Chapter Text
"It's Hanahaki Disease, isn't it?"
Trembling lips murmured as diamond-like tears crawled down her cheeks. There was a bitter smile painted on her face as her eyes reflected nothing but raw emotion. Cold hands clutched at her chest, trying to swallow the blood and those goddamned petals that threatened to spill from her mouth.
It hurts so much.
Sitting right across the female was the doctor who had a solemn look on her face. With her pristine white lab gown, her hands clutching a brown folder that holds the results of all the tests that her patient went through.
"You're currently in the second stage of the disease." Which meant flower buds, stem growth, even more coughing and choking. The medical practitioner glanced at the papers once again, before looking back at the other. "But you still have a very high chance of surviving."
According to research and statistics, only one out of ten people gets the disease. Not everyone who experiences unrequited love gets the disease. Not everyone dies from it either. The mortality rate is somewhere ranging from 30-55%, with patients choosing surgery, finding mutual love with someone else, or if they're really lucky; the person they love falls for them as well. Hanahaki is considerably rare, it's as if the universe specifically choose you to have it.
There was a pregnant pause after that. The client shifted in her seat, hand moving away from her chest but only to grip on the strap of her bag. She knew that they were bound to talk about it one way or another. It's the doctor's responsibility after all. To discuss all the possible outcomes that would happen to her and this...illness.
"The decision is all yours. I'm just trying to help you." The doctor spoke her name, and it reminded her of the man who caused all this. The man whom she loved with all her heart and soul. The man causing her death.
She thought about how his smile brightened the room. His contagious laughter. His eyes that sparkled with so much passion whenever he's talking about that dumb sport. His calloused hands that would reach out for hers every time she felt scared.
The universe is cruel, that's what she thought to herself. Love isn't supposed to be painful. Love isn't supposed to kill someone. It's not right.
The flowers in her lungs grew and grew, they were beautiful yet punishing. With each passing day, her love grows stronger and stronger. From one petal to multiple, to a fully bloomed flower. It hurts so much. It's agonizing, suffocating.
But forgetting is more painful, and she doesn't want to forget.
Patients who choose to undergo the surgery experience side effects even after they got rid of the flowers. People insensitively joked about it being akin to Russian roulette, you never know what you're getting. Some lose their memories, only to have a relapse after being in the presence of the person they were in love with. On the other hand, certain patients would completely lose the ability to show emotions. They succumb to a life as an empty shell of the person they used to be. If you're really lucky, you'd live a normal life without any pain--free from the flowering curse of love.
She doesn't want that. She can't let anyone take away her feelings, her memories. She'd rather die suffering because of her love for him.
Love can be cruel, painful, and unfair. She's well aware of the fact that he'll never look at her the same way. She knows that even her own life wouldn't be enough to make him return her feelings. Yet she loves him nonetheless. Love makes a person do selfish things, they say.
Then, she'd be selfish until her last breath. That's how much she loves him.
Raising her head up, she looked at the doctor in the eye and wiped away her tears. "Thank you," she spoke softly. "Don't worry, I'm well-aware of what could happen in the near future." A reassuring smile appeared on her face.
"I will not be taking the surgery."
The doctor could simply nod and flash her a kind smile. "I understand, but I will still try to help you." She handed the other female a piece of paper. "The branches actually grow rapidly and may scratch your throat. When they do, there's a chance that your pharynx will get an abrasion, and can be prone to infection. That's why I want you to come back weekly so I can check on them and prescribe you with antibiotics."
"You may not be taking the surgery but I still want to help you ease the pain." And by that she meant both physical and emotional pain.
"Thank you, doctor. For everything." The female's eyes brimmed with tears once again. They both stood up and the doctor guided her out of the office.
As they stood by the door, the patient looked back and smiled. "Tell me, doctor. You have a special someone as well, don't you?"
"How does it feel to love and to be loved back?"
"It's.." The doctor paused, not because she was at a loss for words. "Heavenly."
Satisfied with her answer, the patient walks away with a warm smile on her face and determination burning in her heart. Love is cruel, painful, and unfair. But she knows it's worth it. Loving him is enough. It doesn't matter if it's unrequited.
Everything will be okay. You'll be okay.
Except this girl wasn't you.
Who are you?
You're the first person she came to when she started vomiting camellia petals. You're the person who accompanied her to the radiology room, the one who stood in front of the screen—looking at her x-ray results. Eyes glued onto the branches and flowers that grew in her lungs, now invading her chest cavity then climbing up to her throat and out of her mouth.
You're the one who confirmed her suspicions, and told her about what can be done. The one who offered help in spite of her refusal to undergo treatment.
You're (Name) (Surname), a certified cardiothoracic surgeon.
And much like your patients, you too, have Hanahaki disease.
How ironic.