Day 92
“He suffers from heart arrhythmia.”

We had been told it was a ventricular fibrillation attack; that his heart was beating unnaturally fast and that not enough blood was flowing through the body . The doctor had told us it wasn't the first time, and that this was probably the most serious case so far, and that they didn't know if he'd be alright, before he'd left us to our own accords and went to check on the patient. And about ten minutes later, came out and allowed us to enter the ward.

He had been lying on a small cot, paler than usual, with needles and tubes here and there. But the thing that caught my undivided attention was the oxygen mask attached to his face.

His eyes had been closed, chest rising and falling evenly, quietly; normally.

Normally only with the mask.

I had sat beside him on the bed, taken his hand in my own, and I felt the first tear slip when I squeezed his hand but felt no squeeze in return. And I had wondered, why I hadn't noticed before. The signs had been there, but I had brushed them off.

And as I stayed stationary in my position, the others silently behind me, it finally occurred to me.

I finally understood.

I understood why this would never work. Because. Because, even that day more than a month ago, he had known. He had known all along, yet he hadn't told me. Didn't want to tell me. And it was then that I'd let myself go, and I'd felt a pair of arms wound around my waist.

“Don't cry, Sungjong-ah. He's going to be fine.”

I'd turned around into the embrace and cried. Cried like a baby, like I hadn't done in so long. Because I knew. I knew.

He just might not wake up again.