Death.

It was the easiest way to fix Oliver’s problems. The pain of dying felt trivial compared to the cancerous pain in his heart, a malignancy spreading through his body, dominating his stomach and throat, choking him completely. In a way, Oliver had been dead for a long time already.

“I can’t take this life anymore…”

“I can’t hold on to this world anymore…”

These were familiar thoughts in Oliver’s mind.

As they echoed, another sensation crept in. It felt as if dark hands were rising to suffocate him, not enough to make him lose consciousness, but just enough to make him agonize.

The truth was, Oliver couldn’t endure this feeling any longer. That’s why he was here.

From the top of a carefully chosen building, Oliver looked out over his hometown for the last time. He had selected the building meticulously—one that would ensure a smooth fall, without anything to interrupt his final act. He sought freedom, not more pain.

As he gazed down from the rooftop, he wondered:

“How will falling feel? Will it be worse than the choking sensation?”

But Oliver quickly concluded that his stomach had grown so accustomed to the suffering that the fall wouldn’t make him nauseous. A strange sense of happiness washed over him—freedom was near.

He took a step forward.

A smile, and tears.

His tears, now separating from his face, trailed behind as he fell. Time seemed to stretch out, each second longer than he had expected. Memories began to rewind in his mind.

“There’s no place for me in this world.”

“I’m not wanted here.”

“My existence is meaningless.”

“No one needs me.”

Oliver’s thoughts were always like this. Most people, when facing death, might recall happy memories. But Oliver couldn’t. He had none. He had always been an introvert, rarely engaging with others, which left him friendless.

The sharp wind against his face made him shut his eyes. But then, two warm, delicate hands touched his cheeks. Suddenly, the wind stopped.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He opened his eyes to see a girl with beautiful pinkish-purple hair. Her skin was flawless, pale, and her eyes, matching her hair in color, gleamed even brighter.

Refuge—that was the word that came to Oliver’s mind when he saw her.

The girl finally spoke:

— Poor lost soul... you're making a mistake. Why are you doing this to yourself?

After a brief silence, Oliver replied:

— There's no place for me here... My life in this world is no longer necessary.

She moved closer and gently hugged him.

— You’re wrong. If you were born into this world, it means you’re meant to be part of it.

She touched him softly, a warm energy emanating from her.

— I will grant you a wish. Choose whatever you want, and I’ll help you find a way to feel that you belong in this world.

Oliver’s eyes widened in disbelief.

— Are you really capable of anything? Truly?

She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

— Yes, because I am a goddess.

— A g-goddess!? — He recoiled in shock.

— Yes. So, Oliver, what is your wish?

— My wish… — He hesitated. — I want my pain to simply vanish.

— The pain of not feeling like you belong in this world, correct?

— Yeah...

— Very well, I’ll grant your wish. But I won’t let you die.

She whispered softly to herself:

— Not here, and not now.

The stunning goddess, still holding Oliver close, kissed his forehead.

At that moment, Oliver couldn’t muster any other response but fear. Yet, the feeling of shelter was there, soothing him, as if the choking sensation had never existed.

The kiss made Oliver drowsy. His last words before falling asleep were:

— W-what’s… your… name...?

— Ai. My name is Ai. — The goddess whispered as she cradled Oliver in her arms.

Oliver then slept, like a baby in a mother’s embrace.