“I am.” I agree. “Come.”
She lets out another breath, half frustration, half surrender, before standing up. I guide her to the sofa, my hand on her lower back, steadying her as if she might collapse. When she sits, she pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. I flop down next to her, and the silence settles between us. I continue to stay quiet, giving her the space I know she needs. Then, barely above a whisper, she speaks.
“My dad… he died of a heart attack.”
I knew this already. The background check had told me everything there was to know about her. But I don’t say anything. I let her speak. Hearing it from her, in this moment, in her voice—it’s different. And I want nothing more than for her to share these things with me.
She stares ahead, lost in memories. “He used to pick me up from school every day. Rain or shine, he’d be there, standing by the gate, smiling like I was the best part of his day. And now… now I can’t even remember the last words I said to him.” Her voice cracks, and something inside me breaks as well.
I reach out, my fingers gently curling around hers as I say softly, “He was lucky to have you as his daughter, Sana.”
A single tear rolls down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away. Instead, she looks at me with those sad eyes, and it nearly undoes me.
“I was the lucky one,” she whispers before pulling back into her usual stubbornness. “I know you said you’d stay until discharge, but honestly, I don’t think it makes sense. You shouldgo home, get a good night’s sleep, and maybe come back in the morning.”
My jaw tightens. This woman really knows how to test my patience. She seriously thinks I’d leave her in this state? I lean forward slightly, my grip on her hand firm. “We had this discussion, and I’m telling you for the last time—get it through your stubborn head—I’m not going anywhere, Sana.”
Her lips press together, her fingers twitching in my hold. “You don’t have to do this. You’re not obligated to—”
“I want to,” I cut her off. “I’m here because I choose to be.”
She stares at me for a long moment, searching for something in my face. Maybe truth. Maybe comfort. Maybe something else entirely. But I don’t question it. Instead, I let her see it all—the sincerity, the concern, the depth of how much I mean it.
She exhales slowly, as if her exhaustion is finally outweighing the walls she’s been trying to keep up. And then, for the first time tonight, she leans into me, her head resting gently against my shoulder. A deep, shuddering breath escapes her, and without a second thought, I wrap my arm around her, pulling her in closer. My hand moves in slow, soothing strokes along her arm, offering whatever comfort I can. Her body, initially stiff, gradually begins to relax against mine, the tension melting away.
Minutes pass, and I feel her breathing slow down, becoming more even. She’s fallen asleep, but I don’t dare move. I’ve got her in my arms, and that’s exactly where she needs to be.
And strangely, I don’t even realize how this simple act of holding her in my arms brings me peace. The way her soft breaths brush against my skin—it’s as if everything inside me aligns. Like she was made to fit right here.
Sure, I was drawn to her the moment I laid eyes on her. But seeing her like this—vulnerable, yet unbreakable—hits me witha whole new storm of emotions. The way she loves her mom, the way she holds it all together even when she’s falling apart inside… it’s powerful. And every damn second, she pulls me in deeper, making me fall for her in ways I never saw coming. What gets me the most? Every day, I’m more certain that proposing to her was the strongest, most undeniable move I’ve ever made. She’s perfect for me. Meant for me. Mine.
I bend down and press a kiss to the top of her head. She has no idea—but she owns me. Grinning, I pull her closer, breathe her in, feel her pressed against me. Before I know it, my eyes grow heavy and I don’t fight it.
The soft creak of the door has my eyes blinking, adjusting to the dull morning light filtering through the hospital window. Glancing down, I find Sana still lying peacefully in my arms.
A movement in the room catches my attention as I see a nurse walk in. At the same time, Sana stirs against me. I feel the subtle shift in her body, the way she tenses just before she slowly lifts her head, pulling away, her eyes blinking open.
“Thank you,” she says with a hesitant whisper.
I don’t respond, simply nod as I watch her. She brushes a hand through her hair and stands up, pausing for a moment before stepping toward her mother’s bed, where her mom is now wide awake, a smile playing on her lips as she watches us.
“You are awake,” Sana says softly.
“I am,” her mom smiles back as the nurse begins checking her vitals.
“When can I be discharged?” her mother asks the nurse.
Sana looks at the nurse, but before she can say anything, I step forward. “I’ll check with the doctor.”
Her mother’s tired eyes shift to me, silently thanking me. Sana glances at me, too, something unspoken in her gaze, but she just nods.
I turn and walk out of the room, making my way to the reception. After a few minutes of discussion with the hospital staff and a quick call to the doctor, I get the confirmation—the discharge is approved. The paperwork is processed quickly, and I make sure everything is in place before heading back to the room.
“She’s ready to go,” I say, holding up the discharge papers as I step into the room, my eyes locking with Sana’s.
A smile spreads across her face, and somehow, it makes my heart skip a beat.
I move to Sana’s mom’s side just as the nurse returns with a wheelchair.
