「 ⩩ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 a young nurse meets a cold hearted man and somehow convinces him to help her with her bucketlist. Each one in this journey learns about the essence of life」☽︎
𓂃 ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ 𓂃
"The moon is be...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Skip- Pouter ♬♪
In the dimly lit hospital room, his gaze fixates on Yuna through the small window.
Once vibrant and full of life, her face has now lost its color, drained by the relentless grip of her illness. Yuna's slender form lies motionless on the sterile hospital bed, a stark contrast to the vitality she once exuded.
For two agonizing days, he's been a constant presence by her side, tirelessly caring for her. He's delicately combed her hair, soothing her pain with aching tenderness, and whispered words of comfort as if she can still hear him.
As he watches her, his heart shatters in slow motion, each shard a painful reminder of the fleeting nature of life. His fingers press against the cold glass, desperate to bridge the gap between them, to touch her one last time. But there's an impenetrable barrier, a cruel boundary that separates their worlds. Tears fall, tracing trails down his cheeks as he battles to keep his composure, a dam on the brink of collapse.
Suddenly, the somber silence is ruptured by the intrusion of a doctor, a messenger of doom.
"We need to talk," the words hang heavy in the air.
A reluctant journey leads him to the doctor's office, a space of sterile professionalism that seems worlds away from the chaos in his heart. The doctor offers a drink, a gesture so mechanical it's almost surreal. Then comes the question, a wrecking ball to his fragile sanity,
"Did you know about her condition?" Confusion gives way to realization, and the truth hits him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of despair.
"Brain tumor, stage 4," the doctor's voice is a distant echo, as if spoken from another realm. "Chances of success, minimal. It's too late now." The words are daggers, each one piercing his soul with relentless precision. He's engulfed in a tsunami of emotions, a storm of sorrow and regret that threatens to consume him whole. The room closes in, the walls suffocating him, the air heavy with unshed tears.
In the dim corridor, the weight of the doctor's revelation bears down on Sunghoon like a vice grip, squeezing the air from his lungs.
Panic takes hold with an iron grip, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as if each inhale is a desperate plea for respite. His chest tightens, constricted by an invisible force that threatens to crush him. The walls seem to close in, suffocating him, mirroring the suffocating grip of his own thoughts.
His mind becomes a chaotic battlefield, a frenzied clash of memories, fears, and regrets. The memories of his father's losing battle with a similar foe swirl ominously, casting long shadows across his thoughts.
