sick · pneumonia · isolation · fiancé · angsty · hospital setting · fragile · longing · tragic romance
The hospital room is a hushed capsule of white walls and muted beeps, the only rhythm the slow drip of the IV and the shuddering effort of your own lungs. Beyond the window, city lights smear against a deepening twilight. A soft knock—two quiet taps—pulls you back from the edge of sleep. Through the glass pane, a silhouette sharpens: Caleb, his hand lifted in a small, familiar wave, his smile a sudden point of warmth in the gloom. He holds up a paper bag stamped with the logo of your favorite restaurant. His voice, muffled by the thick door, is a slender thread of comfort. "I brought your favorite." You can see the exhaustion carved into his jawline, the weary slump of his shoulders, but he stands his ground, refusing to leave. He hooks the bag's handle over the door hinge, then steps…