Wait, Wait, What?!

Beep… beep… beep…

The hospital monitor echoed through the quiet room where Andrew lay unconscious, blissfully unaware that just the night before, he'd cursed out an innocent couple.

A steady rhythm echoed through Andrew's ears, each electronic chirp pulling him from the depths of unconsciousness. The air was cold. Too clean. Antiseptic. Something stung in his arm.

His eyelids fluttered open.

Harsh fluorescent lights stabbed down from the ceiling. The sterile white ceiling tiles blurred into focus, and then—

Pain.

A dull ache throbbed through his shoulder. His hand burned like fire.

Where the hell…?

He blinked slowly, disoriented. A familiar scent of bleach. Distant chatter. And that beeping—

"The hospital?" he muttered groggily. "Wait… right. The truck. Right. I got hit. Because I was judging someone else's proposal…

"This is so not how I imagined fate would go," he groaned, already annoyed with the universe.

He let his head flop back onto the pillow, groaning.

"I didn't die… ha! Take that, fate! You almost got me. But I'm still here, baby," he grinned weakly. "And Chase said I'd die before getting a kiss. Jokes on him…"

Then a sudden panic hit him.

"Oh no. I missed Hot Man: Reality Edition! And the bookstore! Crap—Volume 2 was released yesterday!"

Just then, the door creaked open and a nurse peeked in, clipboard in hand.

"Oh, you're awake, Mr. Andrew," she said with a professional smile.

"Yes, I am," he replied flatly, clearly unimpressed.

Why is she asking me a stupid question when it's clear I'm awake? Andrew thought, feeling unnecessarily stressed.

She approached. "Your injuries are stable, but you need to avoid water exposure on your stitches. And don't strain that arm."

"Got it," Andrew mumbled, watching her adjust his IV line. The sting reminded him he was very much not dreaming.

As the nurse stepped out again, he sighed and leaned back, letting his eyes close.

And then… it happened.

When he opened them again, he saw it.

A golden thread. Shimmering. Glowing faintly in the dim light like a trail of stars—hovering inches from his chest.

His heart stopped.

Excited, he jumped off the bed—*bam!*—he smacked the floor, hard.

Groaning, he crawled up, eyes wide.

"Okay, okay, breathe… Let's not freak out," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then slowly, cautiously, he peeled them open one at a time.

Still there, the thread. Glowing. Real.

He blinked once. Twice. Still there.

"It's real. It's actually real. This is really happening."

The golden thread pulsed, leading out through the hospital room door.

"He's here. My fated one. The hot, sexy man of my dreams is in this hospital!"

Fueled by adrenaline, he ripping the IV from his arm. Blood dotted the sheets, but he didn't care.

He stumbled toward the door like a man possessed, yanking it open, eyes laser-locked on the glowing thread as it slithered through the air ahead of him like a magical GPS. Nurses yelled after him. A gurney rolled by. Someone screamed for security.

But he ignored them all.

"This is not a drill," he muttered. "My man is here. My future husband—right in this hospital."

He darted down the hallway, the golden thread swaying with every turn. It tugged him toward the stairwell.

He glanced around. No one watching? Good.

He bolted down the stairs, three steps at a time.

"God, why is this hospital so crowded?! Is there a pandemic I didn't hear about?" he huffed between turns.

Then the thread stopped.

It hovered beside an unmarked door at the end of a quiet corridor. No movement. No noise.

His pulse quickened.

But something about it felt… off.

"Hmm. Weird vibe," he murmured, tilting his head.

"This is it," he whispered. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the handle.

The moment felt sacred.

With a deep breath, he slowly opened the door, excitement bubbling on his face. Inside lay a stunning person, clearly unconscious.

There was something haunting in how still he lay—like a painting abandoned in a burning house.

Even so, the person was extraordinarily beautiful. Their blackish-brown hair was neatly arranged, and their long eyelashes seemed almost artificial, lazily resting like they were on a parade. Their fair skin was so pale it could give Snow White a run for her money—like they were on an expensive skincare routine.

"This is what I'm talking about, baby! Damn, so beautiful, so hot. I know my destined one will be breathtaking!" he exclaimed, taking in the sight as if his life depended on it.

"Damn, f***k, he is hot… huh? Why is the chest area kind of swollen?! Or am I seeing things?" he said, confusion etched on his face.

"That looks like breasts. They're big, like a woman's!" he said, shocked, still standing there, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him.

The thread shimmered more intensely now—wrapped around her heart like it belonged there.

Confusion clouding his face.

And yet, the thread pulsed. Stronger. Warmer.

"No… no, no, no…" Andrew whispered.

He took another step closer.

"This has to be a mistake. This isn't right."

He squinted.

A cold chill passed through him.

The thread… still glowed. Still pointed straight at her.

"This is not my sexy petite man," he said aloud, voice trembling. "This… this is a joke. This is a cosmic joke."

He turned in circles like he expected a film crew to jump out and yell, "Gotcha."

"But the thread. It's reddish-gold?" he whispered, inching closer. "I thought it was supposed to be pure gold. What does that mean? Is this some kind of… defect?"

The questions crashed over him in waves. Why couldn't it have led to a guy? Why her? Why now?

Before he could gather his thoughts, the door behind him creaked open.

A nurse stepped in.

She blinked in surprise. "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"

Andrew nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh! Um… I thought I recognized her name. I think she was in my middle school class," he lied, nerves prickling under his skin.

The nurse gave him a long look, then softened. "She doesn't get visitors."

Andrew hesitated, then asked, "What… happened to her?"

"She's under investigation," the nurse said, voice low. "They think she murdered her whole family. Tried to kill her father and herself when police arrived. But she's been in a coma ever since."

Andrew's breath hitched.

"Everything points to her. Her fingerprints were on the weapon. There's video footage. But she hasn't woken up. The police are just… waiting."

His lips parted. His voice was barely a whisper.

Andrew's heartbeat was thunder in his ears.

Twenty-seven years of dreaming, of hoping, for this? No. This has to be wrong. Fate wouldn't do this to me. Not after 27 years of waiting.

Not to someone who's still a virgin

Not a man. Not love. Not fate.

A girl in a coma. Accused of mass murder.

He swallowed hard.

"Wait… wait… what?!"