Sirens tore through the night. Red lights flashed across the wet pavement, painting it the color of blood.
Manida held Parin tightly, her hands soaked crimson. Her tears fell endlessly as she screamed, voice hoarse and broken.
"Parin, stay with me—you promised you'd never leave!"
Paramedics rushed in, pulling her away. They lifted Parin onto a stretcher. Manida tried to follow, but they held her back as the ambulance doors slammed shut.
She ran after it anyway, chasing until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the roadside, gasping, watching helplessly as the ambulance vanished into the dark.
In the hospital, the fluorescent lights burned white and merciless.
Manida sat motionless on a bench outside the emergency room, hands shaking uncontrollably. The door before her stayed closed; every second stretched like eternity.
When a doctor finally emerged, his face was grim.
"Who's the patient's family?"
"I—I am," she stammered.
"Her injuries are critical—massive internal bleeding, severe organ trauma. We'll do everything we can, but… please be prepared."
The world collapsed around her.
She stumbled to the window, pressing her forehead against the cold glass, trying to breathe. Memories flooded back—Parin's laughter, her tenderness, her whispered promise:
Don't cry. I won't let you lose me.
But now she lay beyond that door, fighting for her life.
Tears streamed down Manida's face. She hated herself—for being powerless, for not protecting her.
Then came a voice behind her—mocking, venomous.
"So this is what you call love? How pathetic."
Manida spun around. Standing there was the same man from before—the professor.
His eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction. "If not for her, you'd have been mine long ago."
Her blood ran cold. The truth hit her instantly. "It was you," she whispered. "You tried to kill her!"
He sneered. "She got what she deserved. She stood in my way."
Manida's fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. Rage shook her entire body—but before she could move, the ER doors burst open.
"She's lost too much blood!" a doctor shouted. "We need a transfusion immediately! Her blood type is rare—any relatives?"
"I'm not family," Manida said, stepping forward, voice trembling but resolute, "but test me. Please—let me try!"
The doctor hesitated, then nodded.
The needle pierced her vein, and blood began to flow.
Manida lay pale and weak, watching through the glass as her blood entered Parin's body. Her voice broke as she whispered,
"Parin, please… wake up. You still owe me that trip to Phuket. You still promised to show me the sea…"
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
The steady beeping of the monitors was the only sound in the sterile white room—a metronome counting down to fate's decision.