"Please serve her these medicines when she wakes up."
"Yeah, I will."
Once again, he gave that hypnotic smile to the nurse practitioner. Shockingly, she started to nosebleed. What are you, man?
Settling into the chair, Tristian began peeling an apple for Varunie. Halfway through his task, a soft moan reached his ears. Startled, he snapped his gaze up, only to find Varunie lying helplessly on the bed—her face turned slightly toward him. Her breathing was light and pure, as soft as cotton. Though still asleep, she was murmuring.
He leaned in carefully, straining to catch her words.
"Cahya... It wasn't—"
Before she could finish, she felt something brush against her lips. Jolting awake, she shrieked, mistaking Tristian's ear for something out of a nightmare.
"Aah! Who—who are you?!"
"Ouch... my ear..." Tristian groaned. Seeing his familiar face, Varunie blinked in astonishment. Embarrassed, Tristian turned around, scanning the room as if someone else might have caused the commotion. Realizing the misunderstanding, he slowly approached and whispered,
"Did I startle you, Varunie?"
Regaining composure, she responded calmly, "Not much, Mr. Tristian."
He chuckled and sat back down, studying her distant expression.
"A penny for your thoughts?"
She didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on the table, reaching for the apple slices. Swiftly, Tristian grabbed the plate away.
"Puzzled?" he teased. "Answer my question first, Varunie."
She sighed, withdrawing her hand. Staring at the door, she muttered,
"Why am I in a hospital? Wasn't I supposed to be somewhere else?"
Tristian silently placed the plate in front of her, his eyes dimming slightly.
Brightening suddenly, he said, "You passed out. The doctor thinks it was due to exhaustion or stress. Are you getting enough sleep?"
Her mood shifted instantly. Rage flickered across her face. Clenching her fists, she shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
"Do I look like a joke to you, Tristian?"
Grinding her teeth, she hissed, "Answer me."
Before Tristian could gather his words, a voice broke through the tension.
"When answers are demanded, let me give you one, Varunie Blake."
A man leaned casually against the doorframe, his glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights.
"Paxton? What the hell are you doing here?!" Tristian exclaimed.
Ignoring Tristian entirely, Paxton sauntered toward Varunie, hands in his pockets, voice low and rough.
"Remember me?"
Frozen, Varunie could only tremble under his intense gaze.
"I—" she stammered.
Paxton cut her off sharply. "Another excuse? Don't you ever get tired of lying, Blake?!"
With a bang, he smashed the plate of apples to the ground. Tristian lunged to restrain him, gripping his wrist tightly by the bedside.
"Paxton! What's your problem?!"
Confused and overwhelmed, Varunie clutched her head between trembling palms. How did I end up between these two?
Tristian wrapped a steady arm around her shoulders, murmuring softly, "Blake, are you okay?"
Nodding weakly, she dared a glance at Paxton. His eyes burned with hatred, not a trace of pity left.
Gathering herself, Varunie lifted her chin and spoke firmly, "I don't appreciate you barging into my room, Paxton. Especially not when I'm in no state to deal with violence."
He scoffed and leaned closer.
"As if I enjoy causing a scene," he snarled.
But when he thought he had intimidated her, she stunned him—grabbing him by the collar and yanking him down to her level.
"I'm not the girl you once knew, Paxton. I'm not running anymore. I deserve an explanation—for everything your family took from me."
Silence choked the room. Then Paxton smirked, an evil gleam in his eyes.
"You do, Varunie Blake. And trust me... this is just the beginning. I'll be there to end it all."
He turned on his heel and stormed out.
Sighing sharply, Varunie met Tristian's stunned gaze.
"Never seen an angry woman before?" she teased.
He shrugged sheepishly. "At least, not you."
Scooping up the broken plate and apples into the trash, he tried to lighten the atmosphere by peeling an orange. Watching her gaze drift toward the wide window, he asked,
"How do you know Paxton?"
Instead of answering, Varunie turned to him, her voice heavy with weariness.
"I don't even know who you are, Tristian. I don't know why I'm here, or why Paxton stormed in. I have so many questions... yet you keep dodging them."
He lowered his gaze, guilty and helpless.
"I know you lied to me earlier," she whispered.
"Huh?"
"I wasn't simply 'exhausted.' There's something you're hiding."
Tristian said nothing, peeling the orange in silence. Placing it on the table, he muttered,
"I need a smoke. I'll be back in twenty minutes."
"Mm," she replied faintly, lost in her own thoughts.
As soon as he left, a searing pain struck her chest. She clutched at it desperately, gasping for breath—but her body betrayed her. Her limbs fell limply against the bed. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn't move.
She was paralyzed.
Is this the end? Have I finally lost everything?
Darkness swallowed her.
I guess... I'm already dead.
---
"What? Never seen a lively person before?" Tristian's voice jolted her back.
Varunie blinked rapidly, her heart thundering. Had she really died?
Disoriented, she accepted a glass of water he offered—only to recoil in horror. The glass was filled with red liquid and... eyeballs.
Frozen in terror, she watched as Tristian's smiling face warped into something monstrous.
Her vision blurred.
"BLAKE!"
"ARGH!"
She shot upright, gasping for air. Her wild eyes scanned the white hospital room.
"Are you alright, Varunie?" Tristian rushed to her side.
Shaking, she burst into tears. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a protective embrace.
"There, there... It's alright," he murmured, stroking her hair with tender care. His voice was a soothing balm to her fractured heart.
---
Later, outside the room...
"Will the medicine help with her disorder?" Tristian asked the doctor quietly.
The doctor hesitated. "We may not cure her, but she can live... until her wings are strong enough."
Swallowing his despair, Tristian returned to her side, lost and desperate.
Watching her frail form, he felt useless—powerless to save her.
Suddenly, Varunie stirred, struggling to sit up.
"You should rest—"
She raised a hand to silence him. Leaning back against the pillow, her eyes searched the horizon outside the window—the only thing wide and free enough to give her hope.
"You seem more worried about my disease than I am," she said quietly.
Tristian's heart dropped.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Varunie—"
"Don't lie. I heard the doctor."
Silence thickened between them.
His mind screamed with guilt, his heart wrenched by the echoes of her anguish.
Lowering his head, he whispered hoarsely,
"Live. Not for those who only want a hollow version of you. Live for yourself. Even if no one else does... you must fill the cracks inside you.
Live, Varunie Blake. Don't give up.
I can't promise forever—but I'll stay until you don't need me anymore."
Her heart stilled—not racing, not pounding—but pausing, absorbing every word. For once, she didn't feel like a broken thing... but a human being, deserving of life.
With trembling fingers, she tugged lightly at the edge of his sleeve. He glanced at her, startled.
"I won't die," she said, her voice firm. "I have questions left to answer. I will live—long and loud."
She smiled through bittersweet tears, and Tristian felt both relief and awe.
"Do you know what's worse than dying?" she added softly.
"....?"
"Living a life no one ever wanted to live."