A thin man stood at the edge of the rooftop, the harsh wind tousling his already disheveled hair. The pale glow of the moon cast a ghostly sheen over his face, accentuating the hollowness in his eyes. He seemed fragile, like a shadow on the brink of fading into the night. His gaze, however, remained fixed—unmoving—on the man standing opposite him.

  His lips trembled as though trying to form words, but the weight of his emotions held him back. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling against the knot tightening in his throat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he forced out the words in a broken, stuttering voice.

  “Do you… do you want Su Nan in… in your life?”

  The question lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive. The tall man, standing across from him, was an imposing figure. His deep, dark eyes seemed calm at first gnce, as if nothing in the world could disturb his stoic demeanor. But beneath that surface y a barely concealed storm. The redness in his eyes betrayed him, a silent scream of emotions he refused to let out. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

  And yet, his response was unwavering.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low but firm, a single word slicing through the stillness of the night.

  That one word was like a knife, sharp and precise, cutting through the thin man’s fragile composure. It echoed in his mind, reverberating endlessly, threatening to drown him in its finality. His chest tightened as though a heavy stone had settled over it. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp of air a battle he was rapidly losing. And yet, deep down, he had known this answer was coming.

  His vacant eyes lowered, staring bnkly at the rooftop beneath him. The light in them flickered, then disappeared entirely, leaving behind an abyss of despair. Slowly, he turned away, his frail frame slumping under the invisible weight of heartbreak.

  His voice, barely audible over the whispering wind, carried the echoes of a shattered soul. “I promised to love you in every situation, no matter how hard it got… I meant it. But now, it’s clear I’m not enough.”

  The tall man said nothing, though his clenched fists trembled ever so slightly. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but no words came. Perhaps there were no words that could undo the choice he had made, no words that could erase the pain now etched into the thin man’s being.

  The thin man stepped closer to the edge, his back still turned. The wind grew stronger, whipping his thin jacket around him, as if urging him to take that final step.

  He spoke again, his voice calm now, almost serene. “I hope… I hope he gives you the happiness I couldn’t.”

  A flicker of panic crossed the tall man’s face as he realized the weight of those words. “Wait—”

  But it was too te. The thin man leaned forward, and in one smooth motion, he was gone—swallowed by the night, as if he had never been there at all.

  The rooftop was silent, save for the wind’s mournful howl. The tall man stood there, frozen, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His calm facade shattered, repced by a hollow ache that cwed at him mercilessly.

  *******

  “Agh… it hurts, hurts so much…”

  A thin man y curled up in a vast, soft bed, his frail body trembling pitifully as he moaned in agony. Cold sweat drenched him, soaking the sheets as he writhed, desperate for any relief from the torment that consumed him.

  Suddenly, Su Bai let out a scream, jolting awake. His entire body ached, trembling violently like a leaf in a storm. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he frantically scanned his surroundings. Something wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be here. He remembered vividly—the violent impact, the shattering of bones, his body scattered like discarded meat on the cold, unforgiving asphalt.

  Yet here he was. Alive.

  His mind struggled to comprehend the impossible. Was this a dream? A cruel, cyclical nightmare that had trapped him for an eternity? He clutched his throbbing head as though it might split open, the sharp pain making it harder to think. He wanted to scream again, to release the building pressure, but suddenly, he froze.

  It was as though an invisible pause button had been pressed.

  Su Bai’s eyes locked onto something—motionless, unblinking, he stared at the calendar across the room. The date was unmistakable: September 22nd, 2022.

  His chaotic thoughts slowed, soothed by an inexplicable calmness that seemed to wash over him. The reality of the date struck him like lightning.

  Slowly, he climbed out of bed, his legs trembling as they carried him toward the bathroom. Each step felt surreal, as though he were walking through a dreamscape. Standing before the mirror, he leaned forward, hands gripping the cold porcein sink.

  What stared back at him from the reflective surface made his breath hitch.

  His face—it was unblemished, youthful, untouched by the harshness of the years he remembered enduring. He ran trembling fingers across his cheeks, down to his neck, and then through his hair. The reflection was undeniably his, but it was wrong.

  His mind raced. The lines of exhaustion, the faint scars—every marker of hardship he had grown to accept as part of himself—were gone. This was not his face. At least, not the face he had st seen before…

  Before the accident.

  Su Bai stumbled back, gripping the sink for support. His head throbbed with questions that had no answers. What was happening? Was he… alive? Or had he died and been reborn into some cruel loop of time?

  His gaze fell to his hands. Shaking, he clenched them into fists and unclenched them again, over and over, as if testing their reality. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t immediately notice the faint hum.

  A strange, low sound began to vibrate through the room. He looked up, and his reflection in the mirror flickered. For a moment, it wasn’t him staring back. The figure in the gss had cold, hollow eyes, and a twisted, mocking smile.

  Su Bai staggered backward, his chest heaving. The reflection vanished in an instant, repced by his own wide-eyed face. His heart thundered in his chest as he gnced around the bathroom, searching for any expnation, any sign of what was happening.

  The hum grew louder. It was everywhere now, reverberating through the walls, shaking the very air around him. Covering his ears, Su Bai stumbled out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

  The calendar caught his eye again, glowing faintly in the dim room. The date—September 22nd, 2022—seemed to pulse with an otherworldly light. Against his better judgment, he reached out toward the paper , his world around him dissolved.

  Colors swirled in a chaotic maelstrom, sounds cshed and collided, and Su Bai felt as though he were being dragged through space and time itself. The sensation was unbearable, a thousand emotions—fear, regret, longing—all crashing into one.

  He slowly let his body slide down the cold, unyielding wall, until he was sitting on the floor. Silent tears spilled from his swollen eyes, cascading down his pale cheeks. His face was a bnk canvas—devoid of emotion, as if the person crying wasn’t him at all, but a hollow reflection of what remained.

  Minutes blurred into hours. He sat there unmoving, letting the tears flow freely until there was nothing left. Finally, as if awakening from a trance, he wiped his face, his movements slow and deliberate. Rising to his feet, he moved to the bathroom.

  The shower steamed up the small space, and Su Bai meticulously scrubbed his body, as if trying to cleanse himself of something far deeper than sweat. Water dripped from his hair and glided down his milky-white skin, carrying with it the remnants of his pain. His lips, flushed and soft like ripe peaches, glistened with moisture. His red, swollen eyes—though tired—added

  an ethereal beauty to his already delicate features, making him look both fragile and mesmerizing.