The red light above the OT door had burned all night, a constant reminder of the thin line between life and loss. Kai hadn't moved much from his seat on the hard bench outside. His back hurt, his neck stiffened, and his eyes burned from sleeplessness, but none of it mattered. He sat there, unmoving, mask still in place, cap pulled low, like a stone carved into human form.
He didn't count the hours, but he felt them crawl through his bones. At times, the silence was so heavy it pressed on his chest. Other times, the shuffle of nurses' feet or the beeping from distant monitors broke it, only to leave him drowning in it again. And then finally, the red light above the OT flickered off. The doors swung open.
Kai didn't rise to his feet. He didn't lurch forward like his body begged him to. He stayed seated, hands clasped together so tightly that the crescent marks of his nails dug into his palms. The doctor stepped out, peeling off his gloves, fatigue written in every line of his face. He looked around, scanning for the person who had been waiting. His eyes landed on Kai.
For a moment, the world shrank into that silence. "Successful," the doctor said, his voice calm but weighted with exhaustion. "We need to wait, still, she wakes up."
The words echoed, slow and heavy, as if they had to fight through the thickness in Kai's chest to reach him. Okay. Out of danger. Relief should have surged through him like a flood. He should have exhaled, maybe even smiled. But Kai didn't move. He didn't ask a question, didn't let his voice tremble the way it wanted to.
He simply sat there, staring at the floor. His fingers flexed once, unclasping, then locking together again. His chest rose in a long, silent breath, the only sign that he had heard.
The doctor gave a small nod, as though he understood this silence, this strange restraint. "She's a fighter."
Fighter. The word struck him harder than anything. He had told her that. He had made her promise it. She had kept her side of the promise. And here he was, keeping his. He had stayed.
The doctor waited, maybe expecting an emotion, or some expression, anything but Kai only lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment. He couldn't trust his voice. If he spoke, even a word, it would break the wall he had built inside himself all these years. And he couldn't let it break here, in front of strangers.
The doctor placed a hand briefly on Kai's shoulder. A quiet gesture of respect. Then he left, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Kai leaned back against the cold wall, his head tilted upward. His mask hid the tremor in his jaw, the twitch at the corner of his lips. His throat ached as though it had swallowed glass. His eyes burned, but no tears fell. He wouldn't let them. Not here. Not now. The corridor returned to silence, but it wasn't the same crushing silence as before. This one felt different, lighter, yet lonelier. He let out one breath, so quiet no one would notice. A breath that carried everything he hadn't said out loud: the fear, the ache, the helplessness, the relief.
She was safe. She had fought. And for once in his life, Kai had waited for someone and seen them come back. But he carried it all inside, as he always had. Hidden. Untouched. Guarded.
Because that was who he was.. A man who healed wounds he hadn't made, and bore the weight of emotions he'd never show.
The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the wide glass windows of the hospital lobby. It was the kind of light that usually promised warmth, but here it only revealed exhausted faces pale with sleepless nights, slumped shoulders of families waiting for news, the bitter smell of disinfectant clinging to every breath.
Ryan stood at the counter, one hand shoved deep into his pocket while the other absently tapped against the polished wood. He wasn't the type to linger in hospitals—he hated their sterile air, their suffocating silence, but today, for reasons he couldn't quite name, he stayed longer than he should have. The receptionist handed him the receipt for the payment he'd made for the little girl's treatment. He didn't look at it; he simply folded it once and slid it into his pocket.
Just as he turned to leave, voices drifted to him from nearby: two nurses chatting in low tones behind the desk. At first, he ignored them. He wasn't one to care about gossip. But certain words snagged his attention like hooks.
"405 Bed patient… accident… girlfriend…" He paused.
"Did someone come for the 405 patient?" one nurse asked, adjusting her cap.
"Someone came for him," the other replied softly, almost conspiratorially. "Yeah, she seems to be his girlfriend. She was crying so much. The whole night she was weeping. Her eyes were swollen red, her voice shaking, but she refused to leave him alone."
Ryan froze, his brows pulling together. He wasn't sure why his feet suddenly rooted to the spot, but he couldn't move. Couldn't stop listening.
"Really? That much?" the first nurse asked again, leaning closer.
"Yes," the second nurse sighed, glancing over her shoulder as if remembering the scene. ''Seeing her crying so much, I asked her what had happened, and she replied, "I'm broken". Honestly, he's so lucky to find such a girl. Anyone would want someone like that to love them."
The first nurse chuckled. "Umm, seems interesting."
Ryan clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the edge of the counter. He didn't know why the words stung. Why the picture of some faceless girl weeping through the night for another man's pain made something sharp twist inside his chest. ''Lucky guy'' the nurse had said. A man who had someone crying for him, holding his broken pieces together. Ryan had no such person. He never had. Before his thoughts could spiral further, footsteps echoed lightly across the marble floor.
Maya.
She came from the corridor that led to the wards, walking with a stiffness that betrayed how drained she was. Her hair, usually tied neatly, fell messily around her shoulders. Her top was slightly creased, and she clutched her bag tightly to her side as if it were her only anchor. Her eyes, though, were what betrayed her red-rimmed, swollen, the kind that had wept quietly in corners until tears ran out, but the ache stayed. She looked like a storm had passed through her, and she hadn't yet found shelter.
Ryan's gaze followed her unconsciously. A thousand words rose in his throat, sharp, confused, demanding, but when she finally spotted him at the counter, her reaction was swift and cold. She didn't flinch. She didn't greet him. She didn't even blink in recognition.
She just… looked away. As if he wasn't there. As if last night's shouting, the moments that broke between them, never existed.
Maya's chin lifted slightly, her steps quickening as she brushed past the counter, ignoring his entire existence. She carried herself with the dignity of someone wounded but unwilling to show the wound.
Ryan's lips pressed into a thin line. He stood still, his fists shoved deeper into his pockets. Pretending. Pretending he didn't notice her either. Pretending she wasn't the same girl who had once shared coffee with him, her laughter tucked between their words, her eyes soft and knowing. Pretending she wasn't the same woman he had just accused of following him, of not understanding boundaries. And for one terrifying second, the distance between them felt wider than any room could measure.
The nurse nudged her colleague, her voice a little too loud this time. "See, is that the one you're talking about?"
The second nurse followed her gaze and nodded. "Yeah. That's her. His boyfriend had an accident last night. He was badly injured. She cried all night for him. Look at her...her eyes are still swollen. She must love him so much."
Ryan's eyes flicked back to Maya, but she was already at the door, her silhouette swallowed by the light outside. His chest tightened. The words rang in his ears. She must love him so much.
But all he could think was For whom?
The irony burned. The woman he had thought was trailing him, intruding into his life, was instead breaking down for someone else. Someone she loved enough to cry herself hollow for. Someone who wasn't him. And yet… why did that knowledge hurt like betrayal?
Ryan turned back to the counter, his reflection faintly visible in the polished wood. His face was calm, too calm. But his knuckles were white against his skin. He wanted to scoff, to dismiss it. To tell himself it didn't matter. But deep down, under layers of pride and irritation, something unsettled stirred. For the first time in a long while, Ryan felt… replaced.