The Diagnosis

The following morning was a blur of white walls, antiseptic air, and pounding heartbeats.

Serena burst through the hospital's front doors, her coat trailing behind her like a cape of panic.

Her hair, usually neat and pinned, was now loose and tangled. She rushed toward the information desk, her heels echoing desperately against the tiled floor.

"Kei Yamada," she said, breathless. "Where is he? What room?"

The receptionist blinked in surprise, quickly scanning her monitor. "Room 407. East Wing."

Serena didn't wait for more.

She sprinted.

Her legs carried her through hallways she'd walked a thousand times before—but never like this.

Never with dread clawing at her chest.

She stopped just outside the room, hesitating for a breath, then veered sharply toward the nurse's station. She needed to see the chart. Needed to know.

The moment her eyes landed on the file, the world shifted.

Lab results. Elevated bilirubin. Enlarged liver. Massive scarring.

The final diagnosis was printed in black, clinical ink.

Cirrhosis. End-stage.

Her hand trembled as she held the file.

She tried to swallow, but her throat was too tight. Her knees weakened, and she had to grip the counter to stay upright. The nurse behind the desk placed a hand on her shoulder, but Serena shook her head.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

But she wasn't.

Her vision blurred as tears slipped silently down her cheeks. For a moment, she pressed the folder to her chest, trying to breathe.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Not now.

Not to him.

She returned the chart, wiped her tears as best as she could, and composed herself—just enough.

Then she walked to Room 407.

She knocked softly and pushed the door open.

Kei was awake.

He turned his head slowly, offering a weak smile. "Hey."

Serena stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and walked over to his bedside. Her hands were shaking, so she clenched them into fists at her sides.

Kei sat up slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," she lied. "I just... I had to see you."

He looked pale, the lines under his eyes deeper than usual. But still—he smiled. That same smile that used to make her chest ache in the best way.

"Did you... read it?" he asked quietly.

She nodded.

They both fell silent.

The IV machine beeped steadily beside them. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to cloud over—gray, quiet, ominous.

Finally, Serena moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

She reached for his hand. He took it.

His fingers were cold, but his grip was strong.

"How long?" Kei asked gently.

Serena swallowed. "Months. Maybe a year... if we're lucky."

Kei exhaled slowly. "So this is it, huh?"

Her eyes shimmered, but she refused to let the tears fall now.

"I hate this," she whispered. "You were doing so well. You changed everything. You did everything right."

"I was late," he said softly. "I waited too long."

"No," she shook her head. "Don't blame yourself. Please. Don't do that."

Kei turned his gaze toward her—tender, calm.

"Serena..." he smiled faintly. "I got to meet you. Even if it's just for a little while... I'm happy."

Her throat caught.

"I wanted forever," she said.

He gently squeezed her hand. "We have now. That's something."

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

"I'm not leaving," she whispered. "Not for a second."

And in that quiet hospital room, surrounded by the low hum of machines and the ticking of a clock neither of them could stop—they held onto each other.

Not because they had years.

But because they had now.

And for them... that was everything.

The Final Months

They traveled—small trips, quiet beaches, hidden temples, local inns.

They shared sunsets, took photos, danced in the living room.

One evening, they sat together on a quiet beach, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted in hues of crimson and gold.

Kei reached for her hand, his voice soft.

"Serena... do you think there's another life after this one?"

She looked at him, surprised.

"I don't know, Kei. Why do you ask?"

He smiled faintly.

"Because if there is... I'll find you again. In another lifetime."

Her lips parted. Her breath caught. Tears welled in her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder, watching the sun disappear behind the sea.

"Then I'll be waiting," she whispered.

And the waves whispered in return.

They made love as if time was endless, even as the days grew shorter.

Kei grew weaker—his skin pale, his steps slower.

But Serena never left his side.

She stayed through every hospital visit. She memorized every rise and fall of his breath. She whispered stories into his ear, even when he was too tired to reply.

On his final night, as the rain tapped gently on the window, he opened his eyes one last time.

Serena's breath caught in her throat, and tears welled in her eyes. Her chest tightened, the weight of everything crashing down on her. She pressed her hand against his, her voice shaking.

"I don't want you to go, Kei. I don't know how to do this without you."

He smiled faintly, his fingers squeezing hers weakly.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?" she asked, cradling his hand against her cheek.

"For seeing me."

And then... he was gone.

And as if the dam broke, all of her emotions flooded and burst forth. She cried bitterly, her sobs raw, guttural. The pain was unbearable, a physical ache in her chest, as though the very essence of her had been torn away.

She held him close, as if that might somehow keep him here, but all she felt was the emptiness of the space where he once was. Her cries echoed in the quiet room, the only sound in the world now, as the rain continued to fall outside.

The Aftermath

The funeral was quiet.

Only a few came—his family, a few friends, and Serena.

She stood by his grave, rain soaking her coat, lips trembling.

"I'll live, Kei," she whispered. "But I won't forget. I promise. What we had—it was real. And it mattered."

She laid a white lily on the grave and turned to leave.

But just as she was about to open the door to her car, she heard a voice behind her.

"Serena..." Ayumi stood there, her eyes red, her voice soft. "Kei wanted you to have this."

She held out a letter—folded carefully, edges slightly worn.

A final letter from Kei.

A letter he had struggled to write during one of the rare moments Serena wasn't by his side.

Serena reached out, hands trembling, and took it.

She held it close—pressing it gently to her chest, to the place where his memory lived.

"Thank you, Ayumi," she whispered.

Then she got into the car and drove away—

The letter resting safely over her heart.

To be continued...