He thought the time would do him well. His grades were adequate enough to get into many universities to do virtually anything related to business or art.

We spoke many times about the future, though he was mostly vague, skirting around anything tangible. Any pressing I did would virtually shut him down. I gave up asking, promising myself I’d pop the question after results day. Results day came, all I needed was an impossible opening to give me the confidence to ask.

Our gaze was fixed on the sunset. Abruptly, I searched my backpack for a cardigan, instead I found a wad of papers our school gave us to “prepare” for our lives. The first was titled “Who Do You Want To Be?” If this wasn’t the opening, perhaps I would’ve never found out what Hunter’s year was going to look like.

“Who do you want to be?” I asked, reading off the sheet.

“I know what you want to be.”

“Yeah, I get it, I talk about it a lot. But who do you want to be? Do you know yet?”

“I wanna be your man,” he said smoothly.

I chuckled, “Yeah but seriously. Have you given it any thought? What’s next for you? School’s over now.”

“I have. I think I have an idea of what I need to do. I don’t know if there’s any real path to reaching where I think I could go. I’m not even sure of where that goalpost even stands. I just know it’s going to take a lot of work.”

“I’m at the edge of my seat, spill it already,” I said, firmly seated in the centre of my chair.

“Someone who’s seen my painting said I was good. I think I’m going to try and be great. I don’t know how, but I’m thinking I might take it there.”

“Hey! I’m constantly telling you you’re great. Who is this mysterious someone whose words are more important than me?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t think what he said was more important. He was just some random dude passing through the school. He had nothing to do with me and he said I was good. A stranger who knows nothing about me saw something in my work.”

“And… how do you feel?”

“I feel like maybe you’re all not biased. I feel like I might actually be good. I feel like I’ve finally found something I can do myself.”

“Something you love?”

“I already have something I love,” he said looking deeply into my eyes. “I don’t enjoy painting, but I enjoy the feeling when I show off a good piece. Sounds self centred, but I like the praise someone gives when I make something I’m proud of. Something good. But, now, I dunno, I’m gonna have time. I think I should try and make something great.”

Hunter turned to the sun, the light painting his skin golden. His eyes always had a glow of excitement for everything, though as years passed it became obvious colour was fading. When he was idle, his eyes followed suit, becoming still, uninterested and transparent.

Only around friends and family, did the glow return, admittedly weaker and fainter each time. He never spoke about it, but somewhere down the line he lost faith for the wider world. He didn’t know he was broken or how. Something inexplicable broke something in him. Or perhaps he was always broken and couldn’t bear to hide it any longer.

As I watched him watch the sunset, his eyes reflected the sun. They were the brightest they had been in years. I felt a warmth spread from my chest to the tip of my toes, though it was compromised. I was happy Hunter was getting closer to finding himself, but something about the glow was faux.

The next day “hahah” met up at the same spot. We had an impromptu picnic, and hung out once again until sunset. While everyone was there, Hunter told us about his plan to become great. He spoke with conviction, concise with his words as if he’d rehearse it.

He was to work alone on his art for a year. In that year he’d try his hardest to become a great artist. He was going to limit distractions, meaning no texts and calls. He’d only be home for breakfast, dinner, and sleep. We were all going to be away in other cities and countries for university, so he’d only see us during the holidays. The first was supposed to be New Years.

The group was stunned. They looked at me as if I masterminded his plot, but the genuine shock on my face said otherwise. I had objections to the plot, I’m sure the whole group did, but for the first time since we’d known him, Hunter was sure of what he wanted to do. We couldn’t bring ourselves to oppose him, even though we really should have.

“I’ll be back when I finish. I promise.”

“And when you’re back, we’ll celebrate in a fancy restaurant. How does that sound?” Andy said, grinning.

“With what money? We’re about to become broke uni students,” Hannah said, bursting his happy bubble. “Hunter, I can relate to what you want. You got this.”

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this from you. But I’m happy you’ve landed here. Try hard, just don’t try too hard,” Artur said, looking over to me and then back at Hunter. “Some people will always be better than you. So don’t compare yourself to them. Compare yourself to you.”

I was the only one left to say anything. My mind was blank other than feeling a bittersweet. “I trust you,” I muttered.

“Thank you. All of you. For being my friends,” he scanned the group, his eyes landing on me. “I love you. Hope you’ll still love me.” With the sun overhead, it was clear as the sky. His eyes were transparent.

Three months later, Hunter’s father called me to ask if he was staying with me. When I said, no, the silence on the line was damning. I called everyone that knew him, they all hadn’t heard from him in months.

Hunter’s father shared that he’d usually get home from his art studio deep into the night. He’d eat a plate of dinner before waking early in the morning. His life was his work for months on end. The only proof he existed was the laundry, dirty dishes he emitted, and the occasional greetings. Hunter was a ghost focused only on art. Becoming “great”.

He promised he’d be back when he finished. There was no explicit lie. He planned on returning to the world when he finished. I don’t think he understood– I don’t think any of us understood that you never really finish in a quest for greatness. Even the prolific artists in the world were never completely satisfied with their work.

No scientist has ever said, “I’ve discovered this thing, I guess I’ll stop here”. Why would you stop after one? Why not stop when there is nothing left to find? Or at least until you truly believe you have exhausted all possible discoveries. And even when that cubbyhole of science is neatly scribed and explained, there’s always another cubbyhole. In this world, there is always something else to find.

Some work never ends no matter how much time you spend. Some journeys are inherently flawed to last an egregious amount of time where subjecting yourself to it in a tortuous manner won’t accelerate your progress. It’ll only hurt you and those around you. Progress would be inevitable, but would be negligible in the grand scheme of things.

It’s easy to say this in retrospect. Enough time has passed since Hunter condemned himself to his routine of seclusion. I was able to reflect on my time without him. No contact for three months, with an ambiguous amount remaining. I was able to break my heart in a thousand different ways with a thousand different hypotheticals. In all of that I was also able to picture a future where Hunter wakes up and comes back.

It’s only been three days since his physical form has disappeared from this world. I hope – in whatever world he’s in now – he finds that his promise isn’t a lie. That he can be finished. That he finds his way back.

***

A few days before I left London for university, Hunter paid me one last visit. As usual, he skipped past the formalities of calling to let me know he’s coming. He hugged my mother and father as they let him in. My father took a liking to him very quickly. With a kid like that around a house of daughters became a little easier to deal with. My mother wasn’t fully convinced of his intentions until he expressed his love for sourdough. A strange food to bond over.

Sat on my bed, he watched me pack away the last of my winter clothes. I was focused, delicate with every fabric even though I knew it’d be fine if I forced them in. Spectators made me extra careful doing even the most menial tasks.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“Performance anxiety,” I replied.

“That’s one part of it… You’re upset with me.”

“How do you know that?”

“That day in the park. You said you trust me. I know you do trust me, but at that moment you were lying. Weren’t you?”

“I think the way you’re going about this whole thing is wrong,” I said, packing my last hoodie. “You’re disappearing like it's some training montage in a movie. You think that you’re going to vanish for a few months… years and what? Emerge enlightened like some kind of monk?”

Hunter hesitated. “Something like that, but not exactly that.”

“What do you want out of this?”

“It’s like I said. I’m mediocre so I want to work.”

“So you're gonna run away?”

“I’m not running away. I’m running towards.”

“You’re still running away… from us. From Andy. Artur. Hannah. From me.”

“I’m running for you. I’m mediocre.”

“So you’re running away to be mediocre alone?”

“I’m not going to be mediocre alone. I’m going to be great… I need to be great,” he whimpered.

“You’re trading time with people who love you. Memories unmade with people who love you. After all’s said and done, will you be satisfied?”

Silence radiated the room. The sun focused through the window, creating a streak of blinding on the white walls. Dust floated only in that steak. Each spec was still, anticipating Hunter’s answer. If my sisters were home, they’d surely have been listening through the thin walls, hovering the same as the dust.

“I hope so.”