UNLIKELY MATCH | HEESEUNG

27 - Fragments Of Us

SENA'S POV

I don't know how to feel. Everything went by in a blur, paramedics rushing to get Heeseung on a stretcher, questions being fired at me, the blinding lights of the ambulance. I sit in the back, my hands still stained with his blood as he holds onto me, not letting go. A numbness spreads through my body and I don't know how to feel. I had never witnessed something so terrifying and heartbreaking in my life. I had never felt so utterly helpless and lost. Heeseung's pale face haunts my thoughts, his labored breaths echoing in my ears. All I can do is hold onto him, clinging desperately to the hope that he will pull through.

We arrive at the hospital and the doctors rush Heeseung into surgery, while I'm left alone, with my red dress and my hands that are still stained with Heeseung's blood. Please don't make me lose him, I silently pray, my eyes fixed on the operating room doors. Please don't let this be the end of us.

The world is a cruel and unpredictable place, and sometimes bad things happen to good people for no reason at all, but why do I have to witness the person I care about most lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life? Why do I have to experience this heart-wrenching agony, this suffocating fear of losing someone I never realized I cared so deeply about until this moment?

In the cold hospital waiting room, I feel like a ghost—alone, adrift, and disconnected from the world around me. I feel like a joke in my red dress when I hear mothers cry for their children, lovers clutching each other's hands, families praying for their loved ones. What right do I have to be here, dressed up in fancy clothes, when the person I care about is fighting for his life?

The minutes crawl by like hours and I'm still sitting there, waiting and waiting. Every passing second feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. I'm nothing but a helpless spectator in this cruel game of life and death, and all I can do is hope and pray, like the rest of the world in this sterile waiting room, that the person I love will make it through. Surely he will be fine, right? I clench my fists on my lap. Surely he won't let something like this take him away from me.

But what if he doesn't make it? What if I never get to see his smile again, hear his laughter, feel his warmth beside me?

I'm about to run my fingers through my hair when the doctor steps out of the operating room, and my heart lurches in my chest. I spring to my feet, my hands trembling, and I'm desperate for any sign that Heeseung is okay. The doctor looks at me with tired eyes, but the smile that follows is enough to tell me that he has made it through. Relief washes over me like a tidal wave, and I feel my knees weaken. I grasp onto the nearest chair for support, my eyes fixed on the doctor, needing to hear more. "Heeseung's surgery was successful," He continues, his words like a balm to my wounded soul. "He's in recovery now, and you'll be able to see him soon."

Tears of relief well up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I mouth a silent "thank you" to whoever may be listening above before turning my attention back to the doctor. He gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder before disappearing down the hallway, leaving me a relief that washes off all the doubts and uncertainty that had consumed me earlier. 

Heeseung is apparently staying in a private room, knowing that he's a high-profile figure. The nurse gestures for me to follow her, and I do so eagerly, my heart pounding inside my chest. We walk down the hallway, passing other patients and medical staff, until we reach Heeseung's room and I stand at the door, fingers fidgeting, body trembling. The sight of him lying on the ground and covered in blood haunts me. I can't think of anything but that terrifying image. I can't stop the memories from flooding back, the fear and panic gripping me once again.

With hesitant steps, I open the door and enter the room, my eyes fixed on Heeseung as he lies there, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling steadily. My hands fly to my mouth as a sob escapes me. The reality of how close I came to losing him hits me over and over like a big, heavy hammer, and I'm nothing but a wreck. The fear, the relief, the overwhelming love—I can hardly distinguish one from the other as I make my way towards him, reaching to touch his hair. His skin is warm beneath my fingers when I cup his cheek, feeling the reassuring warmth of his presence. I can finally breathe. I can finally rest easy knowing that he's going to be okay.