Felzein and Cherlyn emerged from the room with unhurried steps, their movements imbued with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
In the corridor, Rosa, Melati, Dewi, Rasya, and Wina remained steadfast in their vigil, their eyes instinctively drawn to the pair the moment the door opened.
Cherlyn’s eyes were reddened and glistening, unmistakable traces of recent tears.
Yet the smile that now adorned her face was not one of sorrow, but of serenity, gentle, warm, and quietly hopeful.
No one could say for certain what had passed between Felzein and Cherlyn behind closed doors.
But in their eyes, in the stillness that lingered like mist, there was a palpable sense that something irrevocable had transpired.
“Doctor Cherlyn… are you all right? You look as though you’ve been crying,” Rosa asked softly, her tone tinged with worry.
Cherlyn offered a delicate smile, her voice as calm as her countenance, “I’m quite all right. Really.”
Melati stepped closer, her features drawn with concern.
“Are you sure, Doctor? It feels like… something’s made you sad.”
Cherlyn nodded slowly, the corners of her lips curving in quiet reassurance, “There’s nothing to worry about, Mel… I’m fine. Thank you.”
“We’ll be leaving tonight to Japan,” Felzein announced, his voice resolute.
“To Japan?!” Rosa, Melati, Dewi, Rasya, and Wina exclaimed in unison, disbelief widening their eyes.
Rosa took a step forward, confusion and anxiety mingling in her expression, “Is it… to see Ryu?”
Felzein inclined his head gently, his gaze steady, though shadowed with melancholy, “Yes… If I go now, I may be able to hasten his recovery…”
Melati bit her lower lip, her voice no more than a murmur, “But… why so suddenly…”
Felzein drew in a deep breath, as if bracing himself against the tide within, “If I’m too late…” he whispered, leaving the sentence unfinished.
His words hung in the silence like a fragile thread, tension gathering in the pause that followed.
“I only hope Ryu is all right,” he continued, the simplicity of his words belying the storm of fear that stirred beneath.
Rosa moved closer still, her expression softening, her voice imbued with quiet warmth.
“Take care, both of you,” she said, her words like a shawl against the chill.
Melati followed suit, her smile faint but sincere, “Look after yourselves…” she whispered, unable to mask the tremor of unease.
Felzein gave a silent nod, then turned his gaze towards Cherlyn.
There, in her eyes, he caught the flicker of something unspoken, a glint of jealousy, however faint, but she said nothing, choosing instead to preserve the fragile peace.
“Thank you…” Felzein murmured, the weight of his gratitude resting gently on the still air.
Afterwards, they all departed from Koba Baru Pharmacy, each returning quietly to their respective homes.
Rosa made her way back at a composed, unhurried pace, and Melati, who had spent the previous night at Felzein’s, chose to do the same.
Dewi, Rasya, and Wina, unwilling to let the evening drift into silence, decided to walk the length of the mall together, their laughter a subtle defiance against the weight of the day.
They had, out of courtesy, invited Rosa and Melati to join them, though both declined with gentle refusals that needed no justification.
Elsewhere, Cherlyn walked beside Felzein, matching his steps as they made their way to his house in a companionable hush.
Her car, for the time being, would remain parked at Felzein’s residence, left behind during their journey to Japan.
Upon entering Felzein’s private laboratory, Cherlyn halted mid-step. Her breath caught in her throat.
The room was unlike anything she had expected.
Vials of iridescent liquid shimmered under sterile lights, contraptions of unfamiliar design lined the shelves, and a curious scent, metallic and faintly sweet, hung in the air.
It was more alchemist’s sanctum than sterile research facility.
Felzein observed her stunned expression with a wry, knowing smile, “Didn’t see this coming, did you, Lyn?” he said, a note of amusement in his voice.
Cherlyn remained silent for a moment, her gaze travelling slowly from one corner to the next, her mind struggling to reconcile the image before her.
At last, she turned to him, her voice hushed and tinged with disbelief, “You built all this? On your own… all this time?”
He chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the quiet hum of the machines, “Well… being a doctor isn’t all sutures and stethoscopes. Sometimes, it requires a touch of science… and madness.”
Turning away, he scanned the rows of neatly arranged glass vials and labelled canisters, as though mentally ticking off a list.
“Now then… what should I bring to Japan?” he murmured, half to himself, though Cherlyn heard every word.
She stood in silence, then stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon a cluster of pale blue ampoules glinting on the top shelf.
“The treatments… the compounds for Ryu’s paralysis,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Tell me! Have you ever succeeded in making them before?”
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of unspoken longing.
The delicate hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the impossible might finally be within reach.
Felzein’s lips curved into a faint, hesitant smile, the kind that hinted at the storm of doubt concealed beneath a composed surface.
“I’ve concocted a number of formulations for afflictions of this nature. Yet I’ve not had the chance to examine Ryu’s condition firsthand. Without that, I cannot, in good conscience, promise these elixirs will be of any use.”
With careful deliberation, he opened the glass-fronted cabinet, his fingertips gliding over the slender vials resting within.
Each one a delicate vessel of colour and fragile hope.
To Cherlyn, every movement he made seemed to carry the weight of silent prayers, the burden of possibilities too precious to name aloud.
Her gaze remained fixed, unblinking, upon the mysterious bottles, eyes sharpened with a blend of
“Walk me through them,” she said at last, her voice no louder than a murmur, but edged with quiet resolve. “One by one.”
Felzein inclined his head gently, reaching for the first vial, a liquid of the palest blue, almost serene in its hue.
“This is Baclofen,” he began, his tone adopting the careful cadence of one who has lived too long in the company of complex truths.
“It’s most often employed to relieve muscle spasticity, an all-too-common affliction in those suffering spinal trauma or neurological decay.”
“It functions by dampening specific motor pathways in the brain and spinal cord,” he continued, rolling the vial gently between his fingers, as though coaxing memory from glass.
“What it offers is a release freedom from the cruel grip of involuntary contractions, and a chance, however small, for motion regained.”
He placed the vial back with reverence and reached for the next, its contents a deep, brooding violet, thicker in consistency.
“This,” he said softly, “is Gabapentin. A balm for shattered nerves. It soothes the pain that arises not from wound or pressure, but from within, from nerves frayed and screaming in silence.”
“It tempers the erratic lightning of the nervous system, offers stillness where chaos once reigned. It is not a cure, but it lends dignity to suffering, and rest where once there was none.”
Cherlyn remained silent, eyes tracing the vials as though reading an unwritten story in their hues.
A tale of science and sorrow, of fragile hope bottled and labelled, awaiting their moment to defy despair.
Felzein’s fingers closed around a vial bearing the inscription Methylprednisolone, his gaze lingering on the pale solution within.
“This,” he began, voice low but measured, “is Methylprednisolone, a corticosteroid frequently employed in the acute stages of spinal cord injury.”
He paused, as though weighing the gravity of what he was about to explain.
“When administered within the first eight hours after trauma, it can significantly reduce inflammation and forestall further neural degradation. It remains one of the few immediate interventions recognised in spinal trauma protocols.”
Reaching for the next ampoule, its contents as clear as morning rain. He held it up to the light.
“Cerebrolysin,” he said softly. “It’s used to foster neuroregeneration and to mend the fractures left in the fragile architecture of the nervous system. Within it are peptides, messengers of renewal, which coax damaged neural tissue to restore itself.”
He turned to her briefly, as if seeking to reassure her, before selecting a vial with a dusky sapphire hue and the label BDNF.
“This is Brain-Derived Neurotrophic Factor. BDNF is a key element in neural repair, encouraging the birth of new neurons, preserving existing ones, and strengthening the bonds between them. It is, quite literally, the language by which the brain speaks to itself when healing.”
One by one, the vials passed through his hands like sacred relics, each holding not only chemical compounds, but a glimmer of hope.
He lifted the final vial, slender and cool, marked with the faint letters NT-3.
“Neurotrophin-3,” he murmured. “A potent factor in the regrowth of peripheral nerves. It guides the wounded fibres back to life, rebuilding what trauma has undone. In those for whom sensation is a memory, NT-3 may one day restore it.”
Felzein turned to Cherlyn at last, his tone no longer clinical, but personal, almost vulnerable.
“These compounds,” he said, “each represent a strand in the tapestry of recovery. None of them is a miracle. But together, they offer something rare, a chance. A path, however narrow, toward restoration.”
Cherlyn regarded him with a gaze both knowing and tender.
Her voice, when it came, was touched by both admiration and subtle reproach.
“I knew it,” she whispered. “You’ve refined them, haven’t you? Altered each one to suit your own design. You never simply use what’s given. You always craft something more.”
There was no boast in her words, only an understanding born of long hours shared in silence, in research, and in unspoken faith.
Felzein let out a light, almost boyish laugh, his eyes catching the light with a mischievous gleam.
“Ah... So you’ve seen through me, have you?” he said, feigning modesty, though the flicker of quiet pride was unmistakable.
Cherlyn merely shook her head, her smile delicate, tinged with affectionate resignation.
“You always go further than the brief. That’s just who you are,” she murmured, as though stating a truth so familiar it had become a quiet constant in her world.