"It's not necessary." He's already shaking his head. "Just routine exams. Vision checks. Follow-up."
"I want to come," I insist. Something in my chest tightens at the thought of him going alone, of sitting in sterile waiting rooms without anyone there who cares whether the news is good or bad.
He studies me for a moment, his green eyes clearer than they've been in weeks, focused with an intensity that makes my pulse skip. Then he nods, something softening in his expression. "Okay."
We all pile into the rented SUV. Artan drives, his hands steady on the wheel. Erion claims the front passenger seat, sprawling like he owns the space. I slide into the back with Luan.
I can see he's nervous. His jaw is tight, muscle jumping beneath the skin. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers tapping out a rhythm only he can hear, restless in a way he rarely lets show.
I reach for his hand without thinking.
He grabs it immediately, his fingers threading through mine, grip almost tight enough to hurt. His thumb strokes over the engagement ring I started wearing again, the metal warm from my skin.
A small smile crosses his face. Brief. Genuine. Like that simple touch of gold and diamond means something more than it should.
The clinic is nothing like I expected. It looks more like a five-star hotel than a medical facility, all glass and clean lines. Modern art on the walls. Fresh flowers in elegant vases. The kind of place where wealth whispers instead of shouts.
A nurse greets us at the entrance. Young, professional, her smile practiced and perfect. She speaks English with a crisp Swiss-German accent. "Mr. Krasniqi? Right this way, please."
She guides us inside and I feel it the moment we cross the threshold.
The smell.
Faint but unmistakable beneath the luxury and the fresh flowers and the expensive air purification systems. Antiseptic. Sterility. The particular scent of medical facilities that no amount of money can completely erase.
It hits me like a physical blow, dragging me back to memories I've tried to bury. My aunt. The last months of her life when cancer ate through her body faster than treatment could stop it. The appointments that became more frequent, more desperate. The waiting rooms where we sat in silence because there was nothing left to say. The quiet conversations with doctors who tried to be gentle when delivering news that felt like violence.
I drag in a deep breath, force myself to stay present. Fortify myself against the wave of grief that threatens to pull me under.
I'm here for Luan. I need to be strong for him.
The nurse leads us to a waiting room. Luan goes with her through a door marked "Private," leaving the three of us behind.
Artan, Erion, and I sit in uncomfortable silence. The chairs are expensive and ergonomic and somehow still manage to be deeply uncomfortable. Minutes stretch. The clock on the wall ticks too loudly.
I can't stop fidgeting. My leg bounces. My fingers twist together in my lap. I'm aware of Artan watching me from the corner of his eye but I can't make myself stop.
The nurse returns after what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. "Everything is progressing well," she says, her smile professional and meaningless. "But the doctor has decided to perform a minor procedure. It will ensure optimal recovery. It will take longer than anticipated. Perhaps overnight. One of you is welcome to stay with him."
"I can stay," I say immediately, the words automatic.
Artan looks at me. His brown eyes see too much. "You're not coping well, Lily."
"I'm fine," I protest, but the words sound hollow even to me.
"You're pale. You haven't stopped fidgeting since we walked in." His voice is gentle, not accusatory, but the observation still stings. "I'll stay. You and Erion should go explore Zurich. Get some air. I'll keep you updated. I'll join you as soon as I can."
"I should stay," I argue, even though the thought of spending hours in this place makes my chest tighten.
"You should go," Artan says firmly, but his expression is kind. Understanding in a way that makes my throat tight. "Luan will be fine. And you need to get out of here."
I want to argue more. Want to insist that I'm strong enough, capable enough, that I can handle sitting in a medical facility without falling apart.
But Artan's right. I'm not coping. The smell alone is making my hands shake.
Erion extends his hand to me, palm up, an offering. I grab it like a lifeline.
"Come on,dashuri," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Let's get lost."
