"The third party does not want to love again."

. Blooming flowers painted the scene with vibrant colors, but the beauty of the view did little to ease the burden weighing heavily on his features. He wore a dark shirt and matching trousers, his transparent glasses revealing eyes filled with a sharp anxiety that seemed to consume him. In his hand, he held an ornate landline phone, silent for a brief moment before it suddenly began to ring. The sound was loud, piercing, as though striking directly at his heart. He raised the phone slowly, his hand trembling slightly, and spoke with a deep voice laced with distress: "This is Osman Valiska... Am I speaking with Dr. Kyle Strathmore?" A calm, steady voice replied from the other end, carrying a hint of curiosity but tinged with confidence: "Yes, this is he. How can I assist you, sir?" Osman's tone shifted suddenly, trembling with a hidden fear: "Please, Doctor... my daughter... her condition is worsening rapidly. I need you to come immediately." His voice, heavy with despair, faltered as though the words were betraying him: "She... she is everything to me. I can't lose her." A brief silence hung over the call before Dr. Strathmore responded with a measured seriousness: "I'm on my way. Be ready." Osman ended the call with a shaky hand, then looked upward toward the sky, watching as the bright sun seemed to slip behind gathering clouds. He whispered softly, his voice filled with desperate hope: "Please, God... save her." Thirty agonizing minutes passed, feeling as though time itself had frozen, until the grand doors of the mansion creaked open. A pale-faced servant, hesitant in his steps, guided Dr. Kyle Strathmore inside. The doctor was tall, commanding in presence, his European features both stern and enigmatic. He wore a brown coat that seemed to carry secrets only he understood, and a small bag in his hand that appeared heavier than it looked. Osman greeted him at the entrance, his face etched with worry and defeat, and spoke in a low, unsteady voice: "This way, Doctor... quickly." He led the doctor down a long corridor where their footsteps echoed heavily. They stopped before a white door, which Osman opened slowly to reveal a simple room. Stuffed toys lay scattered across the floor, and flowers adorned the corners in a futile attempt to breathe life into the somber atmosphere. The mother, a woman in her mid-forties, stood beside the bed. Her pale face and swollen blue eyes bore the marks of endless tears. On the bed lay Aurora, her body motionless, her golden blonde hair cascading over the pillow like threads of sunlight. She resembled a sleeping princess from a fairytale, trapped instead in an unending nightmare. The mother spoke with a trembling voice, clutching a tissue tightly in her hands: "She collapsed suddenly, two months ago... We've tried everything. The doctors said she's brain dead, but... but her heart is still beating. Her skin is warm, as if she's trying to stay with us." Dr. Strathmore didn't respond immediately. His sharp eyes examined the girl, searching for answers hidden beneath her haunting stillness. He stepped cautiously toward the bed, gently took her hand, and checked her pulse. His gaze then swept over her body with a calm, almost inhuman focus, as though reading an invisible story written on her skin. While he worked, he retrieved a small, advanced device and drew a blood sample, placing it in a sleek tube. Sliding the tube into a handheld analyzer, a faint hum emanated from the machine, though the results were not immediately clear. He turned to the mother and asked in a steady tone: "Have you taken her to the hospital recently?" The mother answered in a voice barely audible: "Yes... three days ago. They told us... they told us she would never wake up. They asked us to prepare to say goodbye. They were... they were arranging to donate her organs." Her voice cracked with each word, and she broke down into fresh sobs. Dr. Strathmore remained silent for a long moment before fixing the parents with a steady gaze and stating firmly: "They shouldn't have done that. I don't believe she's gone yet." He removed his brown coat and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. Climbing onto the bed, he began performing chest compressions on Aurora with a steady rhythm, while her mother stifled her sobs with a trembling hand. After several attempts, he retrieved a compact defibrillator, a sleek black device with two metallic paddles, and positioned it on her chest. "Stand back!" he commanded firmly. The first shock jolted the girl's body, but her eyes remained shut. He administered a second shock, then a third. With the fourth, Aurora suddenly gasped, inhaling sharply as though returning from another world. Her wide eyes fluttered open, scanning the room in confusion, as though she couldn't comprehend what was happening. The sound of the mother's cries and the father's shouts filled the room, but Dr. Strathmore observed quietly, a faint smile playing on his lips. He murmured softly: "She's back." An hour later, the doctor stood at the doorway, watching Aurora, now awake, as she faced a mirror. She wore a short pink dress and ran her fingers across her reflection, as if it was a stranger staring back at her. "Where am I?" she whispered weakly, her brows furrowed in confusion. The doctor entered quietly, stepping beside her with a reassuring smile. "You're home. You've been asleep for a long time, but you're safe now." She glanced at him, then down at her hands, as though searching for fragments of her lost memory. She tried to remember, but nothing surfaced. "Don't push yourself too hard," he said gently, placing his fingers on her pulse. "Your memory will return with time." Leaving the room, the doctor carried an air of calm, though his mind was heavy with unspoken thoughts. Something about this girl wasn't ordinary, and when her memories did return, they might reveal secrets buried within her long sleep.