Chapter 8
Once again, I found myself hurriedly wheeled into the emergency room, the sterile lights glaring down as the chaos of medical staff swirled around me. This time, the critical phase stretched on for a full day and night, a relentless battle between life and uncertainty. When I finally stirred awake, it was with great effort, my body heavy and reluctant to respond.
The first face I saw was Noah’s—disheveled, his hair tousled and his clothes rumpled. He sat slumped beside my bed, eyes heavy with exhaustion and dark circles that told the story of a sleepless vigil. He looked as if he hadn’t moved for hours, as if he had been guarding me through the long, uncertain hours of the night.
As soon as I shifted, his eyes fluttered open. Without hesitation, he reached out and pressed the call button, alerting the nurses. Though his specialty in medicine was worlds apart from the illness I was fighting, he refused to leave my side. His presence was a quiet anchor in the storm.
“Noah,” I whispered, trying to smile despite the weariness, “remember when you said if I treated you to dinner, you’d finally accept me as your boss? Does that still count?”
He grasped my hand firmly, his voice steady despite his tiredness. “It definitely counts.”
Outside the window, the sky stretched wide and impossibly blue, a sharp contrast to the sterile hospital room. I found the strength to speak again. “Your boss doesn’t want treatment anymore.”
Noah’s eyes searched mine, a flicker of hope mixed with sadness. “I don’t want to lose my hair. I don’t want to leave looking like a shadow of myself. The air outside smells fresh. I want to see the world again.”
A small smile broke through his fatigue, but then tears spilled freely down his cheeks. “I’ll come with you,” he said softly. “I’ll take leave. We’ll go together.”
And just like that, I was discharged.
Despite the shadow of illness hanging over us, that time was unexpectedly beautiful. I have no idea how Noah managed to convince my parents, who were still overseas seeking treatments for me. After hours of pleading, they finally agreed—and even came to the airport to see me off in person.
We floated in the warm, buoyant waters of the Dead Sea, the salt clinging to our skin as the sun kissed our faces. We soared high above the Turkish landscape in a hot air balloon, the world unfolding beneath us like a living map. In Egypt, we rode camels across endless dunes, the sun setting in fiery hues behind us. And in Japan, under a sky bursting with fireworks, we wore delicate yukatas, sharing quiet moments that felt like stolen dreams.
When Alexander finally caught up to me, it was at the base of a snow-covered mountain. He had been trailing behind us all along, always a step too late. If the heavy snowfall hadn’t delayed our plans by several days, we might have missed each other once more.
“Victoria,” he said, his voice breaking the silence.
Startled, I opened the door to the suite and invited him inside. I greeted him with a calmness I didn’t fully feel and gestured for him to take a seat.
“You came,” I said softly, as if confirming a fragile hope.
“Victoria, please don’t leave me,” he pleaded, collapsing against my legs as sobs shook his body.
I reached out, running my fingers through his soft hair, my voice soothing like a lullaby. “Alexander, don’t come looking for me anymore.”
“I don’t love you anymore. Really,” I said, my voice steady but firm.
“In other words, I don’t want to keep struggling with you. I haven’t watched the sunrise or sunset over snowy mountains yet. I don’t want to go back to see tulips with you. We loved each other once, and it was beautiful. That’s enough for me.”
Alexander looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading.
But my gaze was calm, like the still water of a deep pool.
“Alexander,” I told him softly, “as long as our story is deep enough, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”
Outside, the snow had finally stopped falling. I wondered quietly if the sun would break through the clouds today.

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