The Unfinished Days

Chapter 1: The Waiting Room

The hospital reception area had benches arranged in rows facing the front desk. Behind the desk stood two women in white hospital uniforms — one seated, working at a computer and registering patients, the other standing beside her, collecting payments and handing out token numbers. On the wall behind them, bold red letters spelled out ST. MARY HOSPITAL.

Behind the benches was a large glass door. Through it, it was night — the sky dark outside, with lights illuminating the stairs and the path leading to a busy street. The footpath was a little crowded, and cars raced past without rest.

The glass door pushed open as two men stepped inside. The one walking ahead looked to be in his mid-twenties, dressed in a proper suit, his hair carefully styled, his face glowing with energy. The man behind him looked slightly older, in his late twenties, wearing a plain white shirt that hadn't been ironed well. His shoes were worn out, but his posture held — upright, broad-shouldered. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his hair messy. But if you looked closely, he was more handsome than the other man.

The man in front stopped at the nearest bench to the door — the one farthest from the reception desk — and turned to the man behind him.

"Rayan, sit here for a while. I'll go ask at the reception." He paused. "You look exhausted, man. Why did you go to work when I told you to rest?"

Rayan walked up to him, patted his shoulder, and smiled.

"Don't worry about me, I'm not going to die. It's just some exhaustion — I'll be fine after some rest. Don't be like this. You're going to be Dr. Sam soon."

Sam looked at Rayan's smiling face, sighed, and helped him sit down on the bench before sitting beside him.

"Like you're one to talk about rest. A week ago you didn't have time to see me for months, and then you vomited blood and collapsed in the restaurant. That doctor even said you could have cancer and wrote up so many tests — if not for that expensive test report, I wouldn't have dragged you back here. Some city's best hospital, this is. It's just a money pit."

Rayan cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah. Now go ask about the appointment. I don't have cancer. Let's just get the reports and the meds — I have work tomorrow."

Sam stood up, frustrated.

"Work? What work? You're taking leave and resting. Just because you don't have cancer doesn't mean you're fine — at this rate you'll die from exhaustion. I'm getting promoted in a month. You're not going anywhere until then. If you die from exhaustion before that, who's going to party with this lonely soul?"

Rayan looked at Sam, who was making an exaggerated sob face, and pushed him away.

"Okay, okay. Now go ask."

Sam looked toward the reception desk.

"Yeah, yeah, stop nagging."

Sam walked over to the woman standing there.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

She looked at him and smiled. "Hello, sir. How can I help you?"

Sam spoke in a professional tone. "We have an appointment with Dr. S.K. Moyars. Can you check if he's available?"

"Name of the patient, please. And have you visited before?" the woman asked.

"It's Rayan Smith. We visited a week ago."

She entered the name into the computer, checked the records, and confirmed the appointment. Then she made a call. Dr. S.K. Moyars picked up within seconds. She explained, "Rayan Smith is here." Dr. Moyars recognized the name immediately. "Send them in right away."

"You can go in, sir. Dr. Moyars is waiting for you." She pointed toward the corridor to the left of the reception desk.

Waiting for us—