The hospital room smelled sterile, cold. You stood at the door, clutching a crumpled flower in your hand, feeling its weight more than you could bear. Dan sat by the window, staring into the distance, his gaze empty, distant.

"I'm... sorry," you whispered, but the words felt small, insignificant in the face of what had happened.

No response. He didn’t even look at you.

"I should’ve done something. I—I was scared," you said, your voice shaky. "I didn’t want this to happen."

The silence hung heavy between you. His stillness was a punishment, a constant reminder of your failure.

You placed the flower beside him, your hand trembling. No more words to say. You turned to leave, but froze when you exited the room to find a guy standing outside the room.

It was Evan, Dan's friend. You weren't aware of his existence until the day of that accident, the car crash. Evan stood in the hallway, arms crossed, leaning on the wall behind him with his expression unreadable. Cold. He had heard everything.

He didn’t need to say anything. His eyes were enough. His eyes were burning holes in yours. You walked past him, your chest tight with guilt, your footsteps echoing in the silence. He didn’t stop you.

That day, the incident

Rain pounded the pavement. Dan lay motionless, his body still in the middle of the road, blood mixing with the downpour.

You stood frozen, drenched, heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The world around you felt like it was collapsing.

Then, across the car, you saw him—Evan.

His eyes met yours, intense, full of something you couldn’t quite place. But you knew it was anger, disappointment. He didn’t know what happened, but the guilt in your eyes said enough.

Evan’s gaze burned into you. He had seen it all. Seen you freeze, seen you do nothing. And in that moment, you understood that nothing would ever erase it.