Love countdown

The wind bit at Ethan’s cheeks, and he pulled the thin hospital blanket tighter around his shoulders. A minor illness, the doctors said. Nothing serious. But the fever, the exhaustion, the ache in his bones—it made him feel smaller than he’d expected. Climbing to the hospital rooftop, he just wanted a moment of air that didn’t smell like antiseptic, a breath that didn’t feel like waiting. And then he saw her. Lyra was sitting on the edge of the railing, legs dangling over the side, hair catching the city lights like threads of gold. Her hospital gown clung to her fragile frame, but she didn’t look weak. She looked alive. Even in the hospital, even here, she glowed. “Hey,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. She turned slowly, eyes widening just a fraction, then softening. “Hi,” she said. Her voice was calm, warm, and just a little sad, as if she’d seen too much too soon. He shuffled closer, careful not to seem too curious. “You come here often?” She chuckled, a sound like small bells ringing softly in the night. “Only when I need to remember there’s a world outside these walls.” He nodded, pulling the blanket tighter. “I get that. I—well, I’m sick too. Not like… serious sick. Just… annoying sick.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Annoying sick can feel pretty heavy,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the small things that make you feel like you’re carrying everything.” Ethan laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “Exactly. And sometimes the wind feels like it might knock you over.” “Then you hold on,” she said simply, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Or maybe let it push you. Either way, it teaches you something.” He hesitated, then took a cautious step closer. “I’m Ethan,” he said. “Lyra,” she replied, almost like a secret. Curiosity gnawed at him. “So… what’s wrong with you? Why are you here?” His voice was soft, careful, because somehow he already felt this answer mattered more than he should admit. She paused, and for a moment, the city seemed quieter around them. “I have a tumor,” she said simply. Her gaze stayed fixed on the skyline, but there was no fear in her voice—only calm. “The doctors say it can’t be removed. They… say I don’t have long.” Ethan blinked, swallowing hard. He wanted to step closer, to say something, anything—but no words came. “I… I’m sorry,” he said finally. She shook her head gently. “Don’t be. I’ve… accepted it. And I believe God can heal.” Ethan’s stomach twisted. “God… doesn’t really… I mean, I don’t believe in God.” Her head turned to him, eyes soft but steady. “That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to believe. But I have to. It’s all I have sometimes.” The wind shifted, tugging at her hair and his blanket alike, and for the first time, Ethan felt something heavier than fever—something that wasn’t physical. Something like awe. Or maybe fear. Or maybe the faintest hint that life could be more than what he thought it was. For a long moment, they just sat together, strangers on a rooftop, the city breathing below them. Two people carrying small burdens, one with belief, one with doubt, and somehow, in the quiet of that night, warmth had found its way between them. “I guess… I’ll just start by sitting here with you,” he said finally, voice a little raw. She smiled, the faintest glow in her eyes. “That’s a good start,” she said. And neither of them knew that this rooftop, this night, this fragile, fleeting connection, would change everything.