My dad searched the area, his eyes scanning every corner as he tried to find Anthony's parents.
His steps were quick, restless, and then he saw him — Anthony's father, Tom Matthews, standing near the ambulance as medical staff rushed around him while a stretcher was being pushed inside.
"Mr. Matthews!" my dad shouted, raising his hand as he moved forward.
But before he could reach him, the ambulance doors slammed shut with a sharp metallic sound, and within seconds the magnetic engines activated, sending the vehicle gliding forward onto the road.
My dad didn't waste a second. He rushed back, got into his MV, and followed the ambulance through the quiet streets, his hands tight on the controls and his focus locked ahead.
Within minutes, he reached the hospital.
He stepped out and hurried inside, his eyes searching again until he finally found Tom standing outside the operation theatre, completely still, staring at the closed doors as if nothing else existed.
My dad walked up to him, slightly out of breath, and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Mr. Matthews… what happened?"
Tom didn't respond.
For a second, he just stood there, unmoving.
Then suddenly, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my dad, holding onto him tightly as if he had nothing else left to hold onto. His body trembled, and tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.
"Elena…" he whispered, his voice breaking. "She… she had a heart attack… our son… Anthony… he…"
He couldn't finish.
My dad placed his hand on his back, slowly patting it, trying to steady him before gently pulling him back to look at his face.
"Anthony is safe," my dad said calmly, looking directly at him. "That's why I came to your house. I sent them to India… I was worried something bad could happen."
For a moment, Tom just stared at him.
Then a faint, fragile smile appeared through the tears, and he nodded slightly while gripping my dad's arm.
"Thank you…" he said weakly.
But before anything else could be said, the doors of the operation theatre opened.
Both of them turned instantly.
A nurse stepped out, her expression serious, her eyes lowering for a brief moment before she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Matthews," she said quietly. "We did everything we could… but we couldn't bring her back."
Silence followed.
The words didn't just land — they stayed.
Tom's expression froze as if his mind refused to accept what it had just heard, and then suddenly his knees gave way as he collapsed onto the floor.
My dad immediately bent down, grabbing his shoulders.
"Mr. Matthews… get up… please—"
But Tom couldn't stand.
His body had gone weak, completely drained of strength.
My dad helped him up slowly and guided him to a nearby bench, sitting beside him as Tom buried his face in his hands and broke down, his cries raw, uneven, echoing softly through the hallway.
Time passed.
Neither of them knew how much.
Then suddenly—* Thud.*
Tom pushed my dad away.
Hard.
My dad stumbled back slightly, caught off guard.
*Sniff* "It's your fault!" Tom shouted, his voice shaking with anger and grief.
My dad froze.
Tom stood up abruptly, his fists clenched, his eyes red.
"You could've told us sooner!" he shouted. "Elena would've… she would've—"
His voice broke mid-sentence.
My dad stepped forward slightly.
"Look, I—"
"Shut up!" Tom yelled, pointing toward the exit. "Get out of my sight… before I do something I regret."
The hallway fell silent again.
My dad didn't argue.
He looked at him for a moment… then slowly turned around and walked away.
Meanwhile, in India, we stayed close to each other, not really speaking much but not needing to either. Being together was enough for the moment, so we stepped out and walked through the streets, hoping it might clear our minds.
The city was unlike anything I had ever seen.
Every corner was filled with light, yet it didn't feel artificial or overwhelming.
The streets were unbelievably clean, not a single piece of waste in sight, and the soft glow from mag cars and passing trains reflected across the roads more beautifully than streetlights ever could.
Energy flowed through the city silently, powered by endless rows of solar panels, and vending machines stood at almost every turn, accessible to anyone who needed them.
The air felt cold and pure.
There was no pollution.
This was the superpower of the world.
I had read about India before — how it had once been looted for centuries, how it had fallen behind, and then how everything changed after the tragedy of 2072.
The comeback had been something no one expected, yet standing there now, it felt completely real.
We kept walking without any real direction.
It helped… a little.
But not enough.
None of us spoke much.
Anthony checked his phone a few times, hoping for a call, but nothing came through. His dad had tried contacting him, but the grid failure had made communication almost impossible. Even I hadn't spoken to my father since yesterday.
The only way left now was something much slower.
A letter.
Anthony's father had sent one immediately after everything happened, writing down what he couldn't say through a broken system. It carried news that no one should ever have to receive this way… and yet, it was already on its way to us.
Dear Son,
This is your dad… and I don't know how to begin writing this.
I know you're in India, and I know things must already be difficult for you right now, but I'm proud of you for staying strong and taking care of yourself during all of this.
There's something I have to tell you… something I never thought I would have to write like this.
Your mom… Elena…
She passed away three hours ago.
We didn't know you were in India, and when she heard about Norway… the shock was too much for her heart to take.
Son, I don't want you to lose hope. I want you to—
The message did not end there.
The letter had already begun its journey, moving across countries and broken systems, carrying words that would change everything the moment they were read.
And no one could have predicted what would happen when Anthony read the rest of it.