The ward light glowed dimly, the faint smell of disinfectant heavy in the air.
Manida hadn't slept all night.
She sat motionless beside the bed, sinking with Parin into the suffocating darkness.
The doctor's words still echoed:
"Her condition is extremely fragile. Even the smallest shock could be fatal."
Manida gripped Parin's hand tightly, her eyes bloodshot.
The poised, graceful professor had vanished — what remained was a woman terrified of losing the person she loved most.
"Parin, can you hear me?" she whispered.
"I promised you — no more misunderstandings, no more loneliness. So you have to come back to me, okay?
Because without you… I can't go on."
At her words, Parin's brows twitched. A pained groan escaped her lips.
"Parin?"
Manida leaned forward anxiously.
Slowly, Parin opened her eyes. Her voice was faint, barely more than a breath.
"Manida… don't cry…"
Tears streamed down Manida's cheeks. She pulled Parin into her arms, holding her as if to fuse them together.
But before relief could settle, Parin began coughing violently — blood spilling once more.
"Doctor! Doctor—!"
Manida's scream tore through the silence as she hit the emergency button.
Doctors rushed in, pushing her aside again.
Manida sank to the floor, trembling, covering her face with shaking hands as tears leaked through her fingers.
She wanted to run to Parin's side — but she knew she'd only be in the way.
The surgical lights flared on again, casting a harsh glow across her tear-streaked face.
Wrapped in terror and despair, she made a silent vow.
"If fate insists on taking you… then take me too.
I won't ever let go of your hand again."
Outside, thunder roared. The wind howled against the hospital windows, as if the entire world were collapsing with her.