The ICU didn’t have the warmth of Room 302. There were no posters on the walls, no sunlight streaming through the windows—only the blue-white glow of monitors and the rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator.
Rika sat by Marin’s bed, her navy notebook resting untouched in her lap. For the first time, she found herself hating words. No adjective could describe the way Marin’s hand felt—cooler than before, like a stone at the bottom of a stream.
A low moan came from the bed. Marin’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. They looked heavy, the spark from the clock tower dimmed but not entirely gone.
"You... you came," Marin whispered, the oxygen mask fogging with every breath.
"I skipped school," Rika said, a small, sad smile breaking her face. "I even stood up to Sato. I told him he was a boring background character."
A tiny, weak laugh bubbled in Marin’s chest. "That’s my girl... my writer. I knew you had a spine of steel... you just had it tucked away in your notebook."
Marin reached out, her fingers searching for Rika’s. Rika caught them, holding on as if she could anchor Marin to the earth by sheer will.
"Rika," Marin said, her voice dropping to a serious, fragile tone. "We need to finish the 'Fake Dating' chapter. The one where... where we stop pretending."
Rika’s heart gave a violent lurch. "Marin, we don't have to do this now. Rest. We’ll do it when you're back in the yellow dress."
"No," Marin insisted, a flash of her old stubbornness returning. "The story doesn't wait for the weather to clear. Tell me... in the book... does the writer love the girl? Or is she just staying because of the 'deal'?"
Rika looked down at their joined hands. She thought of the bike accident, the smell of lilies, the way Marin looked under the clock tower, and the way the world felt empty whenever the hospital curtains were closed.
"She loves her," Rika whispered, the words finally breaking free. "She loved her the moment she saw her in Room 302. She was just too scared to write it down because she didn't want the story to have an ending."
Marin closed her eyes, a single tear escaping and disappearing into the edge of her mask. "Good. Because the girl... she wasn't faking it either. She didn't choose the writer because she needed a biographer. She chose the writer because she wanted someone to see her... not as a patient, but as a person. As someone... worth loving."
Rika leaned forward, her forehead resting against the edge of the hospital bed. For the first time since the accident, she let herself cry—not the quiet, hidden tears of a bullied girl, but the raw, aching sobs of someone losing her heart.
"Don't go," Rika choked out. "The story isn't finished. I haven't written the climax yet."
"Then make the ending beautiful," Marin whispered, her voice fading as sleep pulled at her again. "Make it so beautiful... that I can hear it... even when I'm sleeping."
The monitors hummed. The "fake" relationship was dead. In its place was something real, something heavy, and something that was running out of time.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.