Half the day had slipped by, but his worry only grew heavier. She still hadn't regained consciousness, and he had no way of contacting her family. The silence of the hospital corridors pressed against him, thick and suffocating.
Then, a group of boys entered the ward, their steps hurried and their expressions unreadable.
"Where's the girl who was admitted today?" one of them asked the nurse at the reception desk.
The nurse gave quiet directions, oblivious to the undercurrent in their tone.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, distracting him for a moment. He glanced at the screen. "Who is this?" he muttered under his breath before answering. "Hello?"
While he spoke, the boys slipped past him. They entered her room, and in a single swift motion, one of them yanked away her oxygen mask. Without a word, they turned and walked out.
A cold rush of panic tore through him. He dropped the call and sprinted toward her room. She lay there, her breathing faltering, life slipping away before his eyes.
"Doctor!" he shouted, his voice breaking.
"Champion, don't be concerned. I'm here to help," the doctor said quickly, rushing to her side and adjusting the oxygen mask.
"Doctor! How is she now?" he demanded, his hands trembling.
"She's stable," the doctor assured him.
His fear boiled into anger. "What kind of hospital is this, letting anyone walk in? If she had died today, I swear I'd—" He stopped himself, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air.
"We're deeply sorry, sir. It will not happen again," the doctor said, lowering his head.
The word sir hit him unexpectedly, pulling him into a brief flashback—her voice, her laughter, her stubborn way of calling him anything but that.
"What are you thinking?" he muttered to himself. "She's just… a friend."
A nurse appeared in the doorway. "She's waking up. You can see her now."
Without hesitation, he rushed inside.