The hospital lobby had thinned out as the morning went on, but Ryan hadn't moved from where he stood near the counter. His body was there, rigid and composed as ever, but his mind was a battlefield, every word Maya had thrown at him slicing back through his defenses like a blade.
"Do you think I don't have a life? That I'm… chasing after you for the thrill of it? You're not the center of my world."
The words slammed into him over and over, like a bell tolling in his head. For the first time in a long time, Ryan found himself unable to shut out someone's voice. Usually, he was good at it, tuning people out, closing doors in his mind, never letting anyone close enough to leave a mark. But her? Maya's trembling voice, her raw indignation, branded itself into him.
He leaned against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He could almost see her again, standing in front of him last night, her face streaked with anger and hurt, her eyes flashing with a pain she had tried so hard to mask.
"You said you ignored me… Maybe you did. But did you ever think about how cruel that feels? How demeaning it is to be treated like some insect buzzing around your head, not even worth a real answer?"
Ryan shut his eyes. He remembered the way he had looked straight at her then, his jaw hard, his voice cutting, and had thrown out the cruelest words without a flicker of hesitation:
"Wow, great story. If you think I will believe you and believe in your fake story and these emotions you try to copy from dramas, then I'm sorry. I wouldn't melt for you."
The memory made him wince now, physically, like someone had punched him in the gut. At the time, he had thought it was necessary to push her away with sharp edges to make her stop. He had convinced himself she was intruding, that she was some persistent girl with too much time on her hands. But now… Now he saw the truth.
She hadn't been chasing him. She hadn't been lurking behind every corner for him. She had been there for someone else. Someone who mattered to her, someone who was lying broken in a hospital bed. And in her grief, in her exhaustion, he had accused her of being pathetic.
He dragged a hand down his face, his throat tightening with something he couldn't name. Guilt, maybe. Shame, more likely.
Because he remembered everything about Maya before this.
She had been...God, how had he missed it? A girl made of sunlight. She used to smile so easily, laugh so openly. She had this way of making every space warmer, brighter, just by being in it. Even when he pretended to be annoyed, even when he kept her at arm's length, some stubborn part of him had noticed. Her presence was alive. And yet… he was the one to dim it.
Slowly, relentlessly, with every harsh word, every cold glance, every calculated dismissal, he had chipped away at her shine. When he saw her moving towards the entrance, for a moment, he didn't recognize her. She looked so different. The girl who just passed. Wasn't the type of Maya who simply smiled at everyone, even if that person may be a stranger. And at that moment, she didn't stop, she didn't see anyone, her eyes were glued to the marble floor. Her smile had faded.
He could still hear her broken voice echoing in his mind: "I wasn't following you; I was just existing near you. And maybe that was my mistake."
The words cut deep because they weren't just an accusation; they were resignation. The sound of someone who had finally given up fighting to be understood.
Ryan sank into one of the chairs in the waiting area, elbows braced on his knees, his fingers laced tightly together. His chest felt too heavy, like it was caving in under the weight of his own conscience. She had been trying. He could see it now, clear as day. She had been trying to connect, to reach out, to be seen. And he… he had crushed that effort under his heel like it was nothing.
He remembered the look on her face when he told her he had been ignoring her. "You can't even understand that I've been ignoring you, that I don't want to talk to you. Yet you keep pursuing me!"
At the time, he'd thought he was setting boundaries. Now, in hindsight, he realized all he had done was humiliate her. Dismiss her humanity. Reduce her to a nuisance instead of the vibrant woman she was.
The contrast twisted like a knife inside him. He had taken a girl who was sunshine, and he had made her rain. His mind wouldn't stop replaying it: Her voice breaking as she said, "You don't know me, Ryan. You never did."
He gritted his teeth and pressed his palms into his eyes. That line was the final nail. Because it was true. He didn't know her. He had never bothered to. He had painted her into some box, some caricature of a clingy girl, and refused to see beyond it.
Coward. That was the word echoing in his head now. He was a coward. It was easier to mock her, to push her away, than to admit that her presence rattled him. That she made him feel things he had long buried: curiosity, warmth, something dangerously close to comfort.
Now, though… Now he was left with the aftermath. With the knowledge that his words had wounded her so deeply that she looked like a stranger today, her brightness extinguished.
He thought of the Maya from weeks ago, laughing as she teased him in the cafe, eyes sparkling when she won some small argument. That wasn't the girl who once would have thrown a snarky remark his way just to see his reaction. And then he thought of the Maya from last night, eyes brimming with tears, her voice shaking as she finally pushed back, and when she finally told him the truth. The Maya who had ignored his existence at the counter wasn't the Maya he knew. That girl was gone. And the worst part? He had been the one to kill her.
Ryan exhaled shakily, leaning back against the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. He felt… hollow. He didn't dare to go after her or say something, anything. But what could he even say? Sorry, felt too small. Words couldn't erase the pain he'd caused. And for the first time in years, Ryan hated himself. And he didn't know if he could ever fix what he had destroyed.
The sun was just beginning to rise, brushing the sleepy streets with strokes of pale orange and faded pink. The city wasn't fully awake yet, newspaper boy, and a few early joggers filled the silence of dawn.
Alina walked slowly, her steps heavy against the pavement as if her body carried the weight of the nights without rest. Her hair was messy, strands falling from the bun she had clumsily tied hours ago, and her eyes red, swollen, and burned from holding back tears all night. She hugged her bag close, as though it were an anchor keeping her steady.
The narrow alleyway where she rented her little first-floor room was quiet. A flight of steep, uneven stairs led up to her door, separated from the main house where her landlord's family lived. Just as she placed her foot on the first step, a voice called out, sharp yet laced with concern.
"Hey, girl!"
Alina turned, startled, and found her landlady, an elderly woman, around seventy, standing near the doorway of the ground-floor house. She wore her faded nightgown, her hair tied back into a neat bun streaked with grey. Despite her age, her eyes were sharp, quick to notice everything.
"You're returning home so late?" the woman asked, eyebrows raised. "Or should I say early morning? Where were you? Don't tell me you were out at some party the whole night."
Alina forced a tired smile, shaking her head quickly. "No, aunty… nothing like that. One of my friends met with an accident. He was admitted to the hospital. I… I stayed there to look after things."
The landlady's expression softened, though her voice still carried that blunt, matter-of-fact tone she was known for. "Oh… that's unfortunate. But still, it's not safe for a girl to be outside the whole night. You know how dangerous this city has become. You should be careful."
Alina nodded politely, her throat tight. "Yes, aunty. I'll be careful."
There was a brief silence. Just when Alina thought she could escape upstairs without more questions, the woman spoke again. "By the way," she said firmly, "you remember it's your pay day, don't you? The rent is due today."
Alina froze for half a second before quickly replying, "Of course, aunty. I remember." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. Inside, panic crawled through her chest. She hadn't received her stipend yet, and the little she had saved. She can't ask for her pay from Maya as she is occupied by her friend. But she smiled, as though everything was perfectly in place.
The landlady narrowed her eyes, studying her carefully. She had seen countless tenants pass through over the years, and she could often tell when someone was struggling. "Hmm. Listen, if you're finding it hard to manage, I can give you a suggestion," she offered, her voice turning almost casual.
Alina tilted her head politely, though her heart hammered in her chest.
"Why don't you share this place with someone?" the old woman said. "Then you wouldn't have to bear the full burden of rent alone. You young girls do it all the time. Share and save. Simple."
Alina forced another smile. "Sure, aunty. I'll try."
The woman wasn't finished. "In fact," she added, "if you're not getting anyone on your own, I'll find someone for you. You still have that one empty bedroom, don't you? It's wasted space otherwise. Better to get a roommate than to carry all the weight yourself."
Alina's fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. She hated this conversation. Not because the woman was wrong, she was right, painfully so, but because it reminded Alina of the reality she kept trying to outrun. She was drowning, juggling expenses, responsibilities, dreams she hadn't yet given up on, and yet she was expected to smile and say, Yes, aunty. Everything is fine.
"I'll think about it," Alina murmured, her voice almost lost in the morning air.
Before the woman could reply, Alina quickly climbed the steps, her slippers tapping against the cement, each step faster than the last. She felt the old woman's eyes following her until she reached the top and fumbled with her keys.
The door creaked open, and the moment she slipped inside, she let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The silence of her little room wrapped around her like a blanket, but instead of comfort, it pressed down on her chest.
She dropped her bag on the chair, leaned against the closed door, and finally allowed her shoulders to slump. Her legs trembled from exhaustion, from holding herself together in front of people who could never understand the war she fought inside.
Alina sat on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, whispering almost like a prayer, "Just a little more.... Just a little more strength. Don't let me break now."
But her tears betrayed her, slipping silently down her cheeks as the city outside came alive with the sounds of morning.