It's Complicated

34: Russia

You rush to your gate, just barely making it in time. The flight feels endless, each minute stretching as you spiral into anxious thoughts, imagining every worst-case scenario. By the time the plane finally lands, you're snapped out of your reverie. Without thinking, you leap from your seat, willing the line to move faster, desperate to get off the plane and onto solid ground.

As soon as you step into the terminal, you spot a woman holding a sign with your name on it. You walk toward her, barely able to keep your feet from running.

"Are you Miss Y/N?" she asks, her voice calm and businesslike.

"Yes, that's me," you respond, trying to steady your voice.

"Come with me, please. I'll take you to the hospital," she says, turning on her heel and leading the way.

You follow her outside, the cool air hitting your face like a sudden jolt. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the churning in your stomach. The sleek black car she directs you toward feels like a blur as you slip inside. The city passes in a rush of lights and colors, but your thoughts are still racing, spiraling back to your father.

When the car finally pulls up to the hospital, you're on edge, the fear and worry building up again. You follow the woman through the sterile, bright hallways, as your heart pounds in your chest.

She stops in front of a door, and you hesitate for a moment, your breath shaky as you reach for the handle. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat.

You've got this. Just breathe. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay. You can do this.

With a quiet sigh, you push the door open, slipping into the room. The sight of your father in the bed almost makes your knees buckle. He's barely recognizable—bruised, battered, cuts across his face, a cast on his right leg and left arm. A life support machine hums next to him, a constant reminder of how close to the edge he is.

"Dad..." you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach for his hand.

"Y/N?" His voice is weak, barely audible, but you hear it clear enough.

"Dad, it's me. I'm here," you choke out, fighting to hold back tears as you squeeze his hand.

The door opens, and a doctor enters, his face grim.

"Miss Y/N, I'm Dr. Yeltsin. We spoke on the phone earlier," he says, his tone serious but kind.

You nod, barely processing his words, still focused on your father. The doctor steps closer, and your heart sinks as he lays out the facts.

"It's bad. He was T-boned by a semi truck. Broken arm, leg, four ribs—one punctured a lung. That's the most pressing concern right now."

"Is he... is he going to be okay?" you ask, your voice small.

The doctor sighs deeply. "We're doing everything we can, but it's touch and go. The lung puncture is severe, and if we don't operate, it could lead to further complications. But surgery is risky. His condition is fragile right now. I can't promise that it'll go smoothly."

You feel your world tilt as you process his words. Surgery? Risky? But leaving it untreated could be worse...

What should I do? What if I make the wrong choice?

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to think through the haze of panic and uncertainty.

Surgery gives him the best chance. It's the only choice, right?

"Please, go ahead," you say, your voice barely a whisper, but your decision clear.

Dr. Yeltsin nods, his face softening. "Alright. We'll get started immediately. Thank you for your decision."

He leaves, and you turn back to your father, holding his hand tighter.

"You'll be okay. You're going to be okay," you repeat, trying to reassure both him and yourself.

"Miss Y/N, we're taking him to surgery now. You can wait in the nearby waiting room. This could take up to six hours," Dr. Yeltsin says as the nurses prepare to wheel your father away.

You nod numbly, standing as they move your father down the hall. You watch them disappear behind the doors, your heart tight in your chest.

The waiting feels like an eternity. The minutes drag on, every second stretching as you try to distract yourself. You glance at your phone, hoping to find some comfort in a message or call, but the screen is dead. Great. Just great.

You stare at it for a moment before dropping it back into your lap, unable to focus on anything but the pounding in your head.

Hours pass. Endless, agonising hours. You can't stop thinking about the worst-case scenarios.

Gosh, I wish Yoongi was here... or Jungkook. Even Jimin. Why did this have to happen?

You can't settle your nerves. You try to breathe, but the fear is suffocating, consuming you.

Three hours... is it over? Is everything going okay?

Your mind races, cycling through scenarios you don't want to imagine. The waiting, the uncertainty, it's too much.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Dr. Yeltsin walks through the door, his gloves and mask removed. His eyes meet yours, and you rise to your feet, heart in your throat.

"Miss Y/N..." he begins, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken words.

[A/N]

Hehe👉👈 soo it's been a while... umm... no excuse really we kinda been busy but not really tho so this is an apology🙇‍♀️ We'll try hard to do better pls forgive us🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ anyway hope u enjoyed, not much happened here but hey that's fineee.... I think...😁 thxx💜💜