Nunca Pensaste Quedarte

Chapter 3

Yara's POV

I went back to the hospital to visit my mom again. As usual, she was busy—busy taking care of everyone but me.

My dad tried his best to be there for me, to fill the emptiness I felt, but my mom… she was always somewhere else. She poured herself into everyone else, yet somehow, I felt invisible in her world. It stung, bitter and sharp—jealousy creeping in before I even realized it.

How could the people around her have more of her time, her attention, than I did? Her own daughter.

Without noticing, I found myself back on the rooftop. The city stretched around me, lights flickering like distant stars, and the cold wind bit at my cheeks.

I let it wash over me, grounding me as I finally allowed the tears to fall—silent, heavy, and aching. For the first time that day, I let myself feel how much I missed her.

"You know, crying can actually release stress chemicals from the body. Emotional tears—like the ones from heartbreak, not onions—release hormones like ACTH, which are linked to stress. It’s like your body’s way of hitting reset after everything crashes down." He said, voice calm, almost teasing.

"Psh, nerd." I scoffed, but my lips betrayed me with a small twitch of a smile. He laughed, loud and careless, and for a second, it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to admit.

Then I noticed him—standing at the very edge of the hospital rooftop. My blood froze. My stomach dropped.

"What are you doing there?" My voice was steady, poker-faced, but my hands trembled.

He didn’t move, didn’t answer immediately. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs, threatening to escape.

"If you’re trying to kill yourself, not here," I said, my tone clipped, trying to mask the terror rising in me.

"You’ll only end up with broken feet and swollen ankles."

For a heartbeat, he was frozen, then unexpectedly... he laughed. A hollow, jagged sound that didn’t reach his eyes.

"I was just admiring the view." He said it casually, but the words were a knife in my chest.

Then, as if it was nothing, he jumped down beside me, landing lightly with the grace of someone who shouldn’t be so alive. And that smile, bright, teasing it the air between us, mocking the panic I was trying desperately to swallow.

"You're something." he said, amusement flickering in his eyes like candlelight over shadows.

I forced a joke, keeping my voice even. "Something went wrong." And without another word, I turned and walked away, trying to ignore the raw ache twisting inside me.

But before I could vanish from his sight, his voice called out, teasing, yet with a strange, almost dangerous undertone "You always leave without saying goodbye. That’s rude, you know!"

I ignored him, my pulse still racing, my chest tight, my mind screaming warnings. But I couldn’t ignore the aftershock of seeing him there, at the edge… the sheer thought of losing him made my knees weak.

My heart felt like it might burst, clawing at my ribcage, begging me to run back, to grab him, to hold him, anything to make sure he didn’t step off.

"Hi, Papa!" I called as he walked into the office.

He grinned, pretending to shield himself. "Whoa, someone’s excited to see me."

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously! I missed you!"

He shook his head and laughed. "Missed me, huh? You just love my sparkling charm."

"Of course" I teased, smirking. "Who else would put up with my BSN complaints all day?"

He leaned back in his chair, mock-serious. "Ah, the trials of a future nurse. Tell me, have you cured anyone imaginary today?"

I giggled. "Only my poor stuffed bunny—it was a critical case!"

He laughed, reaching over to ruffle my hair. "Good work, future Nurse Yara. Keep practicing, and maybe one day you’ll let your old dad live without being poked by imaginary syringes."

I nudged him playfully. "Hey, don’t act like you don’t enjoy it!"

And just like that, the office felt lighter, full of laughter and the quiet comfort that only comes from a father and daughter who know each other too well.

“Papa… is there a psychiatrist at the hospital?” I asked suddenly, the memory of Maxwell flickering in my mind.

He frowned, concern etching across his face. “No, pumpkin… why? Are you okay?”

I shook my head quickly, forcing a casual tone. “No, Papa. It’s not me… just a friend. I think he’s… not doing so well.”

He let out a soft sigh, his worry lingering. “Ah… I see. Well, we do know someone. Do you want me to give you her contact details?”

I nodded, grateful.

I suddenly remembered Maxwell on the rooftop... alone, teetering on the edge of something I could never forgive myself for missing. What if I hadn’t been there? What if I never came?

A sudden, irresistible pull wants to drove me out of the office

“Papa… I need to go” I said, pressing a quick, trembling kiss to his cheek. My chest ached as I ran, the night air sharp against my skin.

The rooftop door creaked open. And there he was. Maxwell. Standing on the edge, the wind tugging at him, hair and clothes whipping like restless shadows. He froze when he saw me.

I forced a smile, a flimsy shield over the storm inside me. A cold gust swept past, and a sheet of paper tumbled to my feet. I bent down, fingers shaking, and picked it up.

“If you’re reading this… please do the following… because I probably won’t be here…” I read, my voice breaking under the weight of the words.

His eyes widened. Panic, raw and exposed, flashed across his face. He lunged toward me, desperate, but I instinctively stepped back toward the hammock, still reading.

“Call Cedric… tell him to delete all my p**n from my devices,” I said faster, the absurdity of it almost surreal in the midst of fear.

“Donate my organs… my eyes… I hope someone enjoys having blue eyes.”

“And… tell everyone I hope they lived well… and that no one suffers like I have.”

We stopped. Silence stretched across the rooftop, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the whipping wind. I looked at him, my voice raw, trembling with anger and fear.

“Really… p**n?” I laughed, sharp and bitter.

“You have a lot to worry about, but that? Are you worried your name will be ruined?”

“You’re a coward if you think death is the only escape.”

I said, louder this time, almost shouting, tears pricking my eyes despite myself.

Something unrecognizable flickered in his eyes—pain, fear, shame, a rawness that made my heart lurch.

“You only think about suffering… what about your achievements?” I shouted, trying to reach him through the darkness around us.

“You think I don’t want to enjoy it?” he murmured, almost inaudible.

“I wake up every day, thinking people admire me… but you know what? One of those people is my mom!” His voice broke, and the first tears slipped down his face, catching the glow of the city lights.

“How do you think I feel every day… knowing she might not make it? I want to live… but without her… I don’t know how.”

Before I realized it, I pulled him into my arms. Tighter than I intended. The wind tugged at us, threatening to pull us apart, but we held on anyway.

He pressed against me, breaths shallow, body trembling, as if letting go completely was both terrifying and necessary.

We stayed like that, wrapped together on the cold rooftop, the city sprawled below like a river of light.

The night air stung our skin, but inside that small, fragile embrace, we found something stronger than fear. As if neither of us was alone.

“Maybe… maybe it was painful” I whispered, my voice trembling, “but Maxwell… please… just live.”

“Live, even if it’s not for yourself… but for your mom. What if she wakes up one day… and you’re not there anymore?”

My hands shook as I reached toward him, the night wind whipping around us, but I didn’t care.

“I… I don’t know how much you’ve suffered. And maybe it’s selfish of me to ask… but please… please live.” I murmured, my words barely above the wind.

For a long moment, we stayed like that—frozen in the rooftop night, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, as if no one else mattered.

The city lights below were distant and insignificant compared to the fragile, beating reality between us.

I gently turned to face him, my fingers brushing his cheeks, wiping away the tears I couldn’t stop from falling.

“I… I never properly introduced myself to you,” I said, laughing bitterly, a laugh that was more a tremor than a sound.

“I’m Yara,” I whispered, voice soft, but steady with the weight of what I felt. “You’re my senior… and I’ve… admired you.”

I offered my hand to him, but the words I left unspoken carried everything—the whole year I had kept my feelings buried, the countless moments I’d watched him from afar, the reasons I had to hope he would choose life. My hand was more than a gesture—it was a lifeline, a plea, a promise.

“Please… hold on. For yourself, for her." And for me... I almost added. My voice breaking as I tried to give him something to cling to. Something to fight for.

The rooftop was cold, the wind relentless, but in that moment, it felt like the only warmth in the world was the space between us.

Maybe I can offer friendship. Not the love I once imagined, not the story that never began—but something quieter, patient, and tender. A love I kept hidden still lingers beneath the surface, like a shadow of warmth.

And from that hidden seed, our bond grows—not with the fire of romance, but with the steady glow of care.

It blooms slowly, beautifully, a friendship born from what could not be, yet alive because of it. Even in its gentleness, it carries the echo of what once might have been.