บททั้งหมดของ RAGING FLAME: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Me and Ryan had always worked well together, our unspoken connection guiding us through even the most chaotic of days. But now, there was an added layer to our relationship—a warmth that lingered in every shared glance, every fleeting touch.everyday I wake up from the bed with a headache but soon after it disappears after seeing him in hospital. We began dating openly, no longer hiding our affections from the world. It was exhilarating, but it also came with its challenges. The hospital was a small world, and news spread quickly. Our colleagues, especially our close friends, didn’t take long to catch on. Mia, was the first to tease us. She caught us one morning as we were grabbing coffee in the staff lounge, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, well, what do we have here?” she said, her tone dripping with mock surprise as she looked between the two of us. “I knew there was something going on between you two!” Ryan and I exchanged a glance, both of us unable to suppress our smi

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the rooftop garden where I had often found solace. Ryan and I somehow managed to carve out a rare moment of peace from our hectic schedules, and we decided to escape to this quiet corner of the world. The garden was our little secret, a hidden gem where I could breathe, feel the breeze, and pretend, just for a while, that the world wasn’t so overwhelming.I stood by the edge, staring out over the city as the lights began to twinkle in the distance. Ryan was behind me, pressing my head with gentle force. I love how he cared about me. My head leaned back on his chest melting in the head massage. I turned back and hugged him closing my eyes. That’s it, this what I needed to boost up my energy.We didn’t say anything; we didn’t need to. The silence was full of unspoken words, of shared moments and stolen glances. The soft hum of the city and the rustle of leaves filled the air around us, but I was only aware of him, of us.We st

The soft, muted light of dawn filtered through the living room window as I blinked awake. I was lying on Ryan’s couch, his arm draped over me protectively. We must have fallen asleep here last night, too exhausted to make it to the bedroom. His presence was a comfort, his steady breathing a reminder that, for now at least, we were safe.I took a moment to enjoy the warmth of his body next to mine, the rise and fall of his chest against my back. It was a rare moment of peace in what had become a constant state of anxiety and fear. But as much as I wanted to stay wrapped up in this small, quiet world we’d created, I knew it couldn’t last. The real world was waiting for us—chaotic, unpredictable, and dangerous.Ryan stirred behind me, his arm tightening slightly before he slowly woke up. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.“Morning,” I replied, turning to face him. His hair was tousled, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was a small smile on his lips—a brief glimp

The following days blurred into a haze of fear, exhaustion, and desperate determination. The memory of Ryan collapsing in the hospital, the blood soaking his shirt, haunted my every waking moment. I replayed it over and over, trying to piece together anything that could help me find the person responsible. But there was nothing—no face, no clear direction the shots had come from. Just chaos, panic, and Ryan’s body crumpling to the ground.When I went to work the next day, trying to find some semblance of normalcy, Mia intercepted me in the hallway. Her face was a mask of concern, and I could see the worry lines etched deeper than usual. “Amira, you can’t be here right now,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off. “No. I’m not letting you do this to yourself. You need time to process, to rest. You’ve been through too much.”“I’m fine, Mia,” I insisted, though the quiver in my voice betrayed me. “I need to be here. I need to keep worki

The days passed with a suffocating sense of inertia. Each visit to the hospital, each glance at Ryan’s unmoving form, deepened the pit of despair in my chest. My frustration with the police was growing. They seemed uninterested in finding Ryan’s shooter, and every time I tried to get information, I was met with excuses, delays, and outright dismissals. It was as if they were intentionally dragging their feet.I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The evidence was minimal, sure, but it felt like the police weren’t even trying. Their disinterest was becoming too apparent to ignore. The nagging thought that they might be compromised or involved somehow wouldn’t leave my mind. But I had no proof, just a gut feeling that gnawed at me constantly.One evening, after another frustrating day of getting nowhere with the police, I found myself outside a bar. I hadn’t planned on coming here, but my feet had led me here unconsciously. The need to escape, even just for a few hours,