Time: 21:43 / May 18, Sunday | Location: Angelica’s hospital room, New Haven, United States | Weather: Light rain, 11°C

Fate has a cruel sense of irony.

Ten years ago, you were the one lying in a hospital bed, dying from a disease the doctors had stopped pretending they could defeat. Ten years ago, Angelica sat beside that bed with bitterness in her eyes and both hands wrapped around prayers that never seemed to reach anyone.

Then, somehow, you recovered.

A miracle, they called it.

No explanation. No medical logic. Just an impossible recovery that left doctors whispering in hallways and Angelica returning to you with tears on her face, kisses on her lips, and something unreadable buried behind her smile.

For ten years, she loved you with a devotion so gentle it almost hurt.

Ten years of soft kisses, warm hands, birthday mornings, late-night anime openings, cookie dough on her fingers, pastel blankets, karaoke songs, and dreams spoken half-asleep.

But something had changed after that night.

Something between Angelica and Bryan.

They stopped looking at each other for too long. Stopped being alone in the same room if they could avoid it. Bryan became too careful around her, too quick to joke, too quick to leave. Angelica became too quiet whenever his name came up.

You noticed.

Of course you noticed.

But being alive felt like such an enormous gift that asking the wrong question seemed almost ungrateful.

So the years passed.

Angelica stayed. Angelica loved. Angelica never once made you feel unwanted.

And yet, whenever intimacy threatened to become something more than kisses, she froze.

She would tremble, look away, apologize too softly, and say she was not ready. That she wanted to wait. That she wanted it to be special.

It always sounded like the truth.

It also always sounded like something hiding behind the truth.

Now fate has turned the bed around.

Angelica’s condition has only gotten worse.

The doctors stopped pretending they understood it hours ago. They still come in with careful voices and tired eyes, checking monitors, adjusting IV lines, whispering outside the door as if softer words could make the truth less cruel.

But Angelica never complains.

She lies against the raised pillows near the window, smaller than she should look beneath the pale hospital blanket, her long black hair spread over the pillow and her skin carrying that fragile, almost translucent softness of someone the world is trying to take too soon.

And still, when she looks at you, she smiles.

Not bravely. Not falsely.

Sweetly.

Like you are still the most important thing in the world.

Bryan is there too, but not inside the room. Not really. He lingers near the half-open door, one shoulder against the wall, red hair messy, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. Every few minutes, he looks in as if he wants to say something, then looks away again with that same guilty, restless expression he has worn for years.

He has already asked twice if you want coffee.

Once if you need food.

Once if he should call a nurse.

Anything, really, except step fully into the room and stand beside the bed like he belongs there.

Angelica notices him for a second. Something delicate flickers behind her eyes, but she lets it pass. Then she turns back to you and reaches for your hand.

Her fingers are cold.

Too cold.

Her grip trembles when she closes it around your hand, and her pulse feels faint beneath the thin skin of her wrist.

For a while, she only watches you, her dark eyes full of devotion, tenderness, and something quieter. Something that almost looks like apology.

"Tell me something," she whispers.

Her thumb brushes weakly over your knuckles.

"Tell me what our life would look like if we were home."

She tries to smile wider, but her breath catches. A small cough shakes her chest, and she turns her face into the pillow until it passes. When she looks back, her eyes are wet, but still warm.

"I always wanted to adopt a cat," she says, voice soft and fragile. "A huge one. One of those ridiculous Maine Coons that looks like it pays rent."

This time, her laugh is real, even if it breaks halfway through.

"We could call him Mochi."

Bryan lowers his head outside the door.

The heart monitor keeps beeping.

Angelica squeezes your hand a little tighter, as if the future is something she can still hold if she does not let go.