"Estelle?" Rosette called softly when she heard the door open.
She was sitting upright in her hospital bed, listening to the replay of Game Five — the Phoenix versus the Falcons. The game had taken place two days after her operation. Since then, the hospital room had been her entire world. The doctor said it would take two more weeks before the bandages could be safely removed from her eyes, and until then, all she could do was wait — and listen.
Game Five had been a thrilling one. The Phoenix claimed their second victory over the Falcons, bringing the series to 3–2. If the Phoenix could win again next week, the series would be tied, and everything would come down to a decisive Game Seven — the championship match everyone was waiting for.
That night, Dranred had set the court on fire. Many thought the Falcons would secure the win; from the first quarter to the third, they had maintained a solid lead. Drake, in particular, played remarkably well — composed, focused, and precise, a stark contrast to his temper back in Game Four. Every time Dranred scored, Drake answered. Their rivalry burned so intensely that it felt like the entire game belonged only to the two of them.
But in the final quarter, Dranred's play grew even more aggressive and calculated. He worked seamlessly with his teammates, creating opportunity after opportunity, until the Phoenix managed to pull ahead. They finished the game with a five-point lead. Once again, Dranred was named the game's Most Valuable Player — his second straight title in the Finals.
Rosette smiled faintly as she listened to the commentary. He did it again, she thought, her hands resting lightly on the edge of the blanket. She wished she could have been there — to hear the roar of the crowd, to see him in motion, to feel the electricity of the court. But soon, she promised herself. Once the bandages came off, she would finally see again. The world, her brothers… and Dranred.
"Estelle?" she called again when she didn't hear a reply. "Is that you? Why aren't you saying anything? Is James with you?"
No response came.
She tilted her head slightly, following the faint sound of footsteps entering the room. Whoever it was, they didn't speak. She could hear the soft shuffle of shoes against the tiled floor, moving closer to the small table beside her bed. Then she caught a familiar scent — a clean, delicate fragrance of fresh flowers.
Her chest tightened. Whoever it was, it wasn't Estelle.
"Who's there?" she whispered, her voice trembling between curiosity and anticipation.
"Fresh flowers again?" Rosette asked when she caught the faint scent. "Didn't you just buy some yesterday?"
No answer.
"James?" she tried. "Dr. Bryan? Is that you?"
Those were the only people who had visited her in the past few days. She couldn't help but wonder why Dranred hadn't come. After all, he was the reason her operation had been successful.
"Why won't you say anything?" she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice.
Then, a familiar voice broke the silence. "I don't think you mentioned my name."
Her breath caught. "Red?"
He sat down on the edge of her bed. "Why aren't you talking?" she teased gently.
"I was feeling a little down," he said with a soft laugh. "Didn't expect me to visit?"
"You can't blame me," she replied. "You never came after the operation. I thought you'd forgotten about me."
"Of course not." He turned slightly, his eyes catching the TV screen. "You're watching the replay of the game? Didn't you see it live?"
Rosette quickly switched the TV off. "I did. But there's not much else to do here, so I watched it again. Oh — and congratulations on the win." She smiled.
"Thanks." He smiled back. "I figured I had to play my best if I wanted to reach Game Seven. You'll be there, right?"
"I'll think about it," she said, still smiling.
"You have to," he teased. "Otherwise, I might not play as well as expected. You know I need my energy source."
"Energy source?" she echoed, laughing. "What am I, a charger? And what does that make you — a battery?"
"Let's just say my battery doesn't work properly without its human charger."
Rosette chuckled. "You're ridiculous."
Dranred laughed softly, starting to stand — but suddenly froze when he felt her hand brush against his. Maybe it was an accident, but his heart leapt all the same.
This girl… he thought, trying to steady himself.
"Don't surprise me like that," he said lightly, pulling back slightly — only for Rosette to reach out and catch his arm again.
"Why?" Dranred asked, standing slightly, his brows drawing together when she didn't answer. He looked at her face — the faint blush, the nervous bite of her lip.
"Do you need something? I'll get it," he offered.
Instead of replying, Rosette released his arm and lightly tapped the edge of her bed, as if telling him to sit back down.
"You're acting strange," he said, sitting again with a puzzled smile.
"Can I… touch your face?" she asked softly.
"Huh? Why?" He blinked, not sure he'd heard her right. Her sudden gentleness stirred something unfamiliar in his chest.
"Because I want to remember what you look like."
He chuckled awkwardly. "You'll see me soon enough — when they take the bandages off."
"Never mind, then," she said, feigning a small pout as she turned away.
Dranred sighed. "Fine. If you weren't—" He stopped himself before he could say if you weren't so important to me. The word important hung in his mind, confusing him. What did he mean by that? Was she still just a friend's sister to him… or something more?
"Thank you," Rosette said suddenly, her voice gentle.
He looked at her again, and there it was — that smile. The smile that somehow disarmed him every single time. It made him want to protect her, to keep that light in her expression alive.
"That smile of yours… it could light up a whole stadium," he teased softly, moving closer.
He reached out his hand. "Don't be disappointed if my face isn't what you imagined."
Then he gently guided her hand to his cheek.
The instant their skin met, Rosette froze. A spark — like a quiet current of electricity — rushed through her fingers, up her arm, straight to her heart. She nearly pulled away, but stopped herself. Act normal, she thought. Don't let him notice.
Her hand trembled slightly as she traced his face — from his forehead, down the curve of his eyebrows, along the bridge of his nose, to the soft shape of his lips. She smiled without realizing it.
Dranred's heart thudded in his chest. He raised an eyebrow when he saw her smiling.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked quietly as she withdrew her hand, still feeling the warmth of his skin lingering in her fingertips.
"Are you mocking me now?" Dranred asked with a laugh. Somehow, her smile was contagious — the kind that could make anyone forget their worries.
"Of course not," Rosette replied. "Now I understand why so many girls are your fans."
He raised a brow. "Is that a compliment?"
"It is," she said with a small smile. Her fingertips still lingered on his face. As she traced his features, memories flooded her mind — the boy she once knew, his youthful grin. Now, he had grown — the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the confident tilt of his chin. Even without seeing, she could imagine how much more handsome he had become.
"I hope I didn't disappoint you," he teased, standing up.
"Never," she murmured. Her head turned slightly, her nose catching the soft fragrance of the flowers he had brought. Jasmine. That familiar, sweet scent filled the room — her mother's favorite.
The memory hit her hard. Tears welled up, but she fought them back. The effort made her chest ache, and she instinctively pressed a hand over her heart.
"Rosette?" Dranred immediately leaned forward, worry etched across his face. "What's wrong?" He followed her gaze to the bouquet, realization dawning on him. Jasmine — her mother's flowers. His heart sank.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't realize. I'll take them out—"
But she caught his arm, shaking her head. "It's okay. I just… remembered my mom. She used to grow these."
"Yeah," he whispered. "She loved them."
Rosette's fingers tightened around his sleeve, and he understood without words. Gently, he drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on her back — telling her silently that it was all right, that she wasn't alone.
Her tears finally fell, muffled against his chest. The ache in her heart softened beneath his warmth. That embrace — strong, steady, and sincere — made her feel safe. For the first time in a long while, she believed she didn't have to carry the pain alone.
At the door, Estelle stopped. She had just arrived from her hospital shift, rushing straight to visit her sister. But when she saw Dranred inside, holding Rosette, her breath caught.
For a moment, she couldn't move. The sight pierced through her — a sharp, silent pain she didn't expect to feel anymore. She reminded herself that it shouldn't matter, that she had ended things with Dranred, that she was engaged now.
And yet, her heart betrayed her.
She turned away from the door and waited in the hallway until Dranred left, hiding the tremor in her chest beneath a practiced calm — the kind only a nurse could wear.
"Did someone come by?" Estelle asked casually as she entered the hospital room, setting down the food she'd brought. Her eyes flicked toward the vase on the side table. "New flowers? Jasmine?"
It was their mother's favorite — and of course, it was just like Dranred to remember.
"Red was here earlier," Rosette said. "He brought the jasmine. Too bad you missed him."
"There's no reason we needed to see each other," Estelle replied lightly, almost too lightly, as she adjusted the flowers in the vase.
After a moment, she spoke again, her tone quieter. "Rosette, I need to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me."
"Okay."
"What's your relationship with Dranred?"
The question made Rosette look up. For a moment, she said nothing. Estelle kept her eyes on the flowers, her movements precise, avoiding her sister's gaze.
"You know James and Dranred don't get along," Estelle continued. "It would be better if you didn't get too close to him. If you're just a fan, that's fine. But don't get… more involved than you should. You understand what I mean, don't you?"
Rosette frowned slightly. "Why? Red and I have always been close. Does something have to change just because he and James don't get along?"
"The situation's different now," Estelle said. Her voice softened but held a strange finality. "Things can't go back to how they used to be."
Rosette watched her sister in silence. She could sense that this wasn't just about James or basketball — there was something else behind Estelle's words. A heaviness. A kind of pain she recognized but couldn't name.
And then, quietly, she understood.
Estelle still hadn't let him go.
Rosette wanted to say something, to tell her sister that she understood, but she stopped herself. No explanation could ease the ache of a heart that hadn't healed. So she simply said nothing.