Dont Forget Her

The Aftermath

The desert was quieter after the fall. Only hours ago, the world had been a violent and blur. The sky had been roaring in his ears—a relentless, battering wind that tore past his goggles and threatened to strip the very breath from his lungs. Adrenaline had been screaming through his veins like a live wire, and gravity had claimed him with a terrifying, absolute certainty. The descent had been a battle between his instinct to survive and his decision to let go.

But now, standing on solid ground again, everything felt… muted. It was as if the universe had finally finished its long, jagged inhale and had now begun a slow, steady release. The silence wasn't empty; it was heavy with the weight of what he had just survived.

Luis sat on the edge of a low concrete. His elbows rested heavily on his knees, his sketchbook balanced loosely in his hands. The sun was beginning its slow, majestic descent over Dubai.To anyone else, they were feats of engineering. To Luis, they were markers of a life he was slowly being evicted from.

He flipped open the sketchbook, the paper dry and familiar.

The page trembled slightly under his fingers. It wasn't from fear—the sharp, cold terror of the sky was gone—but from something quieter and infinitely deeper. A pencil rested between his fingers, the graphite ready, but for a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stared at the white void of the paper, waiting for the connection between his mind and his hand to solidify.

Then, slowly, he began to draw.

The lines came instinctively at first—sharp, aggressive strokes defining the horizon. Then, they softened. He sketched the curve of the dunes, capturing the way the wind-sculpted sand looked like frozen waves. He added the faint, geometric skeletons of the city in the far distance, the Burj Khalifa piercing the haze like a needle.

But what he lingered on—the part that made him press the lead into the paper until it nearly snapped—wasn't the landscape. It was the drop.

He tried to capture the moment where there was nothing beneath him but five thousand feet of empty air. He darkened the strokes, layering shadow upon shadow to represent that terrifying, beautiful void. Because that moment—terrifying as it had been—had been real. It was the most vivid thing he had felt in months. For once, his mind hadn’t drifted. The fog of his diagnosis hadn't crept in. He hadn't forgotten where he was or why he was there. In the fall, he had been whole.

“I actually did it,” he murmured, his voice barely a rasp against the desert wind.

Across from him, Daniel who is watching him with a look of quiet, reflective satisfaction, hadn't pushed Luis to talk; he had simply waited.

“You didn’t just do it,” Daniel said, his voice grounding Luis back to the present. “You screamed your way through the first three thousand feet, but yeah—you did it. You didn't back down.”

Luis let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head as he looked at his boots. “Not exactly my most dignified moment. I think the instructor is still deaf in one ear.”

“Oh no,” Daniel replied, pushing himself upright and crossing his arms. “That was exactly your best moment. You just don’t realize it yet.

Luis didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned the page to the back of the book. The list stared back at him, written in a hand that was slightly steadier than it was now. Things I Want to Do Before I Forget.

His eyes settled on the very first item, written in bold, hopeful ink:

1. Conquer the fear of heights.

He stared at the words for a long time, remembering the man who had written them then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he drew a firm line through it. He followed it with a checkmark—bold, dark, and final.

A strange warmth settled in his chest. It wasn't the fleeting spark of joy, nor was it the hollow relief of an ended chore. It was something steadier. It was proof. He might be losing his future, but he had claimed this piece of his present.

“I crossed something off,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Daniel stepped closer, glancing down at the notebook. He saw the strike-through and the checkmark. “Yeah. And you survived the process. That’s the part that matters for the next one.”

Luis smirked faintly, but as he looked at the lines below the first item, his expression clouded. There were still so many left. A dozen more dreams, goals, and apologies. Too many for the time he felt he had left.

Before he could sink deeper into the shadows of that thought, the silence was shattered. Daniel’s phone rang making Daniel frowned, he pulled the device from his pocket and glancing at the screen. His posture stiffened.

“It’s the firm,” Daniel said, looking at Luis with a mix of guilt and professional instinct.

Luis looked up, the warmth in his chest receding to make room for reality. “Go ahead. Take it.”

Daniel answered, stepping a few paces away into the sand, though his voice carried in the thin air. “Hello? Yes, this is Daniel.”

Luis tried to focus on his drawing, but the conversation was unavoidable. He heard the shift in Daniel’s tone almost immediately—from the relaxed camaraderie of their trip to the clipped, tense energy of the office.

“What? When did this happen?” Daniel asked, his voice tightening. A long pause followed. “The Riverside Project? I thought the board had Luis scheduled for the lead on—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes flicking toward Luis, then darting away.

Luis held his gaze when Daniel looked back. He didn't need to hear the other side of the call. He understood the language of a "reassignment" perfectly.

Daniel turned his back, lowering his voice to a frantic whisper. “Yeah… I’m still in Dubai. I understand. If that’s the final decision from the partners, I’ll take over the brief. I'll be on the next flight.”

Luis exhaled quietly, the sound lost to the wind. When the call ended, Daniel stood perfectly still for a moment, staring at his phone as if it were a foreign object. He didn't turn around right away.

“Well,” Daniel finally muttered, turning back.

Luis closed his sketchbook with a soft thud. “They gave it to you. The Riverside Project.”

Daniel looked up, his face a mask of conflict. “You heard?”

“I didn't need to hear the words, Daniel. I know how the firm works. I'm a liability on a project of that scale now. They need a lead who is going to be there for the ribbon cutting three years from now.”

Silence stretched between them, longer and heavier than before. The wind moved softly, kicking up a fine veil of dust around their feet. Daniel ran a hand through his hair, looking out at the shimmering Dubai skyline.

“I wasn’t expecting them to move this fast,” Daniel said. “I feel like I'm stealing it from you.”

Luis stood up, brushing the desert dust from his jeans. He felt a strange clarity. “You should’ve expected it. And don't feel guilty. You’re more than capable, and we both know you’ve been doing the heavy lifting for months anyway.”

Daniel shook his head. “That’s not the point, Luis. We were supposed to finish this trip.”

“It is the point now,” Luis replied, his voice calm but firm. He stepped closer, looking his friend in the eye. “You’re not leaving me behind, Daniel. You’re stepping into an opportunity you earned a long time ago. I already stepped away from that world. That part of my life—the steel, the stone, the deadlines—it’s done.”

A beat of silence followed. Luis looked at his hands. “I’m not losing anything by you taking that job.”

It wasn't entirely true. He was losing his identity as a builder. But it was true enough for the sake of his friend.

Daniel looked at him carefully, searching for a lie. “And what about you? What are you going to do if I head back to London?”

Luis gave a small, tired shrug. “I’ll be fine. I have the list. I have the sketchbook.”

Daniel didn't look convinced. The worry in his eyes was a mirror of the pity Luis had seen in everyone else since the diagnosis. Luis took a slow, grounding breath.

“Listen to me,” Luis said softly. “I’d rather lose a few more memories on my own terms than watch you lose the opportunity of a lifetime because you were busy babysitting me.”

The words settled heavily between them, indisputable. Daniel didn't argue. He simply nodded once, a gesture of respect.

“…You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met,” Daniel muttered.

Luis smirked, a bit of his old self flashing through. “Occupational hazard. Architects have to be stubborn, or the buildings fall down.”

Daniel let out a quiet laugh, though it didn't fully reach his eyes.

The transition to the airport was a blur of motion. The terminal was alive with the frantic energy of a thousand travelers. Voices in a dozen languages, rhythmic announcements, and the constant echo of footsteps across polished marble floors.

Luis stood a few steps back as Daniel adjusted the strap of his carry-on bag, glancing toward the departure gate for the London flight. Neither of them spoke. After years of working side-by-side, there wasn't much left to say that hadn't already been expressed in the desert.

Then, Daniel broke the silence. “I’ll call you the second I land, Okay?"

Luis nodded. Then Daniel stepped forward and pulled him into a brief, tight embrace—the kind of hug men give when they aren't sure if they'll see each other the same way again.

“Finish the list,” Daniel added quietly near his ear.

Luis swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. “I will.”

Daniel pulled back, studying Luis's face for a second, then he turned and disappeared into the surging crowd.

Luis stayed there much longer than he expected. He watched the spot where Daniel had vanished until the noise of the airport faded into a distant, underwater hum. For the first time since the day he sat in Dr. Patel’s office, he felt it.

Loneliness. It was heavy, cold, and unavoidable.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery without focus. He saw photos of buildings he’d designed, old office parties, and fragments of a life that felt like it belonged to a stranger.

Then—he stopped.

It was a picture of an old, slightly faded travel brochure he’d scanned years ago. It showed a glass bridge suspended between two towering, mist-covered mountains in China. His brow furrowed as he stared at the image.

Something about the bridge—the sheer audacity of the glass, the height, the way it connected two impossible points—felt important. It felt like a memory that hadn't happened yet, but needed to.

Luis exhaled slowly, his heart beginning to rhythmically thrum against his ribs. He looked at the departure boards. He looked back at his sketchbook.

Then, without giving himself time to let the fear or the fog settle back in, he tapped the screen. He pulled up his travel app, entered his details, and with a single, bold movement, he booked the flight.

The next item on the list wouldn't wait for the memories to fade.