Chapter 1: The Diagnosis

The world didn't end with an explosion. It didn't crumble into nothingness. It didn't shatter like glass or burn to ash.

It ended with a quiet sentence in a sterile white room.

"I'm sorry, Miss Evans. The results are conclusive. You have six months left."

Iris sat there, frozen, staring at the doctor as if she had misheard. As if she were in a dream, one of those strange, detached ones where things happened, but she wasn't really there. She wanted to laugh because it was absurd. People her age didn't get terminal illnesses. People her age were supposed to be making plans, taking risks, falling in love, chasing dreams.

Not dying.

Yet, here she was. Twenty-three years old, staring down the unforgiving reality of her mortality.

The doctor spoke in a gentle, practiced tone—one that told her he had delivered news like this before. It was meant to cushion the impact, but it didn't. Nothing could.

"I understand this is difficult to process, and we can explore palliative care options. There are treatments that may extend your time, but..."

He trailed off. He didn't have to finish the sentence. But they won't save you.

Iris let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her fingers clenched the hem of her sweater, knuckles whitening. She thought about her parents, about how her mother would cry and her father would pretend to be strong but wouldn't be able to look at her without his heart breaking. She thought about her friends, about how their lives would go on while hers dwindled into darkness.

No. That wasn't what she wanted.

If she only had six months, she wouldn't spend them fading away in a hospital bed, tethered to beeping machines and suffocating sympathy. She wouldn't let her last days be filled with the weight of everyone else's sorrow.

She wanted to live.

That night, Iris sat in her room, staring at a world map she had pinned to her wall years ago. There were places she had always dreamed of visiting—Paris, Tokyo, Rome. But one place stood out to her the most.

South Korea.

It wasn't because of K-pop or K-dramas or anything most people associated with the country. It was because of a memory—a fleeting one from years ago, buried beneath the weight of life. Her older brother had visited Seoul once, and he came back with stories of bustling streets, neon lights, and a sense of adventure she had always craved.

Motorcycles, late-night drives, the thrill of the unknown.

Iris had always loved motorcycles. The rush of wind, the vibration of the engine beneath her, the way the world blurred past like an endless painting. She had her own bike back in the U.S., but she couldn't take it with her.

Maybe she'd rent one. Maybe she'd spend her remaining days chasing the horizon.

She reached for her laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating the quiet determination in her eyes. If she only had six months, she would make them hers.

She was going to South Korea.

The process was faster than she expected. She had savings—enough to live comfortably for half a year. She booked a small apartment in Seoul, packed her essentials, and told her family only half-truths.

"I just need a break," she had said. "To clear my mind, to figure things out."

They had been reluctant, worried, but in the end, they let her go. She didn't tell them the real reason. She didn't want their sadness shadowing her every move.

By the time she landed in South Korea, the weight of her decision settled in. The airport was a flurry of activity, unfamiliar language surrounding her, the scent of food stalls mixing with the crisp autumn air. She took a deep breath, letting it all soak in.

This was real. This was happening.

She had six months, and she was going to make them count.

Her apartment was small but cozy, tucked in a quiet neighborhood just outside the city's busiest districts. After unpacking, she wasted no time in finding a rental place for motorcycles. The moment she sat on the bike—a sleek, black model with just the right amount of power beneath her—she felt something she hadn't in weeks.

Freedom.

That night, she rode through the streets of Seoul, the wind against her face, the city lights reflecting in her wide brown eyes. She wasn't just existing anymore. She was alive.

And she had no idea that this night would change everything.