Perishing in Her Least Loving Moment

Part 4

"To truly embody your character, I spent half a month observing patients in the hospital ward and over two weeks on a strict diet." Hank glanced at my wrist, which peeked out from the oversized sleeve of my gown, and smiled. "With your ability to stay thin no matter how much you eat, you probably can't imagine how envious I was at the time."

A wave of discomfort washed over me. I turned my face away, pulling my hand under the blanket.

I didn't want Jasmin to see me like this—so thin and frail, almost skeletal.

Jasmin, noticing the shift in my expression, quietly moved to the other side of the bed.

"William, hi. I'm Jasmin."

"A few days ago, Hank and I went to the church to pray for your recovery. Once you're well, I hope you can attend our wedding."

Her voice was so soft, so tender, as though she were afraid that speaking too loudly might somehow hurt me.

But that tenderness was like a dull blade, twisting deeper into my heart with every word, dragging out the pain. Several times I tried to tell her the truth about us, but each time, the words failed to leave my lips.

The screenwriter, who had been observing, suddenly broke the silence.

"William, you probably don't know this, but when I first told Jasmin your story, she donated all her movie earnings to the hospital the very next day. At the time, she was still in the middle of a lawsuit with her old company, penniless and in debt by the millions. Both the director and I advised her to wait, to take care of herself first, and that once she made a name for herself, there'd be plenty of chances to help others."

"But she was adamant. She said every time she read the scenes about your character, she felt a deep ache in her heart, and that's what drove her performance to another level."

Even the director couldn't help but add,

"Jasmin really is a remarkable person."

She had always been kind, to everyone. It only made it harder for me to let her go.

Jasmin didn't deny it. She met my eyes and said,

"It's because of you that I was able to achieve what I did. I should be the one thanking you."

Her gaze was full of compassion, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized my hands were trembling uncontrollably.

Breaking the tension, Hank suddenly spoke up.

"William, when you and Dr. Claire get married, you'd better invite us to the wedding."

I didn't understand what he meant.

Hank let out a wistful sigh.

"When I first read the script, I was deeply moved. I took the role on the spot because I envied the love between you and Dr. Claire. I wanted that kind of unwavering devotion, that kind of loyalty."

"I thought I'd never find someone like that in my lifetime. But thanks to your story, I found Jasmin."

"I heard you're one of her fans, so I brought you a little gift—a signed photo."

Still smiling, he took a picture from his assistant.

It was a photo of him and Jasmin.

In the picture, Jasmin was pulling a playful face at the camera, while Hank, standing beside her, was laughing, leaning in as if he were about to kiss her cheek.

As I stared at the photo, Hank's words faded into the background. A loud ringing filled my ears.

Noticing something was wrong, Claire pushed her way through the group and took hold of my wrist. Her grip was firm, anchoring me back to the moment.

She raised her voice slightly, her tone edged with a chill.

"I haven't seen your films, so I don't quite get all the artistic liberties you take. But William is my patient, and I don't think it's appropriate to blur the lines between film and reality."

"He needs rest. If there's nothing more to discuss, I suggest you wrap things up."

Claire turned toward the screenwriter and director behind the camera.

"Any more questions?"

The crew exchanged glances, unsure of what to do next. It was only then that the host returned to more routine questions, wrapping up the interview.

Throughout the remaining moments, Jasmin sat silently in a chair beside me, her gaze fixed on me, thoughtful, as if lost in her own world.

As the interview neared its end, the host asked if I had any last wishes.

I summoned what little courage I had left and met Jasmin's eyes. Her look of surprise matched my own as I quietly said,

"I'd like to speak with her, just a few... words."

Most of the crew was quickly ushered out of the room by Claire, under the pretense that the room was too small for so many people. In the end, it was just me, the cameraman, Jasmin, and Hank.

I glanced at their clasped hands, feeling my breath grow more labored with every word I forced out.

"Jasmin, I'm curious... how did you get through your amnesia?"

She seemed slightly taken aback by the question.

"When I woke up... I was in the hospital. The first person I saw was a talent agent."

"He covered my medical expenses, found me a place to live, and helped me get new ID documents. But I couldn't remember anything about my past. I was so lost, I just signed a contract with them without thinking."

"For some reason, back then, all I could think about was making money."

"But I had the worst luck. I took on as many jobs as I could—movies, commercials, variety shows—but at the end of the month, I'd only make about three thousand. When I finally confronted the company, I found out I had signed a ten-year contract. If I broke it, I'd owe them ten million." Jasmin let out a bitter laugh, and I felt my heart tighten at the sound. "It was like living in a nightmare."

"What does amnesia feel like?"

"It feels like you have no past. Everything around you is unfamiliar."

"But sometimes, in my dreams, I'd see flashes of being in the hospital. And there was always someone... someone calling my name."

Her words sent a surge of emotion through me, making my heart race.

I opened my mouth, the urge to tell her the truth swelling inside me.

"Jasmin, actually, I am..."