The hallway outside the operating theatre was suffocating. The air smelled of antiseptic, too sharp and too clean, but underneath it was the heaviness of fear, the weight of time dragging its feet. Kai sat on the cold metal bench, his head bent forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced so tightly together that his knuckles turned white. His mask hid half his face, his cap pulled low. To anyone walking past, he ight lok like just another worried guardian waiting for the news. But inside him ... inside him was a storm
The fluorescent lights hummed above him, and every flicker of the red OT sign made his chest tighten. Inside, behind those double doors, a little girl was fighting for her life. He had told her he wouldn't leave. He had promised. And for once in his life, he wanted to be the kind of man who kept his promise.
''I'll wait for you.'' He had said it like it was simple. Waiting was something easy. But now, sitting here, Kai realized this wasn't just about her. It was about him, too.
Every few minutes, the OT doors would swing open, and a nurse would hurry in and out. Each time, Kai's heart leaped into his throat. But they never looked at him, never said his name, never gave him the words he was desperate to hear: "She's okay"
He saw her little hands trembling before the nurses wheeled her away, clutching the plushie he gave her like it was her lifeline. That image wouldn't leave him. It tore into him because, in her fear, he had seen himself. He leaned back against the cold wall, his chest tightening. His thoughts pulled him where he didn't want to go backward into the pieces of his past that he spent years looking away from. A memory rose unbidden.
He had been her age when he lost his mother. She was the only warmth in his world, the only soft voice in a house that always felt too big and too cold. He remembered the nights she used to tuck him into bed, brushing her finger through his hair, whispering, ''Good night, my brave boy'' Those words had been a shield against the darkness.
But one day, she was gone. Just ..... gone.
No warning, no gentle goodbye. One morning, she was humming while making breakfast, and in the next moment, there was only silence. He had stood there by his father's side, felt like stone. He kept waiting for his father to pull him close, to tell him it would be alright, to kiss his forehead like his mother used to.
But his father never did.
A small boy standing by a bedroom door, waiting. The door never opened. His father never came in. Night after night, he had waited for something as simple as a bedtime story, a hug, a kiss on the forehead. Something to remind him he wasn't just another responsibility on a long list. But all he got was silence.
Kai blinked hard, forcing the tears to stay where they were. Not now. Not here. He was exhaling shakily. The girl inside that OT wasn't his blood, yet she felt closer than anything had in years. Because he was healing a wound in her that he carried himself. A wound carved not by illness, but by absence.
She wanted him to be there, and he was. Something his own father had never given him.
The thought twisted inside him, sharp and cruel. His mother had passed away so early that he barely remembered her lullabies. After that, his father had buried himself in work. Endless meetings, business trips, and calls that never ended. To the world, he was a successful man. To Kai, he was a stranger who lived in the same house but never looked at him.
Money poured into the house, but warmth never did. He remembered staring at the expensive toys in his room, untouched, waiting for someone to play with him. He remembered the quiet sobs he stifled into pillows because a nanny's pat on the head was not the same as a mother's embrace. She couldn't fill the void. She wasn't his mother.
Kia grew up craving the simplest things other children had without asking: A hug at the end of a hard day, A hand ruffling his hair with pride. A voice that he craves. But it never came. All he got was silence.
And now, watching this girl cling to his words, Kai realized why his heart ached so much for her. He wasn't just keeping his promise to her; he was keeping a promise to his younger self. She shouldn't have to go through this. She should not know what it means to be this alone. The child inside him who still longed for someone to stay.
When she looked up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, clutching his hands, begging him not to leave, he had seen himself. A small boy begs his father with his eyes to just ... stay. To just be there and not to leave him alone over here in the big house. Kai never got that. But he wanted her to.
Kai closed his eyes, listening. Somewhere in the distance, a monitor beeped steadily. He imagined her tiny heartbeat syncing with that sound. He imagined her clutching the plushie, whispering in her head, He promised. He will wait.
He wanted to tell himself it was going to be alright, but he knew too well that life rarely worked that way. Life had a cruel way of ripping things away just when you thought you couldn't lose anymore. He clenched his jaw, afraid that if he let go, if he let himself hope too much, the universe would snatch her away too.
He remembered the nights he waited at the window for his father's car lights to appear in the driveway. Hours would pass, and Kai would fall asleep curled on the sofa, the ache of waiting his only companion. He remembered school events: plays, games, competitions where every child looked into the crowd, waved at their parents. And he...he stared at empty seats.
The bitterness of those memories carved deeper scars in his heart now. Because as he sat here, waiting for her, he realized he was giving her what he never had. He was healing a wound he didn't make.
Because if she lost, he knew a part of him would break with her. The OT doors didn't move. No one came out. Just silence. Heavy, suffocating silence. Kai leaned forward again, burying his face in his hands for a moment. The mask made his breathing shallow, but he didn't take it off. It felt like armor, thin and fragile, but still something.
He thought of how her eyes had widened when he promised her amusement parks. The innocence in her voice when she whispered, Deal. She had believed him without hesitation, without doubt.
And that was why he couldn't let her down. This wasn't just a fan's wish anymore. It was his vow. To her. To himself. To the child he once was. His throat burned. His chest felt hollow. But he stayed seated, unmoving, a silent sentinel outside the OT. Because he knew if she opened her eyes again, the first thing she would do is search for him. And when she did, he wanted to be there. Not gone. Not absent. Not another shadow like his father.
He wanted her to see that when he said I'll wait, he meant it. Even if it took all night. Even if it broke him inside. Even if it reminded him of every hug he never got. He tilted his head back against the wall, eyes closed, listening to the silence, fighting the storm inside him. Because this was his battle too. Not against illness. But against abandonment. And this time, he was determined to win.
Meanwhile, Maya sat on the bench. Same place where she was sitting before. Her fists clenched on her lap, nails digging into her palm. ''Who does he think he is?'' she whispered inside her chest. Her breath shook. ''Just because he's handsome… just because everyone looks at him … does that give him the right to say anything he wants?''
Her voice escaped before she could stop it."Who gave him the right to hurt me? To say things that cut so deep?"
The words trembled in the air, but they weren't enough to release the storm inside her. She bit her lower lip until she tasted salt, not sure if it was from blood or the tears threatening to spill. Her heart screamed louder than her voice. ''Who gave him the right to break my heart?''
The moment replayed in her head again and again the way his tone had shifted, the sharpness of his words, the indifference in his eyes. She wanted to believe it hadn't mattered, that she was strong enough not to care. But the truth sat heavily in her chest. His words mattered because he mattered.
Her shoulders shook as she whispered, "Who is he, to walk into my life, to tear down walls I've kept safe for years… and then crush me with just a few careless lines?"
The first tear slid down her cheek, warm against her cold skin. She wiped it quickly, angry at herself, but another came, and another, until her vision blurred. She buried her face in her palms, trying to muffle the sobs that clawed their way out.
"I hate him," she choked out. But even as she said it, the words twisted painfully. Because hate wasn't the whole truth. If it were only hate, it wouldn't hurt this much. Hate didn't keep her awake at night. Hate didn't make her chest ache when she thought of his smile, or the way his voice softened sometimes.
But she repeated it anyway, as if saying it enough times would make it real. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him."
Her body trembled, her heart fighting itself. Every beat reminded her of words that came from his mouth. She wanted to scream into the night sky, to ask why life was so unfair, why people who had the power to heal could also wound the deepest.
Maya hugged herself tightly, as though her arms could fill the emptiness inside. She had always thought she was strong, independent, untouchable. But now, sitting on that bench, with tears soaking her sleeves, she realized how fragile she really was.
If someone else said those words to her, she would have slapped him hard on the face, but why couldn't she slap him? Why couldn't she show him the karate moves?
And beneath all the anger, buried under her trembling breaths, one thought refused to leave her mind: Why does it hurt so much… only when it comes from him?