The clock ticks, and the excruciating 60 minutes of listening to a seven year old trying to play a violin finally ends.

"Okay Tara," I say, smiling as politely as I can, "We're done for today."

She stops, putting the violin back into its case, lazily. "How was I today, Mr. Salvatore?" she asks, completely uninterested in her progress, but she knows that her parents are going to ask, so she will have to tell them something. And she's probably out of her own excuses.

"There are some things we have to work on," like, all of them, "But you'll get there," no, you won't, because you don't even like being here and you're too afraid to tell your parents that violin is not the instrument you want to play. You don't want to play any instrument at all.

I've tried to explain it to her parents. She's not meant to play the violin. She doesn't know how to hold it and treat it with care. They told me I'm supposed to teach her that. You can't teach anyone to feel the music. Her parents are not the only ones, though, so I've stopped trying to fight them. They bring the cash in. They're the ones who keep my music academy alive so I can teach kids with an incredible amount of talent but no money to shape it.

I know it's probably not the best, or right thing to do, but I don't have any other choice. I borrowed my initial capital from Damon, I can't choose my clients until my academy is set into place, and if rich parents who act like kids who don't like to hear no are a way to do it, then be it.

I'm not saying all rich kids are hopeless or untalented. A lot of them are really good and a joy to work with, even though some of them are too serious for such young kids, while others are here just because their parents can't accept the fact music is not one of their talents. Kids who come from the streets, though, with a rusty guitar in their hands, or the ones who can only dream about owning a piano, are why I started this in the first place. When I graduated from college, I didn't know what I want to do with my diploma and knowledge and abilities. I knew I didn't want to go back to high school and teach a music class, though. Then one day I saw two boys in the park, one holding a guitar in his hands, trying to play. "You suck so hard, man," the other one chuckled lightly. The one with the guitar furrowed his brows, his face turning hard, "When there's no one to teach me." So I offered my help and sat there with them for hours, showing the boy the basics, pointing out where he's going wrong. He gave me an idea for the academy.

When Tara drags herself from the room, like a cat missing her two back paws, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

"If you keep me waiting again, I'm going to murder you," she texts me, and I laugh at her message on my screen, knowing very well that no one can hear me. She probably is going to murder me, or at least try, so I grab my jacket and, on my way to the car, I text her back. "I'm on my way," my fingers fumble over my phone, hitting the screen clumsily. I probably make few grammar mistakes on the way.

It doesn't take long for me to get to the Grill, and I spend the whole ride over wondering did I lock the door.

When I get there, the whole place is crowded with teenagers who look a lot like us ten years ago, and it takes me a while to notice her sitting in our usual booth. Or their usual booth, like she likes to remind me, I was just tagging along. She notices me too and waves me over, a wide smile spreading over her face.

I smile back at her as I make my way through the crowd.

"You're late," she points her finger at me, but she can't stop smiling. God, it's so good to see her smile. These days, it's good to see anyone smile.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I put my palms in front of my body for defense, "It won't happen again." It probably will. I suck at getting anywhere on time, I'm always late and she knows it.

I kiss her on the cheek before sitting down across from her.

Every time I see her, she looks different. Not that I see her a lot these days, with her living in Los Angeles and all. She urged me to move there as well, telling me that I'll have a better chance for success there. More people, more work, more money.

But I know what she really wanted to say - you're lonely here, I'm lonely there, so why not be lonely together?

I've lived there before, not my thing. Not my city. Plus, I have a life here in Mystic Falls.

No, she told me, you have memories.

She seems taller. Her hair is blonder, if that's even possible. Her curls are falling over her chest, falling up and down as she breathes. Her cheeks are red - there's a half empty glass of wine in front of her.

"No Bonnie?" I ask.

She sighs. "No Bonnie."

It's okay, I understand, she has a baby now. That's a good excuse to break our ten year old tradition.

"So, guess who came to see me last week," she bites her lip teasingly, but in a guilty sort of way, which is how I know she did something stupid.

"You have to stop doing that to yourself, Caroline," my look hardens.

She broke up with Tyler before they went to college with an excuse that she doesn't want a long distance relationship. That's not the reason, and both of us know it. Maybe we're the only ones who do. I can't lose you as well, or I can't handle you leaving me too would have been more appropriate options, but Caroline was never so selfish to actually say them out loud.

Every now and then, Tyler finds himself in her city, in front of her door, in her bed. And every time she wakes up, he's no longer there. She didn't have a functioning relationship since him. She throws her head over her shoulder, laughs and says that all guys in LA are jerks.

She always goes for them, though, probably on purpose, because they can't hurt her. She doesn't care enough for them to give them an ability to hurt her. But every time a good guy comes along, so does Tyler, like somehow he can smell it, and every time, she makes a wrong choice.

I understand her. I haven't had a functioning relationship after her, either.

Hell, I haven't had a functioning life after her.

"I know," she says. Not sadly, not like before, but matter-of-factly. She's aware of it, but she's still too young and too hopeless to do something about it. "But he's so familiar."

We stay silent until the waiter takes our order. I order Jack. Double. On the rocks. She gives me a look, but doesn't say anything, and I don't give her the satisfaction of looking guilty.

We both order spaghetti, even though neither of us is a big fan of pasta. Her because it's fattening, me because it reminds me of her. But, after all, this is not our night, it's hers. And she loved spaghetti. She never ate them normally, with a fork and a spoon or however you're supposed to eat them. No, she would slurp them into her mouth, one by one, making a sucking sound. The sauce would bounce off of her lips, making a mess out of her mouth area, and I would kiss it away.

"How about you?" she asks, almost too excitedly, "Do you have anyone new in your life?" she wiggles her eyebrows in my direction.

When Caroline can't fix herself, she tries to fix other people. And when I say other people, I mean me.

"No," I say, shaking my head. The waiter puts my glass of jack in front of me. I don't drink it right away.

"I have this friend, well, she's not really a friend, she's an acquaintance, and she lives in the next town over," Caroline starts rambling as fast as she can because she knows that, sooner or later, I'm going to stop her. "She's a kindergarten teacher and - "

"Not interested," I say calmly.

She frowns. We go through this scenario every time. "Are you really going to tell me you're not ready to date yet?"

I don't tell her to look at her own life. I don't tell her that she's as fucked up as I am. We don't do that to each other.

"It's not that I'm not ready, it's that I don't want to," I don't even know if this is a lie or truth anymore. It feels a little bit like both. "I want to concentrate on my work for now."

She doesn't believe me, but she pretends that she does, so she lets it go. We eat in silence. I drink my Jack when she's not looking.

We take a walk to the graveyard. She doesn't let me drive, which means I'll have to go back for my car. Thankfully, it's not that long of a walk. We don't stay there for long. First few years we would stay there for hours, sometimes in silence, sometimes in low whispers. But as the years go by, we stay there less and less.

Her grave is clean, with fresh flowers surrounding it, which means her mum has been here recently. She used to come everyday. She doesn't anymore. Maybe because it's too painful. Or maybe because it's not painful enough anymore.

It can cripple you, the guilt of your sadness lessening over the years.

Caroline takes a paper out of her pocket.

"I saved a dolphin," she says.

"Really?" I don't ask with enough interest in my voice.

"Uh-uh," she nods, "I know it's not the same as not letting them go extinct, but close enough?"

"Close enough," I confirm.

Before she died, Elena gave me her list. She asked me to cross few thing off for her, if it's not too much trouble. I shared it with Caroline, since together we'll get more things done. We'll never be able to cross everything out, though.

We say our goodbyes. It's awkward. It always is on this day. We're usually more talkative. We laugh more. We share more. Not today. She walks back to her mothers house, and I go back to pick my car.

I drive home. When I reach my building, I don't take the lift, but the stairs.

First floor. I'm okay.

Second floor. Taking the lift is like cheating. You don't climb, you fly. And humans aren't made for flying.

Third floor. My ankles ache. I'll never get used to this.

Fourth floor. My apartment, but never my home.

I walk into my dark and lonely apartment. I don't turn on the lights. I glance at the digital clock in my living room. 09:23 flashing red.

Soon.

I take a glass from the cabinet and reach for the bottle. I don't know which one. Jack. Vodka. Bourbon. I don't know, I don't care, let it be a surprise.

By the time I sit down on my sofa, with a drink in my hand, it's 09:27.

Soon.

I wait.

09:31.

Too soon.

09:36.

Just one more minute. I close my eyes. I wish it out of existence. Maybe we can skip it this time. Maybe, if we do, it will be like it never happened. Maybe, if I miss it this year, that minute will never exist. There will be a hole in time and she will be back.

But when I open my eyes, it's there, staring back at me.

09:37.

What a stupid time for someone to die.

Friday, October 3rd, year 2014, 09:37pm was the last time she existed. I blinked, and she was gone. It took her only a second to leave me.

That was ten years ago.

Ten years ago I was a college freshman. I was 18 years old. I had a dog. He's not here anymore. I buried him two years ago in my mothers backyard. He had missed her as well. I think he knew, before any of us did. They say dogs can feel when you're sick. I think that's why he spent so much time in her lap. It was selfish of him, stealing her time, if he really knew. He didn't want to share her. I understand that. He knew. I hated him for knowing. I wish he could have told me. I'm stupid. He was just a dog. He was my best friend. Ten years ago I was living in my mothers house. She lives alone now. Damon and Rebekah live on the other side of the town. They have two kids. Ten years ago Caroline Forbes was a friendly stranger to me, now she's my best friend. Ten years ago I didn't care much about Bonnie Bennett, now she's my friend. She didn't ask me to hold her daughter after she's been born. Her name is Elena. Maybe she thought I'll drop her, or love her too much. Both things are dangerous. Ten years ago I was in love. I had a girlfriend. She died on Friday, October 3rd, year 2014, 09:37pm from cancer. She was 18 years old and she died with so many wishes in her heart. We were the same age. Now she's always going to be younger than me.

Today is Thursday, October 3rd, year 2024, 09:37. But everyday is October 3rd for me. I've been stuck at 09:37 no matter what time it is.

You have no idea how fast someone can disappear. By the time we all went to college, she was weak, and tired, and always sleepy. But she was there. She was smiling, listening to our stories in wonder, her eyes were wide with interest and she remembered how we named all the stars. Her cancer spread to her brain in a matter of days and she wasn't Elena anymore.

They moved her to a hospital when she lost almost all of her motor functions. The cancer ate her. She could barely speak anymore and the words she would say weren't even words. The only thing she could move were her fingers and when she did, it looked like she did it by accident. Her eyes were rarely open, but when they were, she was crying. Her limps trembled.

In the end, she wanted to go.

It wasn't pretty. They don't tell you that, so you don't expect it. She wasn't peaceful those last few days. She was tortured, and all of us were too selfish to let her go.

It's only a matter of hours now, the doctors said. They kept saying that everyday. I said goodbye to her so many times that out goodbyes became meaningless. On October 3rd, they said it's only a matter of minutes.

At 09:36 she was there, at 09:37 she wasn't. I blinked, and her eyes were closed. The machine said beep. And it kept saying beep.

Her mother started crying.

"Is it broken?" I asked the doctor. Dr. Fell looked at me like I'm crazy.

But in that minute, she looked like she's at peace. Like she's free. And then, the next minute, she just looked dead.

I knew that she's going to die, but when she did, my first thought was that it all happened so suddenly.

I didn't cry. I couldn't. That was the worst part. Everyone around me were crying, even the people who didn't know her. I felt sick.

I kept thinking I'm too young to lose someone I love. That's not supposed to happen until you're at least 70 and you have your whole life behind you. What a selfish thought. I wasn't too young to lose someone I love, she was too young to go.

I started feeling guilty. Every breath I took felt like a punishment. I wanted to go with her. I wanted to take her place so she can come back. I didn't know what to do with my life, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do with hers. She could have done wonders. She was so beautiful and smart and willing. She could have changed the world. And who am I? I'm just a dot. I'm no one special. The only special thing about me was her.

I started drinking. I stopped attending classes. I was sleeping with girls whose faces I don't even remember, let alone their names. Maybe I didn't even know them in the first place. It was Caroline who pulled me out of it. She came home for Christmas and found me drunk in the snow. She pulled me inside as my mother watched, crying. My mother would pull me in everyday, or every night, depends on when I decided to poison myself. She was afraid. I started reminding her of my father.

When I woke up, Caroline was in my room, sitting in my chair, staring back at me.

"What are you doing here?" I squeezed my eyes. I didn't even remember her coming to my aid.

"This stops now," she said firmly. My mother told her everything.

"What?" I asked, confused. My head was killing me. I remember wishing her to go away.

"You miss her? You're not the only one," she said. I looked at her, and she was looking back at me, silent.

It took her quite some time to continue talking.

"This is not how you get to grieve her. This is not how you get to pay respect to her memory," she was very loud, louder than Caroline usually is, her voice booming inside of my head, "You don't get to become everything she hated and then say it's for her. You don't get the easy way out, Stefan."

The easy way out? I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to tell her I've been in hell these last two months.

I didn't, though. I didn't say anything.

I started crying. And I haven't stopped ever since.

I stopped doing everything else. Drinking. Sleeping around. I went back to college.

And Caroline Forbes became my best friend, even though she lived a world away, and still does.

With time, everyone did what you're supposed to do. They moved on. Bonnie fell in love and started a family. I don't know where Matt is now, but the last time I saw him, he seemed unaffected by her death, and I thought something must be wrong with him if she didn't leave her mark on jim. Caroline might seem like that to others, but I can see the weight of carrying Elena with her everywhere she goes taking its toll on her. I haven't seen Tyler, but he was never that close with Elena. It's different for her family. She was theirs. She belonged to them. They made her and raised her. Her mother didn't seem fine before, but she does now. So does her father.

I'm teaching Jeremy play the guitar. He lost his sister. I can't imagine losing Damon. He asked me do I still miss her, and I told him I can't imagine the day when I won't.

Caroline and me.. we got royally fucked up by her death, each in our own way.

Elena was Caroline's best friend. She hasn't had one ever since Elena died. Caroline, so friendly, so cheerful, always surrounded by people, has only me, and I live several states away from her.

Rebekah told me that losing your first love is especially hard. Because it's first, because it's sudden, because you're not familiar with the feeling. It gets easier afterwards, because you know what to expect. And Elena didn't just leave me, she.. left.

But Elena feels more than just my first love. I never got to fall out of love with her. I never got to stop loving her because we became too grown up, too different, too serious. Elena always felt like more to me.

She made me feel lucky. She made me feel complete. Like I'm done. Like I found it, whatever it is. Whatever people spend their whole lives searching for. She went away, but that feeling left.

Like she was the one.

I dated. Caroline set me up with one of her friends. She was too much like Elena, from the way she looked, to the way she talked. I didn't want anything to do with her. Rebekah set me up with one of her friends little sister who came to study at Whitmore. She's a year younger than me. She, on the other hand, was nothing like Elena, and I thought that dating someone like her would be such a huge slap to everything Elena was.

Whenever I tried to date someone, Elena was there as well. And that was the problem. My actual girlfriend became a third wheel in my relationship with a ghost.

Until I finally met Helen. I loved Helen. Or at least I think I did. It was very different from the way I loved Elena. Our relationship was different. When I was with her, Elena wasn't there. She broke up with me after three years. She told me I've always been too distant, I told her that that's bullshit. She left anyway.

I was so sad the day she left, like someone dug a hole in me. Tomorrow, I realized that she was right, I was too distant because when I woke up the, she was still gone, but I was okay with it.

One on the things on Elena's list was to leave a mark on this world. She didn't understand that she did it by her very existence. She didn't only leave a permanent mark on me, she left it on everyone who knew her. She didn't have to cure cancer or save a litter of kittens to become someone special, she was special just by being herself.

I take her list out of my drawer. I kept the original, and gave Caroline the copy.

Some things on there she crossed by herself.

Some things no one will ever be able to. Like, become a mum. Or write the most kickass wedding vows ever. Or eat the biggest waffle in the world.

On the other hand, some things we can do for her. Some things we already did.

I look over her list again, noticing how shaky her handwriting has gotten by the end.

I glance over at the clock. It says 09:56.

It's still 09:37 for me. It's always 09:37 for me.

I look at the last thing she has ever written.

I down my drink. Vodka. Lovely.

Now my throat hurts as well.

It's there, barely readable.

Last item on the list. Number 207. Stefan - be happy.

I'm working on it, baby. I'm working on it.

AN: And it's a wrap.

Firstly, I want to thank everyone who stuck with this story until the end. From the first to the last chapter, no matter when you started reading. This is probably the saddest story I've ever written, and sometimes it took me days to finish writing a chapter because I simply couldn't stop crying. I don't think I have anymore more strength, so my next story will probably be a happier one.

Secondly, I know a lot of you are disappointed with my decision about Elena's fate. I know a low of you wished and begged for her to live, to have a happy ending. The thing is, I started writing this story, knowing that she will die in the end. Of course, I often doubted it, because after only few chapters in I asked myself is it really wise to know her ending before I know her middle? The longer I wrote her, the more I knew that my initial decision was right - she has to die. This story was never really about Stefan and Elena having a happy ending. I wasn't trying to romanticize cancer. Hell, this story wasn't really all that much about them as a couple as much as it was about her. Elena was afraid to live because she thought living brings her closer to death, and this story was about her proving herself otherwise. Stefan was just a constant that made her see it. I didn't really want her to have a happy ending, or to live forever, but I did wanted her to live as much and as long as she was supposed to. If you don't understand that, or if you don't agree with it, I respect that.

Nevertheless, I really do hope you've enjoyed this story, and I hope you'll join me on the journey with the next one. I'll publish the first chapter sometime next week.