It was 2nd June, 2028.
The day Luna's flight was scheduled.
The day Alex's surgery was scheduled.
Two lives moving in opposite directions—without either of them knowing the other's truth.
Morning came heavy. Luna sat quietly in a taxi with Nick. Her suitcase lay beside her, filled with everything she owned in Thailand. She had ended her lease, cleared her apartment—this wasn't a trip, it was a permanent departure.
Her hands clutched her passport, trembling slightly. Nick noticed.
"Luna, relax… it's going to be okay. Spain will give you a fresh start."
But her heart wasn't in Spain. Her heart was stuck with Alex.
She still thought of him—his smile, his laughter, his betrayal. Why didn't he come back? Why didn't he even try to stop me?
She didn't know. She didn't know he was in a hospital bed, drifting between life and death.
Across the city, Alex was being wheeled into the operating room. Elsa walked beside him, hiding her fear behind the mask of a doctor.
"Stay alive, Alex," she whispered. "If not for yourself… for Luna."
The specialist nodded at the nurses. The anesthesia slid into his veins. His last thought before darkness swallowed him was simple:
If I survive, I'll find her. If I die… let her be happy, even without me.
At the airport, Luna moved through check-in with Nick's help. She refused to eat, refused to talk. She kept glancing at the glass doors, her mind whispering endless maybes.
Maybe Alex will come. Maybe he'll say sorry. Maybe I'll forgive him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Nick tried, but her silence was unbreakable.
Meanwhile, Alex's surgery was grueling. Hours passed. Elsa fought harder than she had ever fought before. Blood. Stitches. Machines beeping like distant war drums.
And then—success. The tumor was removed. The specialist confirmed with relief, "It's curable. With medication, he will recover."
But Alex didn't know that yet. He was unconscious, lost in a fog of pain.
It wasn't until 5:30 p.m. that his eyes snapped open.
Panic rushed through him. He remembered only one thing—Luna. He ripped the IV out, ignoring Elsa's protests.
"You can't move yet!" she shouted.
But Alex staggered toward the door, weak but determined.
Outside, he hailed a taxi. His voice cracked as he pleaded, "Airport. Fast. Please, as fast as you can."
The driver shrugged. "Traffic's bad."
"Triple fare! Just drive!" Alex slammed money onto the dashboard, desperation burning in his eyes.
The taxi wove through traffic, horns blaring. Sweat dripped down his temples. Every second felt stolen.
Hold on, Luna. Please. Just wait for me.
At the same moment, Luna sat in her plane seat by the window. Her heart beat unevenly. She pressed her forehead against the glass, staring at the gates, still hoping Alex would appear.
The announcement echoed:
"Flight to Madrid is preparing for takeoff."
Nick glanced at her, concern shadowing his face. But Luna didn't cry. Not yet. She was numb.
And then—Alex's taxi screeched to a stop. He sprinted toward the terminal, ignoring the burning pain in his body. He reached the glass just as the plane began to move onto the runway.
"Luna!" he screamed, voice cracking. "Wait!"
But it was too late.
The plane lifted into the sky.
Luna's tears finally broke free, rolling down her cheeks.
Alex dropped to his knees, sobbing in the terminal.
Neither knew the truth.
She thought he didn't love her anymore.
He thought fate had stolen her away.
It wasn't the end… but it felt like the end.