As we trudged in silence for what felt like an eternity, I recognized Michael's and Emily's apartment complex ahead, seemingly untouched. Freshmen weren't supposed to live off campus, but Michael and Emily had opted to get an apartment together.

The closer we got, the more Michael took on the countenance of a man possessed as he increased his pace, his limp more pronounced with each step. I hurried to keep up, but the closer we drew to the complex, the more I could feel a heavy chill in the air, growing thicker with every second.

As we reached the parking lot, Michael broke into a hobbled run, veering around a corner and into a stairwell. He dragged his bad foot behind him wildly, but he forced himself forward anyway, diving up onto stairs two at a time.

I hung back cautiously, a few steps behind, prepared to catch him if his injury overcame his resolve.

As he reached the top floor and opened the door to his apartment, he called out hopefully. "Emily? Baby? Are you here?"

The only sound was the relentless howling of the wind. No response came. I cleared the last step, coming to a stop behind him and set my hand on his shoulder as we stared into the eerie quiet of the apartment.

Michael bowed his head, turning away from the doorframe and gripping the railing with hands so tight they turned white-knuckled. He pressed his lips together to stifle an overwhelming sob, managing a distorted grimace as he whimpered, "She's not here... She's not here."

He collapsed against the railing, burying his face between its bars. It was as if he was confined to death row, peering through his cage, searching for one last hope to come walking his way.

"You said she had gone to her family's house?" I asked, crouching down to meet his eyes. "Her brother, right?"

"We passed by it already... The house is all gone now. Destroyed by fire. I should never have-- I should have never--" His voice faded into a broken whisper that was lost in the wind, weeping and chanting desperate pleas for mercy over and over again until he could utter no more. "Oh God why... Is there no help for the widow's son..."

I clenched my teeth and yanked Michael up by his armpits, propelling us both back into the apartment.

I took a few steps backwards, dragging him by his heels and gently but firmly laid him down onto the couch. I watched helplessly as he curled up into a ball, burying his face deep into one of the pillows and sobbing uncontrollably.

I looked at my friend with pity for a moment, and then took a moment to survey our surroundings. The apartment was sparse, but cozy. The outside world seemed cruel in comparison. I walked down the hallway, hoping maybe Emily was sleeping in the bedroom, but found it empty as well.

As I made my way back to the living room, I stopped to take in the dimmed picture frames of Michael and Emily on the walls and felt an overwhelming sorrow wash over me. I picked one off the wall and examined it in the firelight showing Mike and Emily's once cherished moment frozen still in time.

I had been intentionally avoiding them, trying to deny them my support and presence. Yet now, as I observed the photo up close in the firelight, my heart sank heavily with guilt.

Michael's face shone radiantly in the photo. At a church function, both of them sat laughing with Emily trying to feed Michael cake which was dripping down his chin and onto his suit. But it was obvious that he didn't care - he was overflowing with joy and his eyes sparkled brightly. I realized in that moment how I had been selfish, even cruel at times, without being there for my best friend.

Glancing at Emily, I saw her own joy - normally one might consider her plain with her small, rounded face and soft cheekbones, but standing next to Michael she emanated an air of beauty. Her brown eyes shone with love, and the shoulder length dyed blonde hair framed her face in a way that enhanced her natural features. For the first time, I understood what they had, and I was ashamed that I had not embraced it.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I slowly turned around and saw Michael standing there in front of me. His eyes were downcast, and his hands trembled, as if he was holding something back. I handed the picture to him, and he took it slowly, tears spilling onto the glass surface.

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock.

"I know we were on our own timelines, man." Michael whispered. "But it still hurt me that you weren't here for us."

I hung my head low in shame for a moment, then steeled myself and met his gaze. Michael stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder, then drew me in for a tight embrace.

I felt a shiver run through me as pain, grief and guilt coursed through my body. I tightened my grip on Michael and tears sprung from eyes.

"She'll come home, man. I know she will," I said determinedly, though my voice wavered with doubt.

But Michael shook his head sadly and pulled away. "No. She won't," and with no further words, walked away silently to the bedroom where I heard a muffled sob as Michael crumpled onto the bed. I started to walk in behind him but hesitated and then decided against it. Michael needed to process this grief on his own.

I entered the living room and paced in front of the couch momentarily before plopping down on it.

It had been a long time since I had seen Michael like this. I thought back to the days before Emily, when we spent every day together, causing mischief and dreaming of the future. It was only after meeting Emily that Michael changed - he became more serious and thoughtful, as if he'd found purpose in life. Something I quite hadn't settled on yet. Probably never would.

I remembered the nights we spent laughing and talking about our dreams over bottles of beer, with nothing to distract us but the music of the night. But now, it seemed like all that was gone forever.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadowbox on the coffee table, relics from our travels together inside - old movie tickets, coins from France, mementos from our wild adventures. Emily must have been turning it into a memory box for Michael. Or maybe even for me.

I smiled sadly as I leaned forward and picked them up one by one and ran my fingers over each object, reminiscing on all the places I'd been to with Michael and the amazing things we'd seen together.

I peered at photos on the wall again, capturing scenes that were so perfect yet fleeting – capturing the fact that life is fragile and can be taken away in an instant.

A wave of sadness swept through me as I realized how fragile our lives were; how people must cherish what they have today because tomorrow may not be here for us at all.

Reaching out an arm, I felt around for the lamp and to my surprise, it sprung to life.

A glimmer of hope ignited within me, and I slumped down on the couch, my fingers ferreting between cushions until they closed around my remote.

My thumb moved across its worn buttons as I pointed it towards the television and clicked. Static filled the screen, mocking my futile attempts at finding something - anything - to fill up the insufferable silence. No matter how much I changed channels or frantically pounded the buttons, all I got was static. With a sigh, I checked my phone only to find that Google had crashed too. Intermittent bursts of information came through, but hung and froze after a few moments, my signal too weak to get any real results.

Exhaling heavily, I glanced at the clock, which read 11:14 PM. 24 hours had passed. I thought back to Michael's words earlier. "We are fucked." He was right.

Wearily, I leaned back my head, closed my eyes and drifted through the darkness.