Two Su Rui
764 Words
When she woke, daylight had already broken.
The white curtains by the window swayed gently, sunlight filtering through the fabric in soft, dappled patterns that fell upon her pale hand.
The burning pain in her stomach had subsided somewhat, but that hollow feeling deep inside remained. Her body felt like the ruins of a storm—exhausted, but lucid.
When the doctor came for rounds, she forced herself upright. The man in the white coat flipped through her chart, brows slightly furrowed.
“We’re seeing signs of gastric spasms and ulcer reactions, Ms. Lin. We recommend you stay under observation for at least three more days. We’ll also schedule further tests—an endoscopy and a biopsy.”
He paused, then added,
“We can’t afford to delay anymore. Certain developments… if not caught early, we might miss the window.”
He didn’t press too hard, but she understood perfectly.
This wasn’t just a stomachache.
This was a prelude to the truth.
She nodded and said nothing more. Once the doctor left, she leaned back against the pillow and quietly closed her eyes.
In the next bed, another patient was chatting with a nurse. Their voices were low, but every word cut clearly through the room.
“Did you hear? A reporter snuck into the ICU on the seventh floor this morning—got kicked out by security.”
“Seriously? Who were they trying to film?”
“Su Rui. That actress who collapsed on the red carpet. Turns out she’s been unconscious for two weeks. Everyone thought she was just resting, but she hasn’t woken up. The hospital’s locked down tight—doctors even had to sign NDAs.”
Su Rui’s heart clenched.
Her eyes snapped open, and an icy silence enveloped her.
Her body… was here? In this hospital?
So from the day she “woke up,”
She’d been just a few floors away from herself.
She lifted her hand and placed it gently over her chest.
It was a strange, indescribable feeling.
Like she had died—
And yet could still breathe.
She got out of bed, pulled on her coat, and dragged her weakened body into the quiet hallway.
She didn’t ask for directions.
She didn’t hesitate.
It was as if something unseen was guiding her.
When she reached the corner, she stopped.
Ahead was a door labeled “Intensive Care Unit.”
It wasn’t fully closed—
A narrow slit of space remained.
She stepped closer and peered through.
In the center of the room was a white hospital bed.
The monitor beside it beeped steadily, keeping rhythm with a fading presence.
Her body—the one that truly belonged to “Su Rui”—lay silently beneath the sheets.
Her hair had lost its luster.
Her face was ashen.
A tube was hooked through her nose for oxygen.
The lips that once announced million-dollar endorsements now hung slightly open, lifeless.
Her eyes… were vacant.
Was that really her?
The woman who once ruled the spotlight with fierce confidence?
Who could silence a crowd with just a glance?
She stared at the motionless figure as if watching the aftermath of a firework—
Nothing but smoke and ashes remained.
That face no longer felt familiar.
It was a warning:
Su Rui was dead.
She suddenly remembered all those moments in the mirror—shaping her brows, applying flawless makeup, barking orders at her agent, smiling at fans…
That Su Rui—
Proud, unyielding, with no room in her eyes for even a grain of dust.
Now, she lay quietly, breathing only with the help of machines—
Cut off from the world by layers of protocol and secrecy.
“Is this the ending you wanted?” she asked in her heart.
The woman in the bed gave no reply.
But Su Rui already knew the answer.
No—
That was never the ending she wanted.
But it was the destiny she had created.
She stood upright, but her shadow wavered slightly on the floor.
The Su Rui outside the door felt like a stranger—
While the one inside, lying in bed, resembled a crumbling statue—
Only the form remained. The person was gone.
She stared at herself.
Her throat tightened.
Her eyes stayed dry.
Until—
Clack, clack, clack—
The steady rhythm of leather shoes echoed down the hallway.
Each step calm, deliberate—
Like someone walking into a past that had never truly ended.
Su Rui jolted, spinning around.
That sound—
She could never mistake it.
Someone was walking toward her.
- Writer
