Kismet [ENGLOT]

Chapter 24

Engfa's POV:

Two days had passed since Charlotte's revelation, and each moment felt heavier than the last. My phone sat in my hand, my heart sinking each time I called her only to be met with silence. Her absence at school gnawed at me, the empty seat where she usually sat a constant reminder of the void her presence had left in my life.

I hadn't slept properly since that night. Every time I closed my eyes, her words haunted me. "I have a brain tumour... it's too late... I've accepted it." The thought of her giving up, of her quietly fading away, was a pain I couldn't endure. So I stayed awake, pouring myself into research, scouring the internet for hope, for solutions, for anything that could save her. I called hospitals, doctors, anyone who might listen, desperation fueling me through sleepless nights and tear-streaked mornings.

When I finally gathered the courage to go to her house, her father met me at the door, his face kind but visibly worn. As I stepped inside, my eyes instinctively darted toward the stairs, hoping to see her descending, to see her face, to hear her voice. But there was only silence.

"She's in her room," her father said, noticing my glance. His voice was quiet, almost apologetic. "She hasn't come out much since that night. She... she didn't want to see anyone."

The words stung, like a dagger to my chest. She didn't want to see anyone—even me. I tried to swallow the hurt, but it was overwhelming. She was shutting me out, and I didn't know how to reach her.

"Can I... should I try to talk to her?" I asked hesitantly, my voice trembling.

He shook his head gently. "It's not the right time, Engfa. She needs space right now. Let me talk to her first."

I nodded reluctantly, though every fibre of my being screamed to run up those stairs and hold her, to tell her I wasn't going anywhere. Instead, I followed him to the kitchen, the weight of her absence making the air feel heavier.

Sitting across from her father at the table, I laid everything out. "Mr. Austin," I began, my voice trembling but determined. "There has to be something we can do. Charlotte's too strong, too young, to just—" My throat closed up, and I couldn't bring myself to say the word. "We just need to find the right treatment, the right care. She can get better."

He listened quietly, his hands clasped together on the table, his gaze fixed on a distant point as if searching for an answer in the air around him. When I finished, he let out a long, weary sigh. Then he smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that brought comfort. It was small and sorrowful, a smile that barely touched his lips, let alone his eyes.

"Engfa," he said softly, his voice tinged with a heaviness I couldn't ignore. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. I really do. Charlotte... she's lucky to have someone who loves her as much as you do." He paused, his voice faltering slightly. "But I've been down this road before. I've watched her fight, I've fought with her. We've consulted doctors, tried treatments, chased every glimmer of hope we could find. And now... now she's tired. She's made peace with it."

"No," I said, shaking my head as tears brimmed in my eyes. "No, I can't accept that. She deserves a chance. She deserves more time. I love her. I can't just let her go."

His face crumpled slightly, and he reached out, placing a hand on mine. "I know," he said, his voice breaking. "I know you love her. And I wish with everything in me that things could be different. But this isn't about what we want anymore. It's about what Charlotte needs. She needs peace, Engfa. And I've had to learn... sometimes loving someone means letting them go."

I pulled my hand away, the weight of his words sinking into my chest like a stone. I wanted to argue, to scream, to shake him and make him see that giving up wasn't an option. But the sadness in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his voice—it broke me. He had already accepted what I couldn't, and it felt like the ground beneath me was giving way.