I flash a smile at my friends, giving them a quick wave before making my way to my car. The moment I slide into the driver’s seat, my hands tighten around the wheel, and I take a deep breath before pulling out of the parking lot. I already know where I’m headed—it’s the same place I’ve been going to every day for the past few months.

The ward where she is.

This has become my routine. The second my classes end, I drive straight to her. No detours, no second thoughts. She has no one else—no family, no relatives who care enough to visit, not even when she needs them the most. They left her to wither in her own pain, but I refuse to do the same.

Lately, she’s been pushing me away. She barely speaks when I visit, barely looks at me, as if I’ve become a stranger. It hurts more than I can put into words, but I can’t afford to break. Not now. Not when she needs me the most. I know this isn’t really her; it’s the weight of everything she’s been carrying, the darkness that’s swallowing her whole.

I just pray that she won’t give up—because if she does, I don’t know if I could survive losing her.

On my way, I stop by her favorite café, the one we used to go to together. I grab her usual order, the same things she used to get back when things were better. Back when she still smiled. I miss those moments—miss her—but for now, this will have to do.

When I finally arrive at the ward, I find myself standing outside her door, my heart hammering in my chest. I take a deep breath, trying to push away the ache, and force a smile before stepping inside.

"Love? I'm here. I got your favorites!"

I keep my voice light, cheerful—hopeful. But as soon as her lifeless eyes meet mine, that hope shatters into something painful and raw. She doesn’t respond. She just stares, empty and distant, as if she barely recognizes me.

And yet, despite the ache twisting in my chest, I step closer. Because even if she doesn’t say it, even if she keeps pushing me away, I know one thing for certain—she needs me.