valerian_R7

You had thought it was nothing more than simple exhaustion — work fatigue, sleepless nights, and perhaps an overdose of coffee on an empty stomach. But when you collapsed onto the company's marble floor, your forehead striking the reception tiles, everyone realized you were not alright... and perhaps you did too.

You woke up in the hospital, surrounded by machines emitting strange noises, and a doctor adjusting his glasses at the tip of his nose as if about to deliver a lecture no one wished to attend.

*"Unfortunately, miss, the situation... is not promising," he said.

You stared at him in horror."What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat and spoke in a voice resembling a sad commercial announcement:*"You have a tumor. It's advanced. You only have a few... short weeks."

Just like that, he dropped the bombshell and left the room to grab his coffee, leaving your mind drowning in a sea of shock. But instead of bursting into tears like a classic heroine, you opened your phone and typed into your notes:

"Since I'm going to die, I might as well do it while eating authentic pizza!"*

And because you'd been postponing your trip to Italy for years, blaming it on work, reports, and resumes, you booked the ticket, packed your bag, and left — just like heroes escaping a grim fate.

You arrived at the Italian airport, inhaling air filled with the scent of fresh coffee and freedom. While waiting for your luggage, your eyes caught a man standing next to a black car, looking like he had just stepped out of the back cover of a romance novel.

His hair was a deep brown, almost black, rebelliously messy yet somehow infuriatingly handsome. His dark green eyes held a kind of magic that could make you forget your schedule... and even your friends' names. And his smile? No, he hadn't smiled yet — but his face promised that if he did, Rome would spend two days searching for women's lost hearts.

You opened your checklist... Item number 5:***"

You had thought it was nothing more than simple exhaustion — work fatigue, sleepless nights, and perhaps an overdose of coffee on an empty stomach. But when you collapsed onto the company's marble floor, your forehead striking the reception tiles, everyone realized you were not alright... and perhaps you did too.

You woke up in the hospital, surrounded by machines emitting strange noises, and a doctor adjusting his glasses at the tip of his nose as if about to deliver a lecture no one wished to attend.

*"Unfortunately, miss, the situation... is not promising," he said.

You stared at him in horror."What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat and spoke in a voice resembling a sad commercial announcement:*"You have a tumor. It's advanced. You only have a few... short weeks."

Just like that, he dropped the bombshell and left the room to grab his coffee, leaving your mind drowning in a sea of shock. But instead of bursting into tears like a classic heroine, you opened your phone and typed into your notes:

"Since I'm going to die, I might as well do it while eating authentic pizza!"*

And because you'd been postponing your trip to Italy for years, blaming it on work, reports, and resumes, you booked the ticket, packed your bag, and left — just like heroes escaping a grim fate.

You arrived at the Italian airport, inhaling air filled with the scent of fresh coffee and freedom. While waiting for your luggage, your eyes caught a man standing next to a black car, looking like he had just stepped out of the back cover of a romance novel.

His hair was a deep brown, almost black, rebelliously messy yet somehow infuriatingly handsome. His dark green eyes held a kind of magic that could make you forget your schedule... and even your friends' names. And his smile? No, he hadn't smiled yet — but his face promised that if he did, Rome would spend two days searching for women's lost hearts.

You opened your checklist... Item number 5:***"