Aryan had spent the past few days in the hospital bed, unable to come to terms with the brutal reality of his situation. The sterile white walls around him felt suffocating, and his thoughts were consumed with despair. Staring out of the hospital window, he gazed at the world outside, where the city carried on with its indifferent routine. His eyes were distant, filled with memories of the dreams he had once held close.
He whispered to himself, his voice hollow, "What am I supposed to do now? How can I live like this? How am I supposed to keep going when everything has been taken from me?"
The questions raced through his mind. He thought about his past—the hope he once had of becoming a cultivator, someone who could transcend ordinary limits and achieve greatness. That dream felt laughable now, like a cruel joke from the universe. He thought about his daily life, too—his rent, his food, his survival. How would he pay for anything now?
With a heavy sigh, Aryan closed his eyes and muttered, "Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how it all ends."
He felt as though his life had reached an impasse, a dead-end where no path forward made sense. The weight of his thoughts was unbearable. He decided he needed to escape the confines of his hospital room, even if only for a brief moment. The idea of fresh air, of being outside, seemed like a distant relief, however fleeting.
Gathering what little strength he had, Aryan pressed the call button beside his bed. A soft chime rang out, alerting the nurse's station. Within a few minutes, a young nurse entered the room, her expression kind but concerned. She had seen Aryan's condition deteriorate not just physically, but emotionally as well.
"You called for me, Aryan?" she asked softly, noticing his pale face and the emptiness in his eyes.
Aryan hesitated for a moment, his throat dry. "I… I need to get out of this room," he said, his voice low but steady. "Can you get me a wheelchair and… take me to the rooftop? I want some fresh air."
The nurse's brow furrowed slightly in concern. "The rooftop? Are you sure that's a good idea? You're still recovering, Aryan. Maybe it would be better to stay in bed for now."
Aryan shook his head slowly, his voice almost pleading. "Please. I can't stay here any longer. I need… I need to see something else, feel something else. I won't be long. Just... let me go up there."
The nurse studied his face, seeing the exhaustion and desperation in his eyes. She nodded gently. "Alright, I'll bring you the wheelchair. But I'll stay close by, just in case you need anything."
Aryan gave her a weak nod of gratitude. "Thank you."
Within moments, the nurse returned with a wheelchair, carefully helping Aryan into it. His body was weak, and every movement felt like a monumental effort. Once he was seated, the nurse wheeled him out of the room, down the long, quiet hallway, and into the elevator. The soft hum of the elevator filled the silence between them as they ascended to the rooftop.
When they arrived, the nurse opened the door to the rooftop terrace, letting the crisp afternoon breeze sweep over them. Aryan felt the cool air on his skin, the sunlight warming him gently. He had always thought the sky looked so vast, so endless, like a reminder that the world was full of possibilities. But now, as he looked out over the city skyline, all he could see was the cruel irony—the beauty of the world that had no place for someone like him anymore.
The nurse parked his wheelchair near the edge of the rooftop, giving him space but staying close enough to watch over him.
Aryan gazed out at the horizon, watching the city bathed in the warm orange glow of the setting sun. The scene was breathtaking, a mixture of vibrant colors and soft, fading light. But instead of feeling comfort, Aryan felt nothing but a deep, hollow sadness. The beauty of the sunset only reminded him of the harshness of the world he now lived in—a world that had betrayed him, stolen his future, and left him broken.
His thoughts were heavy, filled with bitterness. "How could something so beautiful coexist with such cruelty?" He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all, but the answers never came.
Meanwhile, down at the hospital reception, two figures entered the lobby—both dressed in dark clothing, their expressions serious and determined. They approached the front desk where a receptionist sat, typing away at her computer.
The taller of the two leaned forward slightly and spoke in a low, commanding voice. "We're looking for a patient named Aryan. Which room is he in?"
The receptionist looked up, taken aback by their intensity. She straightened in her seat, her professional demeanor kicking in. "May I ask who you are? What's your relationship with the patient?"
The two exchanged a glance before the shorter one reached into his jacket, pulling out an ID card and flashing it to the receptionist. The badge had a government emblem, though the details were not entirely clear from her distance.
"We're here on official business," the shorter one said curtly. "It's important we speak with him immediately."
The receptionist hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she processed the situation. The ID seemed legitimate enough, but she couldn't shake the strange tension in the air.
"Alright," she said cautiously, typing into the computer. "Aryan is in room 306, third floor. But I'll need you to sign in before going up."
The taller figure nodded and scribbled their names in the logbook without a word. The two figures then made their way to the elevator, their steps purposeful and swift. The receptionist watched them go, a lingering feeling of unease settling in her stomach. Something about them didn't sit right, but she pushed the thought aside, focusing back on her work.
As the elevator doors closed, the two figures exchanged another glance.
"He's still recovering, right?" the taller one muttered.
"Doesn't matter," the shorter one replied. "We just need to talk to him. Find out what he knows."
Up on the rooftop, Aryan remained lost in his thoughts, oblivious to the two figures approaching his room below. He stared at the fading sunlight, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he had lost. Despite the nurse's presence, he felt utterly alone. His future felt bleak, and the world, no matter how beautiful it seemed, offered him no solace.
"Maybe it really is over," Aryan thought to himself. "Maybe there's nothing left for me anymore."