The private clinic smelled like antiseptic and grief.
Clean floors. White walls.
Soft-spoken nurses who didn't meet your eyes.
Elias hated it.
He hated everything about it — the cold, clinical quiet, the endless rows of machines blinking and humming as if they could hold off death just by being louder than it.
He paced the sterile hallway outside Mira's room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the tension in his shoulders creeping ever higher with each rounded footstep. The rain from the night before had followed them into morning — a cold, steady drizzle tapping against the narrow windows.
A nurse passed him, offering a practiced, hollow smile.
He barely saw her. All he could see was Mira — pale under the harsh fluorescent lights, wires clinging to her like vines, the life he loved shrinking beneath the weight of monitors and needles.
He had brought her here. Dragged her here.
Because he thought — because he hoped — that if he just threw enough money, enough doctors, and enough power at the problem, he could save her.
Fix it. Fix her.
But Mira…
Mira had looked at him with those tired, bright eyes and smiled like he was missing the point entirely. Each quiet admission she made chipped away at the fortress he had built around his heart, a fortress that stubbornly clung to the idea of fighting against impossible odds.
He heard a soft knock behind him. He turned.
Mira stood there, wrapped in a too-big sweatshirt that swallowed her delicate frame, the IV pole rolling quietly beside her as if it were a part of her. The sight of her almost broke him anew, casting long shadows within his heart.
Her face was tired but luminous, her hair a messy halo that framed her features in a way that seemed ethereal and intoxicating.
"Elias," she said, her voice calm but firm, as if she were speaking to his untamed emotions.
"Come here."
He moved towards her automatically, heart hammering in his chest, feeling as if he were moving through the air thickened with unshed tears and unspoken fears. She took his hand in hers — cool, dry — and in that fleeting contact, he felt the warmth of life rushing back into his body.
She pulled him gently into the room and shut the door behind them. It was as if the walls were closing in, but the world narrowed down to just her. Just him.
And the raw, ugly truth stretched bare between them like a chasm that couldn't be crossed.
Mira sat carefully on the edge of the hospital bed, the monitors trailing from her like leashes she was already halfway ready to tear off. Her expression was poised but resolute, as if she had been waiting for this conversation even before they had arrived.
"You have to stop," she said quietly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He shook his head vigorously, refusing to let her words sink in.
"No. I can find someone better. Another specialist. Another treatment. There are trials— Mira, there are things we haven't even tried yet—"
"Elias."
Her voice cut through him, sharper than the needles piercing her skin.
"Stop," she said again, firm and unwavering.
He could feel the warmth of her hands slipping from his grip, and dread unfurled in his stomach. This was the moment he dreaded, where every rational thought dissolved into despair.
"I don't want to fight anymore."
The words left her lips so simply, so cleanly, they almost didn't register in his ears.
He stared at her in disbelief, as if trying to warp the truth that hung between them.
"You don't understand," he said, desperation clinging to every word that escaped his lips.
"We can still— you still have time. You can—"
"Elias."
Her hand found his. Held it steady even when he wanted to pull away, terrified of what she might say next.
"I know you're scared," she said softly, her thumb brushing reassuringly against his knuckles, calming the storm within him.
"So am I."
But then the strength of her next words struck him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the pang of sorrow hanging between them.
"But I'm not afraid of dying."
She smiled then — a small, heartbreaking thing that creased the corners of her eyes but didn't reach her weary smile.
"I'm afraid of not living."
Tears blurred his vision, hot and useless. He felt the weight of the world crashing down around him, vulnerability dripping like a broken dam.
"I can't just stand here and watch you—" His voice cracked apart, the anguish spilling over. "I can't lose you, Mira."
"You're not losing me," she replied gently, her other hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart as if to soothe the relentless ache throbbing inside.
"You're loving me."
"And that means letting me live the time I have left — not chained to a hospital bed, not fighting for scraps of time in a white room with strangers poking at me like I'm already halfway gone."
Her hand pressed firmly — her heartbeat a steady metronome against his uncertainty.
"You once told me," she whispered, "that it's the people who matter. Not the place. Not the things. Not the future you build in spreadsheets and stock options."
His heart cracked a little more as tears slipped down his cheeks, silent and helpless. She brushed them away with her thumb, and he struggled to hold back a shudder as her gentle touch broke something deep inside him.
"I want to spend my days laughing," she continued, her voice a thread woven tightly around his heart. "Kissing you under the rain. Eating bad diner food. Dancing barefoot in places no one cares about."
Her voice shook, just a little, each word a piece of her reaching for him.
"I don't want to die with machines breathing for me, Elias. I want to die while I'm still alive."
The depth of her admission was almost unbearable. He crumpled down in front of her — kneeling at her knees, his head bowed against her lap, the dam finally bursting.
Mira stroked his hair, slow and patient, while he shook with the effort of holding himself together.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't enough.
But it was hers. It was the choice she had left.
And he loved her too much to take even that away. After a long time, he whispered hoarsely:
"Okay."
Her fingers stilled for a moment — as if savoring his acceptance — and then slid gently along his jaw, tipping his face up to hers.
Their eyes met, a lifeline casting their gazes across the tumult of their emotions.
And there it was again.
That bright, unstoppable fire inside her.
"You sure?" she asked, voice almost teasing, her smile defiant even against the rawness of reality.
He managed a ragged laugh, one tinged with the bittersweet nature of their truth.
"No," he said honestly, feeling the weight of impending loss heavy in the air.
"But I'm sure about you."
Her smile glimmered through the tears that glittered in her lashes, illuminating the madness and pain swirling around them, allowing space for something more — hope.
"Good," she said. "Because I have a plan."
Of course she did. Because she was Mira. Because even at the end, she was dragging him, laughing and bleeding, toward something that felt like more.
"We're leaving tomorrow," she declared, her eyes alive with a burning expectancy.
"No more clinics. No more schedules."
Her thumb brushed over his knuckles once more, a tether binding him to her decision.
"I have a place I want you to see. A place just for us."
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the words settle in, trying to assimilate the weight of the moment she had proposed. Let the choice sink in.
He didn't know how many days they had left. Didn't know how many nights they could steal before the clock caught up with them.
But he would take every one.
Greedy. Hungry. Alive.
For her. Because of her.
"Mira," he breathed, searching for the right words that lined his heart.
"What if—"
"No 'what ifs', Elias," she interrupted, an edge of gentleness puncturing her voice.
"Every moment we spend in fear is a moment stolen from truly living. I don't want that. I want… this. Us."
He searched her gaze for reassurance, struggling against the tidal wave of emotions thrumming through his veins, fighting against the heavy hand of reality closing in on them both.
"You mean it?" he asked, a tremor in his voice as the enormity of it all crashed over him, carrying both hope and despair.
"With all my heart," she replied, her smile steady and unwavering, and he could see the flame of determination igniting in the dark recesses of her expressive gaze.
His heart thudded hard against his ribcage. She was asking him to take this leap with her — to step into the unknown together, unraveling their history of heartbreak and healing along the way.
They sat together on the edge of the bed, Mira humming something low and tuneless under her breath, a soft balm in the storm of chaos that raged outside.
Elias clung to her like an anchor, like a lifeline marrying them to this moment. He didn't want to break, didn't want to give in to the fear writhing in his gut.
What would it mean to truly leave behind everything they had fought to hold onto?
Their love deserved more than a hospital room, more than this sterile cycle of hope and despair.
Together, they stepped to the precipice of life.
Outside, the rain finally stopped, as if in homage. The clouds pulled back, revealing a bruised, broken sky trying to stitch itself back together.
Just like them.
"What will we do first?" he asked softly once silence settled into a comforting embrace around them.
"You'll see," she said mysteriously, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"But I promise you, it'll be unforgettable."
Elias leaned forward, capturing her hand in both of his, pressing his forehead against their entwined fingers as a shiver of thought twisted through him.
"As long as I'm with you, every step of the way, it will be."
He felt her squeeze his hand, a shared heartbeat echoing through the silence of the room.
And in that stillness, he realized that they were both holding on to something precious amidst the storm.
They could choose life, even when the world told them it was time to give up. They could choose love, amid so many uncertainties. And they could choose each other, standing together against the tides that threatened to pull them apart.
It was naively reckless but altogether beautiful.
With that thought steady within him, he raised his head so his eyes locked onto hers.
"Whatever tomorrow brings, we do it together. With all of it."
"Yes," she whispered, her lips curling into a soft smile. "Together."
In that moment, he felt the world expand beneath them, the very air pulsing with infinite potential. They were not a mere timeline ticking down against a watch, trapped behind sterile walls; they were more than what met the eye, and all that really mattered was that they had each other.
That, right there, was their greatest victory.
And as they sat together with intertwined destinies, whispering promises against the backdrop of a world in constant motion, Elias felt a glimmering hope resurge in the corners of his heavy heart.