I was panting when I reached the library, sweat dripping down my face. I had sprinted all the way from Central Station to the University library, desperate to finalize my essay before time ran out. Racing up the circular staircase to the fourth floor, I spotted her—Jessica.

Jessica, with her big blue eyes that shimmered like diamonds from a distance, her golden hair flowing down her back. As soon as she saw me, her arms opened wide, inviting me into an embrace. For a moment, I froze, unsure whether to accept. I was sweating profusely, and I feared the sour, unpleasant smell would ruin this fleeting moment. I didn’t want my last memory of the beautiful British girl, with her always-smiling face, to be tarnished by something so trivial.

Jessica and I met during our first year at university, grouped together for a project that involved creating a documentary about an artist. Our team consisted of Jessica, myself, Gemma—an outgoing Lebanese-Australian girl—and Chris, an Italian guy whose looks turned heads. Jessica knew an artist in the Blue Mountains, and our task was to make a documentary about her life.

The day we prepared to leave for the artist’s house, the wind howled through the streets, but up in the mountains, everything was calm. It was a strange contrast. As we practised taking shots at the university, Jessica pretended to be the artist, cigarette in hand, lounging seductively on a chair. Behind the camera, I couldn’t help but stare—her beauty was captivating, her presence overwhelming.

We eventually made the trip to the Blue Mountains, a winding two-hour drive with Jessica sitting next to her boyfriend in the front seat. Gemma and I sat in the back, mostly in silence. The day was quiet, the fog rolling through the mountain air, and I found myself lost in thought. I had always been shy, awkward, and unable to connect with people, especially girls. Jessica, on the other hand, was dazzling, an extrovert with a radiant energy I could never match.

After filming the artist’s life story, we all headed back to the train station, where I witnessed Jessica share an intimate, lingering kiss with her boyfriend before we boarded the train. As the train chugged along the mountain path back to the city, Jessica turned to me, her face glowing under the dim light, and said, “You’re such a boring person. I’ve never met anyone like you. No girl will ever want a boyfriend like you.”

I smiled weakly. Deep down, I knew she was right. I was a shy, introverted boy who couldn’t seem to break through the walls that kept me isolated from people like Jessica.

That was the memory that flashed before my eyes when I saw her again on the staircase that day in the library. Jessica was leaving Sydney, moving to Perth with her boyfriend. She had dropped out of university for him. Although I didn’t want to let her go, I embraced her tightly, knowing it would be the last time we ever saw each other.

A few years passed. One day, I stumbled upon a Facebook post from Jessica. It read, “Depression is real. If you know someone struggling, reach out. I’ve been battling depression and other mental illnesses for a year now. My boyfriend dumped me, and I attempted suicide. If it weren’t for my roommate, I wouldn’t be alive today. Let’s be kind to each other.”

Her words struck me deeply, but life moved on. I graduated, but I wasn’t able to find the job I had hoped for. I worked in construction, blaming myself for wasting my time at university, still the same boring guy who had never had a girlfriend.

I kept in touch with Jessica sporadically through Facebook. She had changed. Her posts were filled with pictures of her and her dog. I asked her if she’d come to Sydney soon, and she said she would visit in May. I was excited, counting down the days.

But May came and went, and I heard nothing. Her Facebook profile went silent. In August, I saw a message on her wall: “If anyone knows where Jessica is, please contact me. We’ve lost touch, and I’m worried.”

A sick feeling formed in my gut. I reached out to one of her friends who commented on the post. The reply came: “I’m so sorry. Jessica passed away in May. We’re not sure why, but she went into cardiac arrest on May 1st.”

I felt as if a part of me had died. I stayed up all night crying, unable to comprehend that Jessica was gone. I had longed for one last hug, one last moment to tell her how special she had been to me. Now, I would never get that chance.

…Dedicated to the memory of Jessica…