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Kyara sat on the cold, plastic hospital bench, her fingers clenched in her lap, nails digging into her palms. She didn’t feel the pain. It was drowned out by the ringing in her ears, the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

The walls were too white. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too artificial, making everything feel eerily unreal—like she was trapped in a bad dream she couldn’t wake up from.

Her father was gone.

Just like that.

The words echoed in her skull, but they refused to settle, refused to make sense. One moment, he had been there—arguing with her about taking care of herself, scolding Raj for playing video games late at night, teasing their mother about how she was too soft on them.

Now, he wasn’t.

Beside her, her mother sat motionless, her hands folded in her lap like she was praying, though no words left her lips. She hadn't spoken in hours. Not since the doctor’s voice had cut through their world, final and unforgiving.

Raj sat on the other side, curled into himself, his head buried between his arms, his small shoulders trembling.

Kyara wanted to reach out, to say something, to hold them both together. But she felt… hollow. As if something had been ripped out of her, leaving only an empty shell behind.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t.

She just sat there, staring at the floor, trying to convince herself that if she stayed perfectly still, time would freeze, and everything would stop unraveling.

Then, a shadow loomed over her.

She barely had time to register it before something warm draped over her shoulders. Soft fabric. A familiar scent—coffee, with a hint of cologne.

She blinked, startled.

Her fingers reached up, brushing against the material. A jacket.

Oversized. Worn in at the edges.

She turned sharply, searching for the owner, her dazed mind struggling to catch up.

A man.

Tall. Dark jeans. A hoodie pulled over his head.

He was already walking away, his stride unhurried, as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary

“Wait—” The word barely left her lips, hoarse and uncertain.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around

A moment later, he disappeared down the corridor.

Kyara clutched the jacket tighter, her fingers curling into the fabric.

She didn’t know him.

Didn’t know why a stranger had stopped. Why, out of all the people in this hospital, he had chosen to give his jacket to her.

She didn’t know that in just a few days, she’d be sitting across from him—planning a marriage neither of them wanted.

A marriage that would change everything.

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