Kismet | ENGLOT

Chapter 40

Engfa's POV:

The streets of Seattle blurred past me as I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. The windshield wipers swiped back and forth, their rhythmic motion doing little to calm the storm raging inside me. The hum of the engine faded into the background, overtaken by the deafening sound of my heartbeat and the relentless torrent of thoughts swirling in my mind.

My chest felt heavy, like a weight I couldn't shake, as worry gnawed at me. Why was Charlotte at the hospital? The question pounded in my head, an unrelenting echo that refused to be silenced. My teeth sank into my bottom lip, the sharp sting grounding me briefly, but the ache in my chest refused to subside.

What if she's sick again?

The thought clawed at me, sharp and merciless, sending a shiver down my spine. My breath hitched, my throat tightening as if an invisible hand were gripping it. Images of the past—the terrifying days when her diagnosis had turned our world upside down—flashed in my mind. The sleepless nights, the helplessness, the paralyzing fear of losing her forever. It all felt so fresh, so raw, as if those years hadn't passed at all.

"This can't be happening again," I whispered to myself, my voice trembling. I pressed harder on the accelerator, urgency coursing through me like adrenaline. My movements felt automatic, driven by a desperation I couldn't ignore. I'd already lost Charlotte once—or so I'd thought. The pain of those years without her, believing she was gone, had nearly destroyed me. The idea of facing that kind of agony again was unimaginable.

The rain started to pick up, droplets tapping harder against the windshield, but I barely noticed. My gaze was locked on the road ahead, my vision tunnelled. The address glowed faintly on the GPS screen, a beacon pulling me closer to her. My chest tightened with every mile that brought me closer to her, and yet, my thoughts refused to settle.

What if the tumour came back? The thought sent another wave of guilt crashing over me. I replayed the night I saw her in the rain, how frail she looked, how she had shivered uncontrollably. Why hadn't I asked her more questions? Why had I let her leave?

"I should've done more," I muttered, my grip tightening on the wheel. "I should've stopped her."

And then, like a lightning strike through the chaos of my thoughts, it hit me. Chompu. The choice I had made. The life I was supposed to be building with her. For the first time since I'd heard Charlotte's name at the bar, I thought of her. The guilt surged up, sharp and biting, but it was fleeting—snuffed out almost immediately by the overpowering worry for Charlotte. The urgency in my chest, the desperation to see her, to make sure she was okay, pushed everything else to the periphery.

In that moment, it wasn't about choices or guilt or what was fair. It was Charlotte. It had always been Charlotte. The love I couldn't bury, the bond I couldn't sever, no matter how hard I tried. And now, knowing she might be sick again, there was no room in my mind for anything else.

The lump in my throat grew as a suffocating sense of déjà vu washed over me. It felt like history was repeating itself—this same overwhelming worry, the same helplessness. My fingers flexed on the steering wheel as if holding tighter would somehow keep everything from slipping through my fingers.

"Please," I whispered, the word tumbling out like a prayer. "Please let her be okay."

The mechanical voice of the GPS snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts. "You have arrived at your destination." My heart pounded in my chest as I turned onto a quiet street lined with modest apartment buildings. The glow of the streetlights reflected on the wet pavement, and I scanned the building numbers, my breath quickening as I neared the address.