Drawing Closer: A Love Beyond Time [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter 2

Y/N's POV:

The bus rattled along, its rhythm a jarring counterpoint to the quiet turmoil in my head.

Every day, the same routine: wake up, eat breakfast, board the bus, arrive at school, repeat. But today felt different.

I stared out the window, watching the city blur into an indistinguishable mass of buildings and trees.

My mind, however, was miles away, fixated on a question I couldn't seem to shake off: how could I look forward to going to school when I knew the clock was ticking? When I knew that the future I had envisioned, the future I had eagerly anticipated, was slipping through my fingers like sand?

I was just seventeen, barely a man, and yet I felt like I was already living in my final chapter.

I was supposed to be focused on school, on my dreams of becoming an artist. I wanted to attend art school, to win awards, to have my work displayed in galleries.

But now, all those ambitions felt distant, like a distant star I could no longer reach.

The fear gnawed at me, the fear of the unknown, the fear of oblivion. I wanted to scream, to shout, to punch something, anything, to make the fear go away.

But I was trapped, trapped in a cage of my own making, a cage of fear and despair.

Then i thought about the girl i met on the rooftop.

It was her perspective, her courage, that made me wonder. How could she look forward to death? How could she find solace in the face of such inevitable darkness? I needed to know, I needed to understand.

Driven by a mix of curiosity and desperation, I embarked on a quest to find her.

I searched the hospital, a haunted maze of sterile corridors and hushed whispers.

I found myself on that rooftop again, the site of our first encounter, hoping she would appear like a phantom, a fleeting glimpse of her radiant spirit. She wasn't there.

I wandered through the cafeteria, the smell of lukewarm coffee and bland food adding to the bleakness of the surroundings.

I searched the hallways, the rooms, the waiting areas, but the girl remained elusive.

My search led me to the elevator, where I waited, my heart pounding. As the doors slid open, I saw a familiar figure, a familiar silhouette. It was her.

Our eyes met, a silent exchange of emotions. I saw a strange serenity in her eyes, a calmness that I couldn't comprehend.

It was as if she had accepted her fate, embraced it, even welcomed it. And it terrified me.

The elevator doors closed, and we made our way to her room, a sterile white box that felt like a tomb.

She led me in, her voice as soft as the whisper of the wind. "Come in," she said, her smile a fragile beacon in the dim light.

I stepped inside, my gaze drawn to the nameplate next to the door: Pham Hanni.

The name seemed to echo the quiet strength I had witnessed in her, a strength that defied the limitations of her illness.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," I said, feeling awkward, a stranger intruding on her sanctuary.

"Not at all," she replied, her voice a gentle melody. "You're just what I needed. I was looking for a model."

I looked around the room, surprised by the sudden burst of color. It wasn't the sterile emptiness I expected.

It was filled with art supplies, canvases, paints, brushes, and sketchbooks. The room felt alive, pulsating with creativity.