The Wrong Number Of Love

The next morning, Luna sat cross-legged on Liam's living room floor, a notebook and pen in hand. Liam was sprawled on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, watching her with a bemused smile.

"Alright," Luna announced, tapping the pen against her lips. "If we're doing this bucket list thing, it's got to be epic. No boring stuff like 'watch a sunset' or 'take a walk.' We're going all out."

Liam smirked. "Fine. But don't write down anything illegal. I'm not spending my remaining days in jail because you wanted to steal a penguin or something."

Luna laughed, her pen poised. "Noted. Okay, first idea: crashing a fancy party."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Bold". And how are we going to pull that off without getting caught?"

"Easy," Luna said, grinning. "We look amazing, act like we belong, and hope no one asks questions. What's next?"

They spent hours brainstorming ridiculous, heartfelt, and adventurous ideas. By the time they finished, their list included:

1. Dancing on a rooftop.

2. Singing karaoke in a crowded bar.

3. Skinny dipping in a frozen lake.

4. Trying every flavor of ice cream at the town's ice cream parlor in one sitting.

5. Building the world's tallest snowman.

As Luna wrote the final item, "chase a storm," Liam leaned over and gently tugged the notebook from her hands.

"Promise me one thing," he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "No regrets, okay? If we're doing this, we're doing it for the joy of it—not to feel sorry for ourselves."

Luna nodded, her throat tight. "No regrets."