It was a peaceful, sunny day in a small, landlocked country somewhere in Southeast Europe. The country itself didn't boast great wealth or size, nor was its population anything to write home about. And yet, what it did have, some might say, was far more important: natural beauty, rich history, and a certain charm that drew in tourists from abroad. Even the locals—aware of its humble status—loved it fiercely. Most wouldn't trade it for all the riches in the world.
Well… not everyone felt the same.
"Of course, of course! Why wouldn't this happen? In this godforsaken country, I wouldn't be surprised if the sun itself just gave up and fell out of the sky!"
The voice belonged to a young woman in her early twenties named Anna. She was marching down the busy capital streets, muttering to herself and drawing the occasional curious glance. Her name, like her looks, wasn't particularly remarkable. In fact, there wasn't much about her that stood out—no better, no worse than anyone else you'd pass on the street.
Goddamn it, the tire just had to blow out. How does a bus tire even pop like that? I swear, the ones on my old bicycle lasted longer.
Still fuming, she made her way to a small bakery and paused outside.
Good thing I saved a little from my last paycheck… for emergencies. Yeah, that's what I told myself. You never know when you'll need a rainy day fund. Well, this counts—hospital bills, upcoming surgery, daily expenses… My poor little savings.
The bills weren't for her. They were for her grandfather—the man who raised her after her parents died in a virus outbreak ten years ago. He was now struggling with serious heart issues and needed a pacemaker. Expensive, but necessary.
At least I've scraped together enough to cover it. Thank god for that. And if it came down to it? Sure, I'd beg. Borrow. Work three jobs. Whatever it takes. He's all I've got.
She stepped inside the bakery and bought two lemon pies. Her grandfather's favorite. She wasn't a fan, but she could tolerate them for his sake. Carrying the warm bag, she walked toward the hospital with a somber look and mumbled under her breath:
"I'd die for him."
Eventually, the surly girl arrived at the hospital. A friendly nurse met her at the entrance and guided her to the new room, smiling warmly. Anna followed behind, dragging her feet and silently judging.
What's with this woman? Full face of makeup—really? In a hospital? No wonder there are so many heart patients around here. If this clown walked into my room, I'd probably flatline too.
The nurse stopped and gestured to the door.
"Here we are, Miss Anna. Your grandfather's been moved to this room—more space, fewer people."
Anna blinked, her thoughts interrupted. "Oh… right. Thanks."
The nurse gave her a gentle look and lowered her voice.
"Of course. Just try to keep things quiet and not stay too long. The patients need their rest."
With that, she walked off.
Anna, now alone in front of the door and slightly irritated, grumbled to herself.
Yeah, yeah. I'm not about to burst in screaming like a lunatic.
She opened the door and stepped inside. The room was simple—four beds total, two on each side. Only the right side was occupied. As expected, one of them held her grandfather. The other… well, she didn't care. She made a beeline for her grandfather with a faint smile.
"Hi, Grandpa."
The old man was on the shorter side, though his sturdy frame hinted at a life of hard labor. His hands were large and calloused—he could easily wrap one around her entire head. But age had caught up with him: gray hair, dry, weathered skin, and deep lines etched into his face.
He looked at her for a moment, turned away thoughtfully, and said, "Hmm… I don't know you, little girl. You must be in the wrong room."
She stared at him, then raised a brow. "Ah, I see. My mistake. Sorry to bother you."
She turned to leave, then paused dramatically. "It's just… I bought lemon pies for my grandpa. He loves them, so I rushed over before they got cold. Guess I took a wrong turn…"
The old man snapped to attention. "Wait! Anna, is that you, kid? Oh man, old age must be catching up with me. I can't believe I didn't recognize my own granddaughter. What a terrible grandpa I am."
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Yeah… truly awful. Just terrible."
He chuckled. "You're right. But then again, it's not that easy to remember someone who hasn't visited in two whole weeks, now is it?"
He shook his head, then brightened, his eyes twinkling like a kid's.
"Anyway, that doesn't matter now. Did you really bring lemon pies?"
She couldn't help but smile.
Did I say I'd die for him? Scratch that—I might kill him myself.
She sighed. "Yeah, here. But don't eat it all at once. Save some for later."
She handed him one of the pies and sat beside him. As he dug in with childish glee, she glanced around the room. It wasn't big, but it was spotless. The unoccupied beds were neatly made, covers folded with military precision.
Well, that's the least they can do. Cleanliness is kind of the bare minimum.
Then, almost absentmindedly, she turned her head to the other patient in the room—just past her grandfather, near the window.
At least Grandpa has someone to keep him compa—
She froze.
"Oh my…"
Her hand shot up to cover her mouth.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
She stared at the boy in the bed by the window.
Where did he come from?
Anna was suddenly reminded of how cruel life could be.
He sat upright, propped against his pillow, gazing out the window with a vacant expression and a small, unreadable smile. He wasn't old. Not even close. He looked like he was around her age—maybe a couple of years younger.
But what really stood out—what made her heart skip for a second—was how striking he looked.
What the hell is someone like him doing here?
His hair was black and slightly overgrown, the longest strands brushing the back of his neck, shorter ones framing his ears and just reaching his dark eyebrows. It was somehow messy and immaculate at the same time. The contrast between his jet-black hair and his ghostly pale skin was startling. His build was lean—too lean. Either an athlete… or seriously unwell. He looked fragile, like a strong breeze could knock him over.
Don't even get me started on his face. What's the point...
Even from the side, it was clear he was handsome. Not just "good-looking," but almost androgynously beautiful. His sharp cheekbones, soft features, and full lips gave him an ethereal quality. Not quite masculine. Not quite feminine. Just—
"Beautiful…" she murmured.
Damn it. I said it again.
She snapped herself out of it and looked at her grandfather, covering the left side of her face with her hand.
"Pssst! Who is that?" she whispered.
The old man paused mid-bite and glared at her, annoyed to be interrupted during his pastry bliss. Then he followed her gaze and frowned.
"Ah, that little rude bastard…"
Her eyes widened. "Rude bastard?"
He let out a long sigh. "Yep. Rudest kid I've ever met."
"What did he do to you?"
She felt a flare of protective anger.
I don't care how pretty you are. If you messed with my grandpa, you're going down.
"Nothing," the old man said flatly.
"Huh?"
"I said nothing. Ever since I moved into this room, that kid hasn't said a word. Just sleeps, eats, plucks his eyebrows, and stares out the damn window. I've tried starting a conversation—several times—but he won't even look at me. Doesn't say a single thing. That's why he's the rudest little bastard I've ever met. I honestly forgot he was even here until you pointed him out."
"Oh… I see."
Anna felt a wave of relief. It was good to know no one had been bothering her grandfather.
Dragan, however, sat quietly, staring down at the slice of pie she had brought him. He hadn't touched it. After a long silence, he finally said, "You know… maybe I'm just fooling myself, calling that boy rude. Maybe I just didn't want to see the truth."
"What do you mean?" Anna asked, curious.
He shrugged. "I honestly don't know. No one ever told me why he's here."
Then, lowering his voice and gesturing for her to come closer, he leaned in and whispered, "If I had to guess… I think he might be deaf and mute. Poor kid."
A moment later, a calm but clear voice cut through the air.
"You know I'm neither deaf nor mute, you old sack of shit."
Anna and Dragan both froze, eyes wide, looking at each other. Neither of them had spoken those words.
Slowly, they turned toward the bed by the window.
The young man sat there, arms wrapped around his knees, his chin resting on top. Jet-black hair fell over his pale gray hospital pants. His gray eyes seemed distant, unfocused, like he was staring through the wall. Then, a slow, unsettling smile spread across his lips—equal parts graceful and eerie.
"But you're right, old man," he said softly. "I can be pretty rude sometimes."