Outside the operating room, the red light was on.
Lin Zhilan leaned against the cold wall, clutching the pen tightly in her hands.
She could hear the frantic alarms of the machines, the muffled shouts of the doctors, and the shattering rhythm of her own heartbeat.
It felt like a century had passed.
The light went off.
The doctor removed his mask, his gaze evasive.
"I'm sorry. We did our best."
Her body froze, hollowed out.
She pushed open the door and walked to his bed.
Jiang Yuanchuan lay quietly, his pale face still carrying the faintest smile.
As if he had only fallen asleep.
She held his cold hand, tears streaming.
"Jiang Yuanchuan, didn't you promise me… that you'd stay with me till we grew old?"
Only silence answered.
With trembling fingers, she picked up the pen and wrote on the back of his hand:
**'If I meet you in the next life, please don't let go of my hand.'**
At that moment, she finally understood — forever was merely a cruel lie of fate.
Outside, the rain whispered softly, like the world mourning with her.