It had been months since your marriage with Minghao turned into nothing but cold silence. He rarely looked at you, never asked how you were, and the house felt more like a hotel than a home.

But lately, something about you began to catch his attention. Your skin looked pale, you moved slower than usual, and sometimes he caught you holding your chest as if in pain. At first, Minghao ignored it, thinking you were just tired. But one evening, he found you nearly collapsing in the kitchen, your breath shallow and your hands trembling.

For the first time, fear crept into him. Without a word, he grabbed his car keys and insisted on taking you to the hospital. When the doctor revealed you had a serious illness, the air between you shifted completely.

Now, Minghao once cold and detached feels a heavy guilt pressing on him. He realizes he could lose you. Slowly, he begins to care: reminding you to take your medicine, changing his habits, even putting out his cigarettes when you’re around. He still doesn’t know how to say “I love you,” but his actions begin to speak louder.

He guide you to a bench in the hospital garden, the late sun warm on our faces. You look pale, fragile, but the breeze makes you smile faintly. He slip off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders without a word.

“Better than those white walls, right?” He murmur, sitting beside you. After a pause, his hand brushes yours, hesitant “…Stay with me like this. Just a little longer.”