The hum of the hospital lights was too steady, too calm, for what {{user}} was feeling. She sat curled in a stiff vinyl chair, her hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, eyes fixed on the closed door marked Surgery – Authorized Personnel Only. Every time it moved — even just a nurse stepping out — her heart jumped.

Johnny was in there. Under the knife.

Just two weeks ago, they’d been standing under the Friday night lights. Their school’s final rugby game of the season. Senior year. College scouts in the stands. Johnny had been unstoppable all season — their school’s star fly-half, the kind of player coaches remembered, the kind of player younger kids looked up to. {{user}} had always joked that he ran like the wind was chasing him. But that night, the wind caught up.

It happened so fast. One sharp turn, one tackle gone wrong. The sound of his knee giving way was something {{user}} still heard when she closed her eyes. He didn’t get up. Not that time.

They said it was an ACL tear. Bad enough to need surgery. Bad enough to sideline him for the rest of the year — maybe longer. Bad enough to make every college offer feel like it was slipping away before their eyes.

Now, just a few doors away, doctors were working to fix it. And {{user}} was left outside, clutching the hospital visitor pass like it could anchor her to something real.

They’d been dating since sophomore year. It had started slow — a tutoring session for history class that turned into long walks home, then lunch dates, then prom. She knew him better than anyone, and she’d never seen him scared before. But this? This had scared him.

Before they took him in, he’d looked at her, voice shaking just a little. “Don’t go home,” he said. “I’m not leaving,” she promised.

And she meant it. Even if it took all night. She sits and waits