As the people rushed out of the state building, a sea of panicked faces flooded the streets. Families clung to one another, employees, both young and old, scrambled to escape the chaos as the building’s alarm system blared incessantly. Sirens wailed, echoing through the city, mingling with the cries and shouts of those fleeing the scene. Across the road, a growing crowd gathered, their eyes fixed on the horrifying sight of thick, ominous gas billowing from the building’s shattered windows.

The world around me seemed to blur as I pushed my way through the crowd, my thoughts a tangled mess of fear and determination. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing louder than the last as I neared the building’s entrance. Amidst the smoke and chaos, a familiar figure emerged—his white coat standing out starkly against the darkened backdrop, a symbol of hope in a scene filled with despair.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw him stagger, his steps faltering as he struggled to maintain his balance. His hand reached out, as if grasping for something to steady himself, before he collapsed onto the ground. Panic surged through me, and I sprinted toward him, ignoring the shouts and warnings from those around me. His white coat, now stained with blood, clung to his body, the crimson marks standing in stark contrast against the fabric. His face was pale, glistening with sweat, and his breath came in shallow, labored gasps.

I dropped to my knees beside him, my heartstrings clenching with an unbearable pain. I gathered him into my arms, my fingers locking tightly with his, as if by holding onto him, I could somehow keep him tethered to this world. Tears streamed down my face, the hot, stinging drops blurring my vision as I choked out a desperate plea. “Please… please stay with me,” I begged, my voice trembling as I fought to keep my composure.

He looked up at me, his eyes clouded with pain, yet there was a softness in his gaze that I had come to know so well. A faint, feeble smile tugged at the corners of his lips, an attempt to comfort me even in his final moments. His fingers tightened around mine, and with a final, shuddering breath, he whispered, “Let’s meet again…”

Those were his last words, a promise filled with both hope and despair. As his hand went limp in mine, a crushing wave of sorrow washed over me, and I cried out, the sound tearing through the air, raw and unfiltered. The world around me faded into insignificance, reduced to nothing more than a backdrop to the overwhelming grief that consumed me.

I cried and cried, my tears a futile attempt to wash away the uncertainty that gripped my heart. How could I go on without him? Was it possible for us to meet again, to feel the comfort of his embrace, to see the determination in his eyes once more? The questions swirled in my mind, each one more painful than the last, but there were no answers, only a hollow ache that settled deep within my chest.

In that moment, I made a silent vow—I would do anything to see him again, even if it meant starting over, reliving every moment, every painful memory, just for the chance to hold him one last time. But this time, I wouldn’t let him go alone. If death was the only way to reunite us, then I was ready to face it, as long as we could be together, even in the afterlife.

As I clung to his lifeless body, the world around me began to reassert itself. The harsh wail of sirens, the chaotic shouts of rescue workers, and the hushed whispers of the crowd all came rushing back, breaking through the fog of my grief. I felt strong arms pulling me away from him, my cries of protest falling on deaf ears as I was dragged toward the waiting ambulance.

The medics insisted on checking me over, but their words were nothing more than a distant murmur, lost in the whirlwind of emotions that raged within me. I sat numbly in the back of the ambulance, my eyes fixed on the spot where he had fallen, the place where I had lost him forever. In the midst of my despair, I saw the small girl Ji-Eun running toward her mother, a smile of pure relief lighting up her tear-streaked face. They embraced, holding each other tightly, a silent testament to the life he had saved, the life he had sacrificed everything for.

It was then that the reality of what had happened began to sink in, the full weight of my loss crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I had loved him, more deeply than I had ever thought possible, and now he was gone, ripped away from me in the blink of an eye. But as I watched the mother and daughter share their tearful reunion, I realized that his sacrifice had not been in vain. He had given his life to save others, to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was a cruel irony that the very thing that had drawn me to him—his unwavering dedication to his work, his selflessness, and his compassion—was also the thing that had taken him away from me.

As I sat in the ambulance, my mind drifted, it all started then, to be honest I myself am confused as to when, but I remember clearly The day we had met, a day much like any other. It was from then my whole life has changed, was it cruel? Was it fair? Was it for love? Was it for pain? Was it to save lives? I don't know but if it wasn't for him and I can't imagine reaching here......

The emergency room at Seoul General Hospital was always alive with a kind of energy that felt like it was humming beneath your skin. The sterile, white walls seemed to bounce the harsh fluorescent lights back at you, and the polished tiles gleamed underfoot as if trying to reflect the weight of everything that happened there. The constant beeping of medical monitors and the occasional wail of an ambulance siren outside—it was a symphony of chaos that I had grown used to. After four years, the adrenaline pumping through the ER was just another beat in the rhythm of my life.

But with that rhythm came a certain loneliness. The hospital had become my world—my safe haven, but also my cage. I moved through it with a practiced ease, my stethoscope swinging loosely around my neck, my jet-black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. It was easier to keep people at arm's length, to let the walls of this place protect me from the world outside.

One night, after hours of running on pure adrenaline, I spotted Dr. Saung Min across the room. He was new, fresh from some small hospital in the countryside, but he'd already made a name for himself here. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a smile that could light up a room—if he ever allowed it to. But what caught my eye in that moment wasn't his smile; it was the way he was leaning against the nurses' station, a cup of coffee in his hand. The overhead lights cast deep shadows on his face, and I could see the exhaustion there, the way it had settled into the lines around his eyes.

Without thinking, I found myself walking toward him. My own fatigue slowed my steps, but something else—something I couldn't quite name—pushed me forward. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be struggling under the weight of the same burdens that had once consumed me, or maybe it was the unspoken connection between two people who had given themselves to this place, body and soul.

"Long night?" I asked softly when I was close enough to speak without startling him.

He looked up, and for a moment, his eyes met mine. I felt my heart skip a beat, and a rush of something warm spread through me. It was as if the world had shifted, just a little, in that brief exchange. His gaze was intense, like he was seeing right through the walls I had so carefully built.

"Yes," he replied, his voice low and rough, like he hadn't spoken in hours. "Too long."

I could feel the tension in the air between us, something electric and unspoken. It caught me off guard, and suddenly, I was hyper-aware of everything—the way his fingers tightened around the coffee cup, the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath, the way the fluorescent lights seemed to dim, just for a moment, leaving us in a private little world of our own.

I didn't know what to say next, but I didn't need to. He straightened up, setting the cup down on the counter, and took a step closer. My breath hitched as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You look like you could use a break too, Mina."

The way he said my name—like he'd been waiting to say it—made my pulse race. It was a simple statement, nothing more, but there was something in his tone that sent a shiver down my spine. Suddenly, the exhaustion that had weighed me down all night seemed to vanish, replaced by a different kind of tension, one that made me feel more alive than I had in a long time.

"I—maybe," I stammered, trying to find my footing in this unexpected moment.

He smiled then, a slow, easy smile that did something strange to my insides. "Come on," he said, nodding toward the break room. "Just for a minute." I hesitated, but only for a second. The promise in his eyes was too tempting to resist. Without another word, I followed him, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with possibilities. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of us, caught in a moment that felt like it could change everything.  And as we walked side by side, I couldn't help but wonder—what if it already had?