In the hospital hallway, muted sobs echoed as families clung to one another. A doctor stood before a grieving group, their shoulders hunched under the weight of his words.

Gurneys wheeled past with urgent grace, the wheels gliding smoothly over the polished floor. Nurses moved swiftly, their faces calm but focused.

But one man stood still in front of a closed door, his head bowed. A faint light from the door's small window glinted off his hair, casting him in a pale glow.

The door slid open with a soft whoosh. A nurse stepped out and met his gaze with a gentle smile.

"You can visit now," she said softly.

He nodded but didn't move, his head still lowered. Moments passed before he finally pressed a hand to the door, pushing it open with a quiet creak.

Inside, the room was bathed in sterile white light streaming through the window. A man lay in the bed, his head crowned with a white cap, his face serene. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room, its rhythm the only sound.

Tubes snaked from his hands, which rested delicately on his lap.

The man crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps. He stopped at the edge of the bed, staring for a moment, then sank into the chair beside it.

The man stared at him, his black-rimmed eyes heavy with exhaustion. Shadows etched deep beneath them, evidence of sleepless nights.

The man in the bed remained still, his face pale and unmoving. His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze dropped to the floor.

"Please go," the sick man said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The man seated by the bed didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned closer, his movements hesitant, and gently placed a hand on the sick man's leg.

"I don't need you here," the sick man said again, his tone firmer this time. His face stayed stern, unmoving. "You made your choice. I made mine."

A single tear traced its way down the seated man's cheek, glistening in the sterile light. His voice cracked as he spoke. "Caleb…"

"Leave me the fuck alone," Caleb snapped, his voice sharp like a blade, though it trembled at the edges.

The seated man lifted his head, his movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by invisible chains. He rose from the chair and moved to the other side of the bed, stepping into the stream of light from the window. His shadow fell across Caleb's face, obscuring him from the pale glow.

Gently, he reached out and cupped Caleb's head, pulling it toward his chest. His motions were tender, but Caleb didn't react—his body remained still, his gaze fixed beyond the window.

The man knelt by the bed, his knees pressing into the cold floor. With trembling lips, he kissed the back of Caleb's hand, holding it as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. Then, as though surrendering to the weight of his grief, he pressed his face into Caleb's hand, his shoulders trembling.

Still, Caleb stared at the window, his expression hollow, his eyes devoid of emotion.

The man lingered a moment longer before slowly rising to his feet. His movements were heavy, reluctant. He turned to the door and slid it open with a soft creak.

As it clicked shut behind him, the small window in the door framed Caleb exactly as he had been before—bathed in the same pale light, unmoving.

The clock ticked loudly, its hands pointing to seven. Wine gurgled as it poured into a glass, the rich red liquid catching the soft glow of the chandelier.

At the dinner table, Stuart sat beside a woman whose beauty made "stunning" feel like an understatement. Her hair fell in soft waves, framing her composed, elegant face.

"You've been married five years now," the older man across the table said, his voice gruff yet measured. He sat beside a woman his age, her hands folded delicately in her lap. "When are you expecting?"

"Dad, that's a bit sudden," the younger woman replied with a polite laugh, glancing nervously at Stuart. "Stuart and I are still focused on the company."

Beside her, Stuart methodically sliced into his steak, the sound of his knife against the porcelain plate filling the silence.

"That's right, honey," the older woman chimed in, offering a soft smile. "We know how you feel about money. Let them focus on their careers for now. They're still young."

"Time isn't something I have, dear," the older man interrupted, setting his utensils down with a deliberate clink. "The company is important. Money is important." His voice grew quieter but carried a weight that demanded attention. "But I'd love to play with my grandchild… or grandchildren." He gestured broadly with his hand.

Stuart smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he chewed and swallowed.

"When I'm still on my feet," the old man added, his tone softening but no less firm.

"I'll try my best, Dad," Stuart said, forcing a smile.

"I hope you do," the old man replied, his tone as heavy as his gaze.

The rest of the dinner passed in polite silence, the occasional clink of silverware breaking the stillness. When it finally ended, Stuart and his wife stood at the door, watching as her parents approached the elevator.

She waved them off, her expression calm and composed. The mother waved back with a warm smile, while the father gave a curt nod.

Stuart smiled faintly in return, holding it until the elevator doors slid shut. As soon as they did, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders sinking.

"You're not going to tell them, right?" his wife asked, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"No," Stuart replied flatly.

They entered their apartment, Stuart closing the door softly behind them.

"I've signed the papers," she said, walking toward the living room. "The surrogate will get them next week."

Stuart leaned against the door, his eyes on her as she moved with calculated precision, her phone already in hand.

"It's elaborate," he said, his tone measured, "but it'll make them happy."

She stopped scrolling for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I just need to find a place without any decent service. That way, they don't bother me."

She resumed scrolling, her thumb flicking rapidly across the screen. "Vietnam, Laos—most of them are expat hot spots now, so it's crazy to say there's no coverage." She shut off her phone with a sigh. "I'll talk to someone in the morning. You renewed your passport, right?"

"Yeah," Stuart said, his voice low. He straightened and moved toward the bedroom. "I'm heading somewhere tomorrow. Just fill me in if there are any updates."

His wife nodded, her attention already elsewhere, as Stuart grabbed his jacket from the chair and slipped it on.

The soft click of the door closing behind him marked his departure.

In the dim glow of the streetlights, Stuart's car pulled into the open parking lot of a modest apartment complex. A few precise clicks, and the apartment door swung open, revealing a modern yet humble interior.

The soft chime of a bell broke the silence, followed by the gentle padding of paws. A chubby black-and-white cat trotted into view, its tail flicking as it approached.

"Cookie," Stuart murmured, crouching down to brush his hand over the cat's head. Cookie purred, leaning into his touch.

Stuart straightened and flicked on another light, illuminating a cozy bedroom. The space exuded calmness, the kind born of solitude.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, his gaze distant, his hand reaching for the other side of the mattress. A bolster pillow was laid there neatly, almost deliberately.

A faint, sorrowful smile curved his lips as he brushed his fingers across the pillow.

He stood and opened the cupboard, revealing neatly hung clothes. His hand hovered over them before he pulled one free—a familiar shirt, soft and worn.

Switching off the light, Stuart lay in bed, the shirt clutched in one hand and the bolster hugged close to his chest.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, carrying him to another time.

A packed lunch carefully placed in the basket of his motorbike as he sped through town as a food delivery driver.

Caleb's hands steadying him as he struggled through physiotherapy, the guiding bars cold beneath his grip.

Caleb's smile as he embraced him on his wedding day, whispering, "Congratulations." The memory shifted to the ceremony itself—an empty chair in the front row where Caleb should have been.

The scenes flickered like a silent reel in Stuart's mind, each one heavier than the last. The shirt in his hand was warm against his chest, but the cold emptiness beside him was impossible to ignore.

The alarm buzzed loudly, cutting through the stillness of the room. Stuart groggily reached for his phone, silencing it with a swipe. The light from the window poured across the empty side of the bed, casting long shadows.

He sat up slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion. Dragging himself to the living room, he brewed a cup of coffee, the faint aroma barely registering.

At the dining table, he sat, staring at the bouquet in the center. It was vibrant and alive, in stark contrast to the emptiness of the seat across from him.

After a moment, he rose, pulled a tie from the cupboard, and looped it around his neck with practiced precision. As he closed the door, a vibration in his pocket stopped him mid-step.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice clipped with caution.

The voice on the other end spoke, and Stuart froze. His eyes widened, his grip tightening on the phone. Without another word, he bolted for the elevator.

The car engine roared as Stuart sped through the streets, weaving through traffic. His mind raced as much as his heart, imagining Caleb in a hospital bed.

"Hold on, Caleb," he thought, his chest tightening.

Scenes played in his head like cruel memories: Caleb smiling in the park, his laughter carrying on the breeze.

"Stay," Stuart whispered under his breath.

His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, his focus blurring in his desperation.

"Stay," he thought again, his heart pounding as he pictured Caleb's hand slack against the hospital sheets.

The lorry came out of nowhere.

The crash was deafening.

Stuart's car spun violently, slamming into a streetlight. The world around him blurred into a cacophony of ringing in his ears and the grinding of metal against pavement.

When he opened his eyes, his vision swam. The phone in the dock flashed faintly, taunting him.

"Stay," his mind repeated, the word like a lifeline.

His arm stretched toward the phone, trembling, the weight of his injuries pulling him down.

"Stay," he whispered again, his thoughts clinging to Caleb. He could almost see him, smiling faintly.

The edges of Stuart's vision darkened as the faint wail of sirens drew closer, fading as if from another world. His fingers grazed the edge of the phone before everything went silent.

A splash of cold water woke him from the abyss. Stuart gasped for air as he sat up, his body shivering against the unexpected chill. Around him, people were staring, swarming like worried bees.

"We're on the side of the field," someone said, their voice sounding muffled and distant. A whistle blew, sharp and insistent.

"Wow, you really blacked out, didn't you?" a man said, his eyes wide with concern. He wore a jersey with 'Coach' emblazoned across the chest.

"Where am I?" Stuart croaked, looking around as if the landscape itself might offer some clue.

"The tryouts, man. What do you think?" the coach's eyes softened a little, like he was trying to understand what was happening.

Stuart blinked rapidly, his heart pounding. This has to be a dream, he thought, maybe this is the seven minutes of my life playing back, but there was no escaping the reality of the field, the faces, the cold water soaking his clothes.

"Are you okay, man?" a teammate asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Stuart nodded automatically, then winced as he pinched his arm. "Ouch!" the teammate grunted, pulling back with a glare.

Stuart's heart sank. Wait, this is real, he thought, his hand trembling as he touched his face. Pain. I felt pain.

"Get your ass off my field!" the coach barked, breaking the momentary silence with a gruff order. "You passed out and woke up crazy."

Stuart pushed to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. "Can I quit the team?"

The coach's jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Are you insane?" one of the teammates said, sharing a bewildered look with the others.

"I just want to quit the team," Stuart repeated, his voice steadier this time.

The coach exhaled, a long, resigned sigh. "You better not come begging," he muttered, then turned away, shaking his head.

"I won't," Stuart promised, a smile tugging at his lips. He turned and ran off the field, his footsteps pounding against the ground.

He jumped on his bike and started the ignition, his hands gripping the handlebars tightly. On the road, he looked left and right, then made his way through the familiar streets, his pulse quickening with every turn.

If this is the day, he should be there, he thought, feeling his heart race as he sped up.

The motorbike roared into the school grounds, weaving through the familiar gates, and he parked it, nearly jumping off before it was even fully stopped. Stuart ran for the stairs, his legs pounding beneath him. A smile of Caleb popped into his head as he climbed, pushing harder with each step.

At the top, he slowed, catching his breath, then made his way to the library. His heart pounded in his ears as he approached the door. The pair of white shoes sat on the rack by the entrance, and Stuart felt his stomach flip.

He pushed the door open abruptly, the hinges creaking as it swung wide. Every head turned, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Stuart didn't care. He scanned the room quickly, his eyes searching for a familiar face—then he found it.

Caleb.