Y/n's pov:
The hospital room's air felt unnaturally still, as if it too was holding its breath. I opened my eyes slowly, the ceiling coming into focus—white, plain, devoid of life. A sigh slipped from my lips before I even realized I was awake. My bones felt heavy, my chest ached—not just from illness, but from something deeper, colder.
I didn't press the call button. I didn't need assistance—not the kind the nurses could provide.
Instead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, moving slowly and carefully, as if my body had aged decades overnight. The floor was cold, its touch on my bare feet a cruel honesty I'd grown accustomed to—cold, sharp, real.
I walked to the window.
It had become a ritual. Every morning since I'd been here, I sat by the window. Like a prisoner pretending the sky was enough freedom. Like a dying girl pretending the world still held something for her. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't.
My fingertips touched the glass, and I leaned forward, resting my forehead against its chilled surface.
"It's just... my usual," I whispered, then smiled.
A lie. That smile was always a lie.
Because my usual isn't what it used to be.
My usual is waking up with a heart that betrays me. Pretending the shortness of breath is just from sleep. Watching the door, knowing no one is coming—not him, not Sylus. Not anymore.
My usual is thinking about all the things I'll never get to do, all the people I'll never become.
I laughed softly, my breath fogging up the glass.
How did my life shrink into a room with white sheets, a weak pulse, and windows that only open halfway?
Outside, the world was slipping into autumn. The trees looked like they were bleeding, shedding parts of themselves slowly, beautifully. The leaves floated down as if they had all the time in the world. I watched them, eyes tracing their descent, one after another, like a countdown I didn't ask to be part of.
Autumn used to be my favorite season.
Now it feels too close to home. A world dressed in fading colors, pretending it's still alive. Trees letting go, gracefully. Quietly. No one weeps for the leaves. They just step on them.
That's what scares me most—not dying.
But dying... quietly.
Like the leaves.
Unnoticed. Unloved.
The thought of Sylus flickered into my mind like a cruel echo. His voice, his rage, the way he looked at me like I was something he once owned and now resented. His curse still clung to my ribs like poison.
"Your loved one won't be by your side when you die."
Maybe that's true.
But the worst part is... I had wanted him to be. Even in his coldness. Even after he left me cracked open. Isn't that pathetic? That I still thought he might care? That maybe the boy who used to share silence with me would remember how I liked my coffee or how my fingers curled when I was nervous?
But he's gone.
And all I have left is this silence—and Zayn's warmth, which feels borrowed, like a kindness that isn't mine to keep.
I wish I could say I'm strong. That I'll fight. That I'm fearless. But I'm not.
I'm scared. So deeply, quietly scared.
Scared of never being truly loved.
Scared that no one will hold my hand when it's time.
Scared that I'll be just another name on a cold report, just another leaf drifting to the ground.
My fingers curled into the fabric of my hospital gown. I bit the inside of my cheek until the copper taste returned, just to remind myself I was still here.
Outside, the leaves kept falling.
Inside, so was I.
A gentle knock broke the usual silence of the room—soft, almost hesitant. I didn't need to turn; I recognized that knock. It was always the same these days: polite, careful, as if the sound itself feared it might shatter me.
Zayn.
I kept my gaze fixed on the window for a moment longer, watching a solitary leaf spiral downward. It danced alone in the air, its descent beautiful... and final.
The door creaked open behind me, and I heard quiet footsteps enter. I could feel his presence before I saw him. He always brought with him a particular warmth—like coffee on a winter morning, like the late sun on chilled skin. It used to feel comforting.
Now, it felt like pity wrapped in kindness.
"You're awake," he said softly.
I didn't turn. I just nodded, still watching the leaf fall, then disappear from sight. "I always am," I murmured. "Even when I wish I wasn't."
He didn't respond. He never did. Zayn always carried words he never said. I think it was his way of trying not to break me—by keeping everything too gentle, too fragile. But I was already broken. I didn't need him to walk on eggshells. I needed someone to sit in the cracks with me.
I finally turned to face him, and there he was—standing with that same soft expression, eyes full of concern he tried to hide but never quite could. I hated how much sadness he carried in his gaze when he looked at me. I hated more that I was the reason for it.
He stepped closer, holding a paper bag. "Brought you that tea you like. The herbal one. Figured it might help you sleep better."
I forced a small smile. "Thank you. That's sweet."
He nodded, his smile tight, lips trembling like he wanted to say more but knew I wouldn't let him. He always came, always showed up with something in hand—tea, books, a new playlist—but never tried to talk about the inevitable. He never asked how much pain I was in. He never brought up death. Maybe he thought that made it less real.
But I could see it in his eyes.
He looked at me like he was already grieving.
And maybe that's why I couldn't bring myself to meet him fully anymore. Because I didn't want to be mourned before I was gone.
Still, I accepted the tea, my fingers brushing his. Warmth. Steady. The kind of warmth Sylus never gave. And yet... it didn't reach the hollowness inside me.
I sat back on the edge of the bed, letting my head rest against the wall, tea cupped gently in my hands. Zayn sat beside me, leaving just enough space not to crowd me—but close enough to remind me I wasn't alone.
We sat like that in silence, the only sounds the wind outside and the occasional beep from a monitor behind me.
And I thought:
He pities me.
And maybe he cares for me too.
But care wrapped in pity is just another kind of sorrow.
I didn't need eyes full of grief.
I needed someone who saw me—not my disease. Not my dying. Just... me.
And Sylus... despite everything, had once seen that. Even if now, he hated the sight of me.
I sipped the tea and stared out the window again. Another leaf fell.
And I wondered how many more I'd get to see.
I was still gazing at the leaves moving outside, pondering how even their fall was more graceful than mine. There's something soft about autumn—it always feels like a sigh after a long year. Not a close. Just... the slowest breath out.
Zayn's voice just barely pulled me back, low and careful.
"Did you know the Autumn Festival is coming up?" he said, lightly like he was just chatting. "In the capital. Beijing is throwing this lantern festival—they say the entire sky looks like it is lit up."
I gave him a look. His eyes were not on me. He toyed with the rim of his paper cup and pretended to be indifferent about my reaction. But I could see his shoulders tense up.
He remembers...
He remembers when I had once told him, so long ago that maybe it was merely a passing remark I really hadn't thought him to be listening to, that autumn was my favorite, and if I ever had a last wish, it would be to watch the world once again washed with warm colors and feel a mild breeze that doesn't freeze you but rather reminds you that you are alive.
"I've always wanted to go again," I muttered to myself. "Not just for the festival... but for the whole feeling of it. People walking with lanterns, soft music in the air, the aroma of roasted chestnuts. You can feel the season breathing there."
I smiled weakly, but the smile did not touch my eyes. "I used to think if I ever went again, I would wear a long red scarf and get lost in the crowd. Just... disappear into it. Not be Y/N. Just... a face among faces. Warm hands, cold air. A moment."
Zayn finally turned and looked at me. For one moment, there was silence.
"I think you still should," he said softly. "See it. Before the leaves are gone."
For an instant, I blinked, feeling my throat tighten just a little. He wasn't laying it on me for a pity trip. He wasn't saying it like I was dying. He said it like he really meant it, as if I could still get hold of that one moment I once dreamed of.
"I don't know if I can," I whispered. "With all this... the machines, the tests, the doctors constantly staring at me as if I'm made of glass."
"You're not made of glass," he said, almost too quickly. Then he stopped himself and softened his voice. "You're made of fire and autumn and all the little things most people forget to notice."
I turned away before he could see me begin to cry.
Sometimes, I hate him for being so kind.
Because I don't know if I can survive being seen this way-thinly and fading-but I don't know how to stop wanting to be seen.
And maybe . . . maybe even before all this ends, I want to touch that moment.
Not just for me. Not for him.
But somewhere deep inside, I'm still that girl who once dreamed under falling leaves.
My fingers moved restlessly across the hospital blanket while my soft voice shared "I went out there once."
Zayn adjusted his position slightly but showed no signs of interruption.
With a cheerful expression I tried to recall a distant time. The lanterns were much brighter than I expected. We strolled by the river where many people gathered yet it seemed we were the only ones present.
A moment of silence hit me as I traveled back to a memory that mixed happiness with sorrow. My focus remained fixed on the window while my eyes stayed locked on it. I did not need visual confirmation of Zayn's presence because I knew he was listening.
I swallowed.
It was Sylus.
The sound of his name pierced the air like a sudden crack. The sound held no bitterness and no wishful thinking. Only emptiness. His name maintained its significance to my heart although he had made mistakes.
For one moment I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply to banish the night- his hand clutched mine as though it would never leave, the sound of his laughter mixed with my leaf-slipping memory and his dusk eye-softening gaze.
"I believed that night had significance," I muttered, my voice almost audible above a whisper. "Perhaps it did. Or perhaps I simply wanted it to". The room fell into a heavier quiet than before. I kept my eyes off Zayn.
I was unable to. Since Sylus didn't even care to glance back, the girl who went beneath those lanterns with him never thought she would end up here, weak, ill, and fading.
Y/N's POV – Flashback
The colors were brighter back then, or maybe my heart was just lighter. I remember how the festival lights in the capital flickered like dreams caught midair. It was autumn, just like now—leaves crunching beneath our school shoes, our fingers cold, our laughter warm.
Sylus had dragged me through the crowded market stalls, not even pretending to let me walk like a normal person. He was tugging me by the hand like an excited kid, his eyes brighter than all the lanterns hanging above.
"Slow down," I giggled, nearly tripping over a stone. "You're acting like you've never been to a festival before."
"I haven't," he said shamelessly, "not with you."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling too much to hide it. He bought me roasted chestnuts even though I said I wasn't hungry. He won me a stuffed fox from a rigged game stall after ten tries and cursed the booth owner in the softest voice possible. I remember how he wrapped my scarf tighter when I shivered, his fingers brushing against my cheek like he wasn't even aware of how gentle he was.
We stood by the river as the sky turned navy and lanterns floated past us, golden and silent.
"I'll propose to you here one day," he said suddenly, eyes fixed on the water.
I blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
He turned to me, his face unusually serious for a boy who never stopped teasing. "In the middle of the festival. Same place. Same season."
My lips parted in surprise, heart racing. "And why would you do that?"
"Because you love autumn," he said, without skipping a beat. "And I love you."
I remember being quiet. Just... quietly stunned. He didn't ask for a reply. He just kept looking at the lanterns like he'd made a wish already.
Then he added, so casually it felt like another one of his silly jokes, "And we'll get married in winter."
I furrowed my brows. " Why in Winter?"
He chuckled. "So your makeup wouldn't ruins. You in summer how you hate it that's spoils your Make up , I want the snow to wash it all down your face. That way, I'll remember every second of it."
I hit his arm playfully. "That's mean."
"No, it's perfect," he grinned, kissing the back of my cold hand.
And for a moment, it really was.
I clutched that memory now like the softest piece of glass—beautiful but sharp, bleeding me every time I touched it. Because I still remember the warmth of his promise.
And how cold it feels now that he's forgotten it.
To be continued...