The rain fell in heavy sheets that night, thick and relentless, pounding the streets of the city as if the heavens themselves were in turmoil. The world outside Sang Zhi's apartment was dark, and the storm was unrelenting, each crack of thunder shaking the walls and casting fleeting shadows through her small window. Sang Zhi sat curled on the couch, scrolling through her phone, completely unaware that this night would be one that changed everything.
Her thoughts drifted back to her family, to the simple comforts of home and her mother's gentle voice, which always held a note of concern whenever they spoke. They hadn't talked much lately; life had grown busier for Sang Zhi, caught between her career, friendships, and the persistent ache of unrequited love for Xiao Zhan. But tonight, as the storm roared around her, a longing for her mother's warmth tugged at her heart. She wondered if her mom was still awake, maybe curled up with a book, or chatting on the phone with one of her friends from the neighborhood.
A soft chime pulled her from her thoughts. She reached for her phone and saw a notification from her brother, Sang Yan. She felt a flicker of surprise; it was unusual for him to text her so late. When she opened the message, her heart skipped a beat at the words flashing on the screen.
"Sang Zhi, call me now. It's about Mom."
Her fingers trembled as she dialed her brother's number, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities, each one darker than the last. Her heartbeat roared in her ears as she waited, the phone ringing endlessly before he finally picked up.
"Sang Zhi…" Sang Yan's voice was strained, thick with emotion.
"What's going on?" she demanded, her voice tight with worry. "What happened to Mom?"
There was a long pause, and she could hear him take a shaky breath. "She… she's been in an accident. A car accident. It was bad, Sang Zhi. Really bad."
The world seemed to shift beneath her, and she felt herself slipping, her vision blurring as his words echoed in her mind. "No… no, that can't be. Is she… is she okay? Where is she?"
"She's in the hospital now," Sang Yan replied, his voice barely a whisper. "But she's unconscious. They don't know if she'll wake up. The doctors… they're doing everything they can."
A sob escaped her lips, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to hold herself together. Her mind flashed with images of her mother—her mother's bright smile, her gentle hugs, her soft, reassuring voice. She couldn't lose her. Not like this.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," she choked out, her voice breaking.
Without another word, she ended the call and scrambled to gather her things, her movements clumsy and frantic. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and desperation as she stumbled out of her apartment, barely noticing the rain that soaked her as she ran to her car. The storm seemed to mirror the turmoil in her heart, each clap of thunder reverberating through her as she drove through the dark, empty streets toward the hospital.
---
The fluorescent lights of the hospital were harsh and unforgiving, casting an eerie glow over everything as Sang Zhi hurried down the sterile hallways. Her clothes clung to her, drenched from the rain, but she barely noticed. All she could think about was her mother, lying unconscious somewhere in this maze of white walls and antiseptic smells.
She finally found Sang Yan, who was standing outside the intensive care unit, his face pale and drawn. He looked up as she approached, and she could see the same fear and anguish mirrored in his eyes.
"Sang Zhi," he murmured, pulling her into a hug.
She clung to him, her body trembling as she buried her face in his shoulder, the weight of her grief crashing over her like a tidal wave. For a long moment, they stood there in silence, holding onto each other as they tried to process the nightmare unfolding around them.
Finally, she pulled back, wiping her eyes as she looked up at him. "What… what did the doctors say?"
"They're still assessing her condition," Sang Yan replied, his voice hollow. "She has a severe head injury, and there's a lot of internal bleeding. They're doing everything they can, but… it doesn't look good."
Sang Zhi felt her knees go weak, and she leaned against the wall, her mind struggling to process his words. Her mother—the woman who had been her rock, her guide, her friend—was lying on the brink of death, and there was nothing she could do to help her. The helplessness was suffocating, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe.
"She has to wake up," Sang Zhi whispered, more to herself than to her brother. "She can't… she can't leave us like this."
Sang Yan nodded, his jaw clenched as he tried to keep his own emotions in check. "We just have to wait and pray. The doctors said they'll update us as soon as they know more."
They settled into the uncomfortable chairs outside the ICU, the minutes stretching into hours as they waited for any news. Sang Zhi sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her mind racing with memories of her mother—her laughter, her gentle touch, the way she would fuss over Sang Zhi whenever she was sick or upset. She couldn't imagine a world without her mother in it, couldn't fathom the thought of never hearing her voice again.
---
Hours passed, and the first light of dawn was beginning to creep through the windows when a doctor finally approached them. Sang Zhi and Sang Yan stood up, their eyes fixed on the doctor's face, searching for any hint of hope.
"I won't sugarcoat it," the doctor said, his expression grave. "Your mother is in critical condition. We managed to stop the internal bleeding, but she suffered a traumatic brain injury, and her vitals are unstable. We're doing everything we can, but… it's a very delicate situation."
Sang Zhi felt a fresh wave of tears rise in her throat, but she swallowed them down, clinging to the faint glimmer of hope in the doctor's words. "Can… can we see her?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "Just for a few minutes. She's still unconscious, but sometimes hearing familiar voices can help."
Sang Zhi and Sang Yan followed the doctor into the ICU, their footsteps echoing in the quiet, sterile room. When they reached their mother's bed, Sang Zhi felt her heart shatter at the sight before her.
Her mother lay motionless, her face pale and bruised, tubes and wires connected to machines that beeped and hummed around her. She looked so small, so fragile, and Sang Zhi felt a pang of guilt for every moment she hadn't spent with her, every call she hadn't answered, every text she'd been too busy to reply to.
She sank into the chair beside her mother's bed, reaching out to gently hold her hand. It was cold, and the touch sent a chill through her, a reminder of the fragility of life and the ever-present possibility of loss.
"Mom," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's me… it's Sang Zhi. Can you hear me?"
There was no response, just the steady, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Sang Zhi closed her eyes, letting the tears fall as she clutched her mother's hand, praying with all her heart that she would wake up, that she would open her eyes and smile, that she would tell her everything was going to be okay.
"Please," she murmured, her voice breaking. "Please don't leave us. I… I need you. We both do."
---
The next few days passed in a blur of worry and sleepless nights as Sang Zhi and Sang Yan took turns keeping vigil by their mother's bedside. Friends and relatives came and went, offering words of comfort and support, but nothing could ease the ache in Sang Zhi's heart.
Every day, she would sit by her mother's side, talking to her, telling her stories, sharing memories, hoping that her voice would somehow reach her, that it would be enough to bring her back. She told her about everything she'd been doing lately, about her job, her friends, even about Xiao Zhan, though she carefully avoided mentioning the complicated feelings she held for him.
Two days passed, the initial shock began to fade, replaced by a deep, numbing sadness that seemed to settle into her bones. She felt as if she were walking through a fog, her emotions muted and distant, her mind struggling to process the reality of her mother's condition.
There were moments when she would break down, the weight of her grief overwhelming her, and she would retreat to a quiet corner of the hospital to cry, her sobs muffled by the walls around her. And in those moments, she would think of Xiao Zhan, wishing he were there to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be okay.
But she knew she couldn't rely on him not like that, and she couldn't let herself slip now, not when her world was already falling apart.
So she kept her distance, focusing all her energy on her mother, praying for a miracle, clinging to the hope that someday, somehow, her mother would wake up and everything would go back to the way it was.