The room was eerily silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, a sharp contrast to the heavy weight pressing against Noah's chest. He lay motionless, the dim hospital lights casting long shadows across his frail frame. Wires snaked around him, IV drips feeding life into his veins, yet he felt none of it. His limbs were cold, his body light, as if he were already half-gone.
His breath came in shallow gasps. Pain had long become a constant companion, dulling into a background hum of suffering. It was no longer just the tumor eating away at him—it was the loneliness, the emptiness, the years of longing for a love that had never come. He had spent so much of his life chasing something unattainable, pleading for acceptance, only to be met with apathy. His mother's cold gaze. His sisters' scorn. The space his father had once occupied, now just a memory.
What had it all been for?
The beeping on the monitor wavered, a nurse's hurried footsteps rushing past him. Distant voices called for a doctor. His body convulsed slightly, but the struggle felt meaningless. He had fought for so long—clawed his way through life, hoping, praying—but now, as his vision darkened, he wondered if he had ever truly lived at all.
Something deep within him twisted. A regret so profound it clawed at his very soul. Not just for the pain he endured, but for the chances he had never taken. He had spent his days longing for the warmth of others, yet he had never allowed himself to find warmth in himself. He had never pursued his own joys, never lived for himself. His entire existence had been defined by a desperate need for love, and in the end, it had left him with nothing.
The noise around him faded. The edges of his world blurred into nothingness, like ink bleeding into water. And then—
Silence.
A weightless void.
Then a sensation. A pull. As if something deep inside him refused to let go.
Noah's eyes flew open.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. His heart pounded, his fingers trembled. He was… alive? He blinked, the fluorescent hospital light burning into his retinas. His hands shot up to his face—warm, solid. His body felt weaker, but there was no unbearable pain, no suffocating weight on his skull. He turned his head, eyes darting around the room.
This wasn't right.
His gaze landed on the date printed on the whiteboard near the door. His breath hitched in his throat.
This was the day he had first learned about the tumor.
His mind reeled, spinning in chaotic loops. Hadn't he just died? Hadn't he just slipped into nothingness? Was this a cruel trick? A delusion before death finally took him?
Noah's fingers curled into the bedsheet, his knuckles turning white. If this was real—if this was truly happening—then fate had given him one last chance. A second life. A chance to live, not for them, not for their love, but for himself.
His lips parted as he exhaled, slow and shaky. He didn't know how much time he had. Maybe months, maybe years. But this time, he wouldn't waste it.
This time, Noah would live.