"Hey!" A quick, carefree laugh. "Obviously, I'm not available right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you!"
I sighed and hung up right after I heard the beep, a sound that had become all-too-familiar over the last six months. I walked over to the calendar hanging on the wall, my eyes immediately finding the date that had been circled with a thick black marker. January 19—tomorrow—exactly six months since...
It was still too painful to think about. I blinked back tears, then threw on a sweater and my favorite jeans. I had classes to go to today; I'd worry about everything else later. I refused to let my feelings affect me anymore...at least for the rest of the day.

As I stepped into the bathroom for a quick mirror check, I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could even turn around, two strong arms wrapped around my waist, and I heard a familiar chuckle. It was impossible, but I could feel him standing right behind me, holding me. The feeling was so familiar, so comfortable, and I let myself relax in his arms, my eyes closing for a few peaceful seconds before snapping back open. My face, frozen in shock and confusion, stared back at me from the mirror, and I saw myself standing alone, even as I felt his arms around me. No. I needed to move on; it had been six months already. Why was I feeling this way now, when I had been fine yesterday, last week, last month?
I had to get away. Turning off the light, I stumbled out of the room, pulled on my coat, and grabbed my bag. I locked the door and left the building as quickly as possible, not looking back.

The rest of the day was normal enough. I picked up breakfast—coffee and a chocolate croissant—from Starbucks, tried not to fall asleep as my professors droned on in their monotonous voices, headed out for a late lunch with a few friends, then finally returned to my apartment.
I dropped my bag off by the door, deciding not to worry about homework until Sunday night. I knew my friends would be going out without me, which was perfectly fine with me. I was actually relieved that they weren't trying to drag me to the movies or to a party, as they had done every weekend for the first few months after the accident.
The accident... I remember the phone call, the shock, the 10-minute drive to the hospital that seemed to take hours. I remember being too late. I remember the tears rolling down my face as I stared blankly at the wall and the calm voice of the doctor saying, "I'm sorry, he died on the way here." I remember my heart being torn from my chest, leaving a hole that still hasn't healed. I remember waking up the next day and expecting to see him by my side. I remember the sobs that wracked my body when I realized he wasn't there and never would be again.
The first few months had been the worst, of course. I was constantly struck by a sense of loss, constantly reminded of his absence.
Snap out of it, I told myself. Wallowing in my grief and feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to help me. I walked over to my tiny bookshelf, feeling excited as I brushed my fingers over the worn spines of my favorite books. I hadn't read anything in what felt like forever, but that was about to change. I settled on Harry Potter, which never failed to lift my spirits whenever I was feeling down. Quickly making a cup of coffee, I climbed onto the small, comfortable couch in the living room—my favorite reading spot. I opened the book and lost myself in the words.

Light filtered in through the blinds, gently waking me up. Yawning, I sat up and stretched. I rubbed away the tiredness from my eyes, then opened them to see a black circle on the calendar. January 19. It was time to finally let go. Time to stop paying his phone bill just to hear his voicemail message. But I had to hear it one last time. I dialed his number and pressed call, expecting the call to go right to voicemail, as it always did. But it rang. Once. Twice.
“Hello?” His voice.
It was impossible, but I had to make sure. “Will? Is that you?” I asked in a whisper, hating the hint of desperation in my voice.
“Uh, no?” Not him. I felt as if I had been stabbed in the chest. Silent tears rolled down my face, and I dropped the arm holding my phone. My breath came in short gasps, and I sniffled loudly, not realizing that the call was still going.
“Are you okay?” the guy asked awkwardly after a few minutes, shocking me so badly that I actually dropped my phone. I picked it up quickly, then tried to clear my throat.
“Um, yeah, I'm completely fine.” My voice was thick with tears, making my lie all the more obvious.
He was silent for a few moments. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but who’s Will?” Although I knew it was innocent curiosity, the unexpected question twisted the knife in my chest. I couldn't breathe, couldn't reply. My feelings threatened to overwhelm me, and I felt my eyes watering up again.
“It…it’s none of your business. Sorry for the mix-up,” I managed to say before ending the call.
I buried my face in my pillow, my tears staining the pillowcase.
How can the universe be so cruel? I wondered bitterly. I rolled over and looked out the window. It was snowing. I laughed humorlessly. Frozen, just like my heart. I turned away from the window, letting the sadness wash over me. Just another cold, lonely winter day.