When he regained consciousness, he rushed home immediately. He changed his clothes and headed to the funeral. As he entered, the place was crowded with journalists and photographers. News of his grandmother's death had already spread across social media and the news. Some fans expressed sympathy and compassion. Others, however, judged him harshly: "Even though the woman who raised him has passed away, he was still singing on stage."
Yes, people truly are not kind. They are very unfair. No matter what you do, they will always find something to be dissatisfied with.
In this situation, Taehan blamed only himself. As he returned home, he felt nothing but pain and loneliness. He entered his house. He stopped eating. He had no appetite and no hope for life. He became someone who only wanted to sleep and be alone. Meanwhile, rumors spreading on social media and among people pushed him further into a corner. They did not understand him. It was not his fault that the concert had been completed, but people failed to realize that.
From then on, Taehan fell into deep depression. He began drinking heavily. He drank so much that his health deteriorated. When he went outside, he tried not to show himself, hiding as much as possible. He was surrounded by cruel words, judgments, and slander. When he drunkenly cried and shouted in the streets, it only fueled people's hatred. He began avoiding going out during the day, walking only at night and sleeping during the daytime.
He grew tired of such a life. He felt useless and alone and decided to take his own life. When night fell, he first went to a store and bought alcohol. Then he drank along the way home. He entered his house and sat crying in a corner. After that, he went up to a room on the third floor, walked to the window, and threw himself down.
What was this? Couldn't he have fought? Couldn't he have endured?
No—he had no strength left.
People who witnessed it gathered around. Some called for help, others called an ambulance. The ambulance took Taehan away. Thankfully, he did not die. How could someone who suffers and fights alone die quickly and easily?
When he regained consciousness, he found himself in front of doctors.
"What happened to me? Where am I?" he asked.
The doctors recognized him.
"You are in the hospital," they said. "Couldn't you have fought a little longer? Instead of trying to take your own life…"
"Fortunately, only your right arm and left leg were injured. If you had fallen headfirst, you would either be paralyzed for life or dead. We have put casts on your broken arm and leg. In a few months, you will recover completely. For now, you will be treated in the hospital. You should try to fight, not to die. I believe you will regain your fame again."
When he took the medications, his nerves would calm down, and he would often fall asleep. He needed time to wake up and think everything through. Most of the time, he lay in bed, sat outside in a wheelchair, or stood by the window watching the surroundings. Lately, he spent almost all his time sitting by the window.
Often, he would see a girl there. Perhaps the girl saw him too, but she did not pay attention. Her appearance was completely different. She stood out from ordinary girls. Her hair was always tied up, and her clothes were loose and modest. She was a hijabi girl, always wearing a headscarf.
One day, the girl noticed the young man sitting in a wheelchair by the window. She approached him and looked outside as well.
"Why do you look so sad?" she asked. "Did your friends or family not come to see you? Is that why you're upset?"
The young man remained silent.
"Alright then," the girl said and walked away.
Several times after that, she saw him in the same place again.
"Why do you always sit here looking outside? Can't you go for a walk yourself?" she asked.
"You can see my condition, can't you?" the young man replied.
The girl was surprised.
"Oh—you can speak?" she said with a smile.
The young man liked her sincere smile.
The girl said, "If you want, I can take you for a walk. I was heading out anyway."
"If possible, sure," the young man replied.
As the girl began pushing the wheelchair outside, she asked,
"What's your name?"
"Nour," the girl said. "And yours?"
"Don't you know my name?"
"No, I've only just met you."
"Yes… maybe. My name is Taehan."
"Why is your name different?"
"Because I'm Muslim. My name comes from Islamic names," the girl said. "That's also why I wear a headscarf."
The young man looked at the girl with admiration.
(…)