KISS ME BEFORE SUNRISE

Ellie’s POV

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and regret. It always did. I sat by my mother’s bedside, clutching her frail hand as machines beeped softly in the background. Each breath she took was shallow, uneven—like the fragile thread holding her to this world might snap at any moment. My chest tightened every time the silence between those breaths stretched too long.

I hated this place. Hated the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, hated the way the nurses avoided eye contact when they passed by, hated how everything felt so sterile and cold. But most of all, I hated myself for sitting here helpless while my mom slipped further away from me.

She looked so small in the bed, her once-vibrant face now pale and sunken. Her curly auburn hair had thinned since the treatments started, and dark circles shadowed her closed eyes. Mom used to laugh so much it filled the entire house, but now even smiling seemed too exhausting for her. Systemic sclerosis, the doctors called it—a rare autoimmune disease that attacked her organs and skin, leaving her body broken piece by piece. They’d stopped offering hope weeks ago, saying there wasn’t anything more they could do.

And Dad? He hadn’t come to visit today. Again.

After Mom’s diagnosis, he’d thrown himself into work, burying his pain under piles of paperwork and late-night whiskey. Sometimes I wondered if he blamed me for not being able to fix things. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand seeing her like this anymore. Either way, it left me alone to sit vigil beside her, counting each labored breath like it was my own lifeline.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the edge of the mattress. “Please don’t leave me,” I whispered, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. Not anymore.

When visiting hours ended, I forced myself to leave. Walking home through Prague’s cobblestone streets, I tried to shake off the heaviness clinging to me like a second skin. The city was quieter tonight, its medieval charm muted under the dim glow of streetlights. Mist curled around my ankles as I crossed Charles Bridge, the Vltava River shimmering faintly below.

For a brief moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to jump—to feel the rush of wind before the icy water swallowed me whole. Anything to escape the suffocating weight of grief pressing down on me. But then I thought of Mom lying alone in that hospital bed, waiting for someone to hold her hand, and guilt dragged me back to reality.

I decided to take a shortcut through Old Town Square, hoping to avoid the crowded main roads. That’s when I heard them—the hurried footsteps behind me. At first, I told myself it was nothing, just another tourist lost in the maze of alleys. But the sound grew louder, closer, until I could practically feel their breath on my neck.

Panic surged through me as I quickened my pace, glancing over my shoulder. Two figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by hoods. One of them grabbed my arm, yanking me backward. I screamed, thrashing wildly, but the other one clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing.

My heart pounded in my ears as I struggled to break free. Just as I thought I was done for, a third figure stepped out of the darkness. Tall, elegant, impossibly fast. Before I could process what was happening, he disarmed the attackers with effortless precision. His movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, as he sent them stumbling backward.

“Leave her alone,” he said, his voice cold and commanding.