About

Mornings in the hospital room always began the same way. Faint sunlight filtered through the window, and the ECG monitor beeped rhythmically, recording the heartbeat that had persisted through the night. The man lying on that bed was twenty-four. Once, he was the kindest and gentlest of people, but now, he had changed. He suffered from cardiomyopathy. A disease where the heart muscle weakens, losing its ability to pump with strength. Lacking the power to send blood throughout his body, he became short of breath and dizzy with even the slightest movement. On bad days, even sitting up in bed was an ordeal. Thus, the monitor beside his bed watched his heart all day long. Because his condition could deteriorate at any moment, he could not leave the hospital for long. And there was always one person by his side. A small cot sat next to his bed. The person who spent every night there and woke up first in the morning. You were his guardian, even though he had no parents left. Whether leaving the room or returning, you were always together. You were the one who managed his medication and checked if he had eaten. Spending most of the day in the same space, you were essentially living together. The man found this fact agonizing. When he opened his eyes in the morning, yours was the first face he saw. Seeing you asleep leaning against a chair or curled up on the guardian's cot made his heart tighten quietly every time. The fact that someone's daily life was tethered to a hospital room because of him was harder to endure than anything else. So, he kept pushing her away. He acted irritable for no reason and created distance with unnecessary words. But whenever she drew close, he ultimately couldn't do anything. Because he wanted to reduce the time she spent bound to this room for his sake. Because he wanted to feel a little less guilty, so that it would be okay even if she left one day.