The seconds passed slowly, punctuated by the long, piercing sound of the heart monitor, a sound that cut through the silence of the room, as if announcing the end of a life's journey.
Zeice stood still, his gaze fixed on Daniella's motionless form.
The sound echoed through the air, a solemn declaration of an inevitable farewell.
Each passing second dissolved into the quiet, like the night breeze that carries away the remnants of a once-lively day.
Nurses and doctors entered with hurried footsteps, their movements brisk and urgent.
Yet Zeice remained unmoving, standing tall, his eyes locked on Daniella with a gaze heavy with unspoken depths.
A silence stretched between them, wider and deeper than the vastness of the universe itself.
He could feel the faint echo of Daniella's spirit slipping away, leaving nothing more to fight for.
"Do not," Zeice's voice emerged, soft yet resolute, carrying a weight that could not be denied.
"That is enough. Do not disturb the peace she has finally found."
A nurse, poised to act, hesitated before retreating in quiet deference.
Dr Bella, a woman whose eyes held both the sharpness of expertise and the softness of wisdom, regarded Zeice with a gaze heavy with unspoken questions.
Yet within Zeice's eyes lay an ocean of unfathomable depths, an abyss of calm that only loss could bestow, the kind of stillness that arrives when parting has woven its final thread.
It was a tranquillity no words could breach, a silence only those who have known the ache of true loss could ever understand.
"Daniella is gone," he said, his voice steadier now, like a river's current, unyielding and inevitable.
"Let her rest," he continued, his tone softening to something almost reverent, "in the peace she has sought for so long."
Dr Bella regarded him, uncertain, yet she sensed the profound depths beneath Zeice's words, an abyss where emotion ran too deep for the surface to betray.
There was no panic, no confusion, only a quiet, unyielding acceptance.
"Are you... truly certain?" she asked softly, her voice no louder than a whisper carried by the night breeze.
Zeice nodded slowly, "Sometimes... we must let go to make room for peace."
"Daniella… she has found the peace she's longed for," he answered, his voice steady and calm, each word carrying the weight of countless nights and fragile hopes.
"We cannot turn back time. Do not let your efforts bring her further pain."
Dr Bella lowered her head, a silent gesture of respect for Zeice's decision.
The nurse present offered a quiet nod, recognising that there was nothing more to be done.
And so, they withdrew like shadows that knew when a battle could no longer be fought.
Zeice remained, standing by Daniella's bedside.
His hand, now cold and hollow, gently cradled hers, as though he sought to pour every ounce of strength he had left into her, a final offering of love as she slipped beyond his reach.
The world outside might continue to spin, but here, in this quiet room, there was only Zeice and Daniella, two souls once intertwined by fate, now parting in a silence too vast for words.
"Go now, Daniella," he whispered softly, his voice lingering in the stillness, fragile as a farewell carried on the wind.
"Let your soul be free, free to soar to a place of peace. I will hold your memory in every breath I take. Farewell… my sunset."
And in that whisper like a breeze brushing against the edge of eternity, he released her, guiding Daniella's spirit toward a gentler world.
No more struggle. No more pain.
Only peace, perfect and unbroken in the hush of that final moment.
*****
A pair of footsteps, light and hesitant, echoed down the hospital corridor.
Each step trembled beneath the weight of an unspoken sorrow, drawing her closer to a truth she was not yet ready to face.
Her hands, still cold from clutching her phone, hung limp at her sides as she paused at the doorway, caught between the impulse to enter and the fear of what awaited her beyond.
Tracy swallowed hard.
There, upon the stark white bed, surrounded by the heavy hush of grief, Daniella lay still, too still.
The breath that had once stirred life within her had faded into silence, leaving only an emptiness that words could never hope to fill.
For a moment, Tracy did not move. Something deep within her faltered, an ache that clutched at her heart and held her rooted to the spot.
Her breath came unevenly, rising and falling in shallow bursts, a lingering echo of the panic that had gripped her when she had made the call.
It was her voice, trembling and raw, that had pleaded with the ambulance to hurry.
It was her hands that had shaken as she reached for Daniella, finding her crumpled on the floor, so fragile, so still.
And it was her feet that had carried her, swift and desperate, through the crowd in search of help.
But none of it had been enough.
Now, as the silence stretched out before her, all she could do was stand there, helpless against the cold finality of what had already passed.
At last, her feet carried her forward, slow, uncertain, each step a painful reminder of what could no longer be undone.
When she reached the bedside, her hand lifted as if to touch, but faltered mid-air, trembling with the weight of her hesitation.
Daniella's face was calm, too calm. Gone was the anguish that had twisted her features when her breath had faltered.
No more pain. No more struggle. Only an eerie, heart-wrenching stillness, a stillness that felt too vast, too absolute.
Tracy pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders trembling as a sob broke free, soft and fractured, as though the very act of speaking might shatter her.
"I should have stayed…" Her voice, scarcely louder than a breath, trembled through the quiet.
"I should never have left you alone…"
Tears slipped down her cheeks, falling onto fingers that had once been so full of life, fingers that had gripped a coffee cup with familiar ease, that had moved deftly behind the counter, that had reached for her hand when dreams felt close enough to touch.
Now, those same fingers lay still, cold and unyielding beneath her touch.
There would be no more laughter echoing through Drost Café.
No more teasing complaints about bitter coffee or over-sweetened lattes.
No more familiar voice, bright and warm, cutting through the noise of the world.
Only silence. And the crushing weight of all the things left unsaid.
Zeice remained where he stood, his gaze steady, unreadable, yet something in his eyes held a depth that words could not reach.
Dr Bella said nothing, her silence heavy with the understanding that there were no remedies for this kind of pain.
The world moved on outside these walls, but here, in this quiet room, grief lingered, heavy and inescapable.
Tracy's fingers curled into trembling fists, as if by sheer force of will she might hold the pain at bay.
But no amount of wanting could change what was already lost.
If time had been kind, she would have stayed. She would have held Daniella's hand until the very end.
But time is never kind.
And now, Daniella was gone, leaving nothing behind but a hollow ache and the ghost of a smile that would never greet her again.
*****
All formalities had been completed, and Daniella's body had been tended to with the cold precision of institutional routine.
Yet the silence that followed was heavier, an unspoken grief that clung to the hospital corridor like a shadow.
Zeice remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the polished floor, distant, unreadable.
Tracy had already gone. Her steps, slow and heavy, carried the weight of a sorrow too vast for words.
Dr Bella lingered a moment longer, watching him with a curiosity she could no longer suppress.
At last, she stepped forward, her heels striking softly against the sterile tiles.
"I'm sorry…" Her voice, though smooth, held the faint tremor of something deeper, an interest that could not be disguised.
She hesitated, as if sifting through the many questions crowding her mind.
Zeice turned his head slightly, his face impassive.
"Are you… a literature student?" she asked at last, her tone light but probing, curiosity sharpening the edges of her words.
"Or perhaps… a writer?"
For a moment, he did not answer. The air between them hung still and weighted, as though every word spoken earlier still echoed through the empty room.
"What makes you think that?" His voice, when it came, was calm, too calm, without a trace of vanity or surprise.
Dr Bella crossed her arms lightly, her gaze never wavering from his.
"The way you speak," she said quietly.
"About death. About parting. About peace. Those are not the words of someone unfamiliar with grief. And certainly not the words of a man untouched by language."
A breath escaped him, soft, almost resigned. Then, with a faint inclination of his head, he spoke.
"I am a literature student, Doctor," he admitted at last, the faintest trace of a smile brushing his lips.
"And… a writer."
Something shifted then, an honesty laid bare beneath his usual reserve.
Dr Bella tilted her head, her curiosity deepening, "So that's it," she murmured, as if speaking more to herself than to him.
"You don't merely speak. You craft your words, each one as though it carries a weight no one else can bear."
A shadow of a smile crossed Zeice's face, brief, fleeting.
"Writing," he said, his tone quieter now, "is not simply arranging words, Doctor." His gaze lifted, steady and unwavering.
"Sometimes, it's the only way to give voice to wounds too deep to be spoken aloud."
For a while, she said nothing, only studied him with the keen eye of someone accustomed to unravelling puzzles.
And in him, she sensed a puzzle she could not yet solve.
At last, with a note of hesitation, she asked, "And… your pen name?"
There was a silence, brief but deliberate, before he replied.
"The Last Ink."
The words struck her like a breath stolen from her lungs.
Her composure faltered, just for a moment.
"The Last Ink…" she echoed, the name falling from her lips like something half-remembered, half-believed.
He inclined his head, as if the name meant nothing at all.
But to her, it meant everything.
The Last Ink, a name that had once felt like a whisper in the dark.
A writer whose words had slipped beneath her skin, carving truths she had not known she carried.
His writing had made her pause, made her ache.
And on some nights, when the world had grown too heavy, his words had felt like the only thing holding her together.
And now, he stood before her.
Zeice offered nothing more, no explanation, no pride, only silence.
It took her a moment longer to gather herself. Even then, her voice was softer, edged with something fragile.
"So… it's you," she murmured, as if she had glimpsed something both extraordinary and impossible.
He did not answer. There was only the faintest curve of his lips, a ghost of a smile, before he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the hush of the hospital corridor, heart pounding with the weight of what she had just discovered.