TRACKS

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The world blurred into sirens, rushing footsteps, and cries that tore through the halls of the hospital.

The Therapanyukul convoy split into three directions the moment they arrived chaos following them like shadows.

Sky’s screams echoed as nurses hurried him down a hallway, clutching at his swollen belly, sweat beading down his face. At his side, Zee held his hand with a trembling grip, murmuring reassurances, while Nunew, with tears in his eyes, whispered prayers in soft, broken tones.

Across the hospital, another cry rang out. Rain was in the same desperate state, his body wracked with contractions. Tharn cradled his son’s face between his palms, steadying him through each wave of pain, while Type barked orders at the staff, refusing to leave Rain’s side for even a moment.

Two fathers, two mothers, two lives fighting to come into the world.

But somewhere deeper inside the hospital, another battle raged.

The Therapanyukul men and their wives were gathered in the sterile waiting area outside the operating theater. Faces were pale, tear-streaked, and tense. Every tick of the clock echoed like a gunshot in their ears.

Inside the theater, surgeons worked frantically over a still body. The bullet had pierced the chest, straight into the heart. Machines beeped furiously, their rhythm fragile, faltering.

Outside, no one dared to speak the name of the son they prayed for. It was too heavy, too dangerous because to speak it would be to face the truth of who might be lost.

Pete sat in the corner, hands clasped so tight his knuckles were white, lips moving silently in prayer. Vegas hovered close but didn’t touch him, his own eyes burning as if he’d swallowed fire.

Kinn stood against the wall, stone-faced but trembling, Porsche gripping his arm as though to anchor him in place. Tankhun wept openly into Kim’s chest, while Porchay knelt on the floor, refusing to move until someone told him his family wasn’t breaking apart forever.

Every corridor of the hospital carried their grief and fear.

And still, in another wing, Sky and Rain cried out as new life pushed forward while in the operating theater, a life hung by a thread.

No one knew who would emerge alive. No one dared to imagine who would not.
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The screams echoed down the corridor.

Rain gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as another contraction tore through his body. His breaths came fast, shallow, his forehead drenched in sweat. Tharn pressed his hand to Rain’s back, whispering encouragements through trembling lips, while Type clutched his son’s hand as if he could bear some of the pain himself.

“You’re doing so well, Rain,” the doctor urged. “One more push just one more.”

Rain’s eyes squeezed shut, tears streaking down his face as his body shook. He wanted to give up, his strength failing, but then he heard Type’s broken voice in his ear:

“You’re not alone, Rain. We’re here. We’ll never leave you.”

Something inside him sparked. Gathering every last ounce of strength, Rain bore down with a ragged cry.

A sound split the air fragile yet strong. A baby’s cry.

Rain collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing as the doctor lifted the tiny child and announced softly, “It’s a girl.”

Tharn’s arms went around both Rain and Type, the three of them trembling as the nurse placed the baby in Rain’s arms. Her tiny fist clenched against his chest, and Rain wept openly, whispering, “You’re here… you’re finally here.”
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