The air in the room froze.
Doctors and nurses rushed in, swiftly pulling Parin from Manida's arms and beginning resuscitation.
The beeping monitors and hurried commands blended into chaos.
Manida stood aside, trembling — her hands stained with Parin's blood.
The red clung to her palms like a curse she could never wash away.
"Professor, please calm down. We'll do everything we can," said the doctor, firm but detached.
Manida bit her lip hard. She, who had always been composed and rational, now felt herself unraveling completely.
All her logic disintegrated in the sight of Parin's blood.
She backed against the cold wall, her body shaking.
"Why… why her?" she whispered, tears falling soundlessly.
After half an hour, the chaos subsided.
Parin's condition stabilized — barely.
Her face was pale, almost translucent, as if only her breath tethered her to life.
The doctor approached with furrowed brows.
"The accident left her with severe internal injuries. Though the wounds healed externally, her organs remain fragile. The emotional and memory strain caused a rupture."
"Then she—" Manida's voice broke.
He hesitated, then shook his head.
"The prognosis is poor. We'll monitor her, but… you should prepare yourself."
Manida felt the world drain of sound.
All that remained was the excruciating ache in her chest.
She walked back to the bed and gently took Parin's hand — so cold, so delicate.
"Parin…" she whispered, voice shattering, "you once said… you'd grow old with me. How can you go back on that promise?"
Parin's eyes fluttered open, a faint smile trembling on her lips.
"I'm not breaking it… it's just…"
Before she could finish, her eyes closed again, sinking back into unconsciousness.
Manida stroked her forehead, tears falling freely.
She finally understood —
This wasn't about recovery anymore.
It was a battle against fate itself.
And no matter what it took, she would never let go.