Seraphina's Point of View
"This can't be happening… This isn't true… this… this is fake."
My voice sounded foreign to me, like it belonged to someone else, someone trapped in a nightmare they couldn't wake from. The sterile smell of antiseptic and cold air conditioning made my stomach turn. The words trembled in the air, fragile, desperate, but the paper in my hand didn't lie. It was white, crisp, official, and utterly cruel.
The doctor sat across from me, elbows on his mahogany desk, fingers laced tightly like he was afraid of his own words. His nameplate gleamed under the fluorescent light: Dr. Henderson. I couldn't meet his eyes for long; they were too kind, too pitying.
"Miss Seraphina…" he began, but his voice was already shaking, already apologizing before he even said the words.
I cut him off, pressing the report against my chest as though I could crush it, erase it, make it dissolve into dust. "You're lying. This… this can't be right. Maybe it's a mix-up or a system error or…" I laughed, the sound sharp and hollow. "Maybe the machine's broken, huh? Tell me it's broken, doctor. Tell me it's wrong."
His silence was heavier than a confession.
The ticking clock on the wall sounded louder than my heartbeat, counting down seconds I suddenly realized I didn't have.
Dr. Henderson exhaled slowly, his expression softening, a man used to giving bad news but never this kind. "I wish I could say that, Miss Seraphina. I truly do. But the tests were repeated… twice. The scans confirm it. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do about it."
His words sank into me like knives.
I stared at him blankly. Nothing. No cure. The phrase echoed in my skull, over and over, until it hollowed me out.
"You have less than six months left to live," he continued, voice measured, gentle, as though that would make it easier to digest. "Or even less, depending on how fast the condition progresses. If we're… fortunate," his tone faltered, "you may have a year."
I blinked. Once. Twice. Then the air burst out of me in a sharp, broken laugh.
"A year?" The word cracked like glass. "You call that fortunate? A year?"
I laughed harder, the sound growing louder, wilder, until it twisted into something ugly. The tears came without warning… hot, fresh, angry tears that blurred everything. My chest hurt from laughing, from crying, from feeling.
"What's the difference if I'm going to die anyway?" I whispered through clenched teeth. My voice shook, thick with fury and despair. "Six months, a year, five years, what does it matter? It's still death, isn't it?"
He didn't answer. His face said everything. The kind of face that doctors wear when they've already played God one too many times and lost.
Dr. Henderson sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know this is difficult to hear, Miss Seraphina. There are treatments… experimental options, palliative care, that can ease the symptoms, buy you time…"
"Time?" I snapped. "Buy me time? Time for what? To count down the days until I stop breathing?"
He looked like he wanted to argue, to convince me there was still hope buried somewhere in the medical jargon, but I could see it in his eyes… there wasn't. He was only trying to make my fall less brutal.
I stared at the paper again, at the black letters dancing across the white page. The words blurred together: Stage IV. Terminal. Inoperable.
Terminal.
The word hit me harder than any heartbreak ever could.
My mind flashed through moments like a film reel… my laughter, my mother's smile, sunlight through the kitchen window, nights spent dreaming about a future I'd never reach. It all folded into nothing. Just shadows.
The silence stretched. The room felt smaller, colder.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Henderson whispered again, his voice barely above a breath. "But there's no cure."
Something inside me cracked.
No cure.
No miracle.
Just an expiration date.
I pressed a trembling hand to my chest as if I could hold myself together, but it was useless. My heart was beating too fast, too loud, like it was trying to outrun the truth.
My lips parted, but the words wouldn't come. What was there to say? "Why me"? "What did I do"? The universe didn't care.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, tears splattering the medical report. My fingers tightened around the edges until the paper creased, wrinkled, tore slightly under the pressure.
"I'm twenty-four," I said finally, the words small, brittle. "I haven't even lived yet."
The doctor didn't look at me. He couldn't.
I laughed again, weaker this time, the sound dissolving into a sob. "I haven't even experienced the true meaning of being in love yet," I whispered. "I haven't seen Paris, I haven't…" My breath hitched. "I haven't done anything worth dying for."
Dr. Henderson's voice was soft, careful. "That's why you shouldn't give up. There's still time to…"
"Time to what?" I cut in, bitter. "Say goodbye? Pretend I'm okay? Start checking things off a list before the clock runs out?"
His lips parted, but I didn't wait for an answer.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor with a sharp screech that made both of us flinch. The report crumpled in my hand as I grabbed my bag from the chair beside me.
"Miss Seraphina, please," he said, rising halfway from his seat. "You need to discuss your treatment options…"
"What's the use of treatments," I whispered, my voice shaking, raw, "when I'm dying anyway?"
He froze.
I could feel his eyes on me as I turned toward the door, but I didn't look back. I didn't want to see pity… not from him, not from anyone.
The report trembled in my grip as I stepped out of the office, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above me. The hallway stretched ahead… long, empty, sterile. I walked without seeing, without thinking, my heels clicking against the tiles like a countdown.
Six months.
A year.
What difference did it make?
All I knew was that my life, whatever it had been, had just ended in that room.
**********
The air outside the hospital felt heavier than it had minutes ago. Maybe because I was now carrying the weight of an expiration date in my chest. The world didn't stop spinning; people still moved, cars still honked, laughter still echoed from somewhere down the street. Life went on, cruelly unaware that mine had just been given a countdown.
I stood by the hospital gate, the report crumpled in my sweaty palm. The paper felt like acid against my skin. I wanted to throw it away, to burn it, to erase the proof that my days were numbered—but I couldn't. It was all I had left of my truth.
A soft breeze brushed past, cool against my tear-streaked face, but even the air felt indifferent.
I should've called a taxi, but my feet had other plans. I started walking. Slowly at first, then faster. My heels clicked against the pavement in erratic rhythm. My thoughts raced faster than my steps, every heartbeat a scream.
The streets blurred around me… neon signs, passing strangers, the city pulsing with life I no longer felt part of. I shoved my trembling hands into my coat pockets, trying to keep myself from collapsing right there on the sidewalk.
And then… I thought of him. Adrian.
My chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with my illness.
Adrian… my light in this chaos. My calm after endless storms. We had only been together for three months, but those months had felt like oxygen. He laughed easily, loved softly, and for the first time in years, I had felt seen. Known. Cherished.
Now… this? Death was not only stealing my life, it was stealing him, too.
I blinked back the fresh sting of tears. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to sit in silence and think about dying. I wanted to see him. I needed to hold on to something real, even if it was just for one last night.
Without thinking, I turned toward Adrian's apartment. My feet knew the path too well.
It was almost dark when I reached his street. The orange hue of sunset washed over the buildings, painting the world in a bittersweet glow. I paused at the entrance of his building, taking a deep breath, smoothing my hair, and wiping away the last of my tears.
He doesn't need to know yet, I told myself. Not tonight.
I wanted tonight to be normal. Just one moment of peace before everything fell apart.
When I got to his door, I hesitated. The lights inside were off, but that wasn't unusual. Adrian loved dim spaces, said light made his migraines worse. I smiled faintly. Typical Adrian. Always brooding, always dramatic.
I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly. "Adrian?" I called out, stepping inside. "You home?"
Silence.
The faint glow of his bedroom door leaked through the hallway. And then I heard it, soft at first, almost like the hum of a TV. But as I took another step, it became unmistakable.
A sound. Low. Guttural. Rhythmic.
A moan.
I froze.
My heart stumbled in my chest. "What the hell…" I whispered under my breath, forcing out a laugh that sounded far too shaky. "Seriously, Adrian? Watching porn again?"
I said it to ease the sting of confusion building in my gut, but the sound… it was too real. Too close.
My hand trembled as I reached for the bedroom door. The sounds grew louder… ragged breaths, skin against skin, his voice low and hoarse, a woman's moans tangled with it.
No. No, no, no… please, no.
I pushed the door open.
And my world ended all over again.
There he was. Adrian. The man who had kissed my tears away, who had promised me forever. His hands gripping the hips of my best friend… Kara. My sister in everything but blood. The one person I'd trusted with my secrets, with my soul.
The room reeked of sweat, sex, betrayal.
Kara's nails dug into his back as she moaned his name, louder now. Adrian's face was twisted in pleasure… eyes closed, mouth open, lost in her.
I didn't scream. I didn't move. I just stood there, the world tilting beneath me.
It felt like time slowed. The air was thick, suffocating. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but they didn't hear it, they didn't even see me.
How poetic. I was dying, and they were too busy living in sin to notice.
Something inside me cracked… quietly, almost gracefully. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. My heart was too numb for that now.
I turned around slowly, every breath heavier than the last. I should have left. I should have walked out silently, disappeared, never looked back.
But then a cold, almost amused voice in my head whispered: Why leave without a little show?
A bitter smile curved my lips.
My hands moved on their own as I walked into the kitchen. The light flickered, revealing the stainless-steel counter, the spotless sink. My eyes fell on the kettle. I filled it with water, turned on the gas, and waited.
The hiss of the flame matched the storm inside me.
I looked around. Soap. My fingers wrapped around the bottle, squeezing it into the water as it began to boil. The foam rose slowly, mocking me, hissing, bubbling.
Minutes passed.
Their moans still echoed from the bedroom, louder, shameless. I felt every sound stab through me like glass splinters.
When the water was ready, I turned off the stove and carried the kettle with both hands. My reflection in the steel… eyes red, face pale, lips trembling, looked like a ghost.
Maybe that's what I was now. A ghost walking through her own heartbreak.
I walked toward the bedroom, my footsteps calm, steady, deliberate. The door was still open, and they were still tangled in each other, two bodies dripping with lust and betrayal.
For a moment, I just watched them. Watched the man I loved and the friend I trusted destroy me piece by piece.
Then, without a word, I lifted the kettle and poured the boiling water over them.
The reaction was instant.
Screams erupted… raw, frantic, animalistic. They tore away from each other, clutching at burning skin, sheets flying everywhere.
"What the… fuck!" Adrian yelled, staggering off the bed. Kara shrieked, grabbing a pillow to cover herself, tears streaming down her face as she stared at her scalded shoulder.
The room was chaos… wet sheets, the sharp smell of soap, the sound of pain.
And I just stood there. Silent. Watching.
Finally, Adrian's wide eyes found me. "Seraphina?! What the hell… what did you—?"
Kara froze, color draining from her face. "S-Seraphina…" she stammered. "It's no
t… it's not what it looks like…"
I smiled. Slow. Cold. Broken.
"What a pleasant surprise we have here."