Morning slides into night and back again, but in this old house, time has stopped. Alina lies on Kai's bed, the blanket drawn up to her chin. Her skin glows pale against the pillow, strands of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. The only sounds are the clock's uneven tick and the faint rustle of the curtains when the wind passes.
Kai hasn't moved far from the chair beside her. He's lost track of hours. His shirt is wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. Each time she exhales, he waits for the next inhale like it's a miracle.
He holds a damp cloth in one hand and her wrist in the other. Her pulse is weak but there, thin, stubborn, alive.
"Hey," he whispers, voice hoarse from silence. "I have to tell you many things." His words fall into the still air. He keeps talking about anything, everything. The weather. The neighbour's cat keeps crying at night. The new script he hasn't finished reading.
He adjusts the drip line, clumsy but careful. His fingers shake as he replaces the towel on her forehead. The fever still hasn't broken.
Granny's slippers scrape softly across the floorboards. She pushes the door open with her shoulder, balancing a tray. "Soup," she murmurs. "And tea for you."
Kai looks up briefly, eyes unfocused. "Thank you, Granny."
"You need to eat," she says, setting the bowl down.
He nods, but his hands don't move from Alina's blanket. The soup sits untouched, steam fading into the cold air.
Granny sighs. She doesn't scold. Instead, she glances at the girl on the bed, then at the man watching her like she's the only thing holding him to the earth.
She reaches out and pats his shoulder gently. "Take rest''
"I can't sleep," he admits. "Not while she's like this."
"Then at least drink the tea," she says softly, and leaves from there
That night, the fever spikes again. Alina's face flushes red, her breathing ragged. Kai panics, pressing a cool cloth to her neck, whispering her name. "Alina, please...''
Granny rushes in, holding a basin of fresh water. "Let me," she says. Together, they work in silence, Granny changing the cloth, Kai holding Alina steady. When Granny realizes the girl's clothes are drenched with sweat, she glances at Kai.
"Turn around, son."
He obeys instantly, jaw tight, staring at the wall while Granny gently wipes Alina's skin and changes her into a clean nightgown.
When she's done, she covers Alina up and nods. "You can look now."
Kai turns back, his throat thick. Alina looks smaller now, fragile, childlike. He sits again, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek. "She's burning."
"It will pass," Granny says quietly. "Illness can't hold someone with a heart that strong."
But her own eyes glisten; she's seen too much sickness, too much loss.
She touches Kai's shoulder before leaving. "Eat something. She wouldn't want you fainting next."
He smiles faintly. "I'm fine." He can lie to the granny but not to himself; he's not fine, and he knows that
The next morning, sunlight slips through the curtains, dust floating in golden ribbons. Kai is still there, half-asleep on the chair, his hand curled loosely around hers.
Granny appears again, carrying breakfast. She looks at him, the dark circles, the unshaven jaw, the slump in his shoulders, and shakes her head. "You'll get sick next."
He blinks awake. "Morning…"
"She's still sleeping," Granny says. "Her fever's lower. That's good."
He exhales in relief, closing his eyes for a moment. "Thank God…"
Granny sets down the tray. "I'll sit with her for a bit. You go freshen up, maybe eat something?"
Kai hesitates to move from there cause he doesn't want to leave her. His gaze returns to Alina. "Just five minutes," he says, and steps out.
He splashes cold water on his face in the bathroom, stares at the mirror. His reflection looks like a stranger with hollow eyes, cracked lips, and exhaustion written into every line. He presses his palms against the sink. "Get it together," he mutters.
When he returns, Granny is humming a lullaby beside Alina, brushing the girl's hair with a motherly tenderness. "She reminds me of my daughter," she says softly.
Kai swallows hard. "She's… she's been through too much."
Granny nods. "Grief steals hunger first, then sleep. It's a thief that doesn't stop until someone chases it away."
Her words settle heavily in his chest. He wants to chase it away for her... her pain, her emptiness, but he doesn't know how to do it.
The rain returns. The house smells of damp wood and medicine. Kai spends the whole day changing compresses, feeding her drops of water with a spoon, and calling the doctor twice just to make sure he isn't missing anything.
Granny comes and goes, bringing food for him every few hours. "At least a bite," she pleads.
He shakes his head each time. "Later."
By evening, she stands over him with crossed arms. "You're worse than my late husband. Stubborn as a mule."
Kai's lips twitch into a small, tired smile. "I'll eat when she wakes up."
"Then she'll wake up to find a ghost, not a man," Granny mutters, but her tone is warm. She leaves the tray anyway, knowing he won't touch it.
Hours pass. The fever finally begins to drop. Alina's face loses its deep flush; her breathing evens out. Kai feels a wave of relief so strong it almost makes him dizzy. He sits back, rubbing his face with trembling hands. "You scared me," he whispers. "You really did."
His voice cracks at the end. He bows his head beside her arm, pressing his forehead gently against her hand. "Don't ever do that again, okay? Don't disappear like that." For the first time in three days, he lets himself breathe.
Third Night-
He hasn't left her side since dawn. The doctor said she's stable now, but still weak.
Granny brings him porridge. "Eat," she insists.
He just shakes his head, eyes fixed on Alina's half-open lips, the faint movement of her chest. "Later."
"She'd scold you if she saw you like this."
He smiles faintly. "Then she should hurry and wake up."
Granny watches him for a long moment. "You love her a lot," she says quietly.
The words land heavily in the air. Kai doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to. He doesn't even understand what this feeling is, only that every breath she takes feels like a lifeline for him, too.
Granny pats his arm, her expression kind. "The eyes confess what the lips cannot." Then she leaves again, closing the door softly behind her.
Midnight-
The storm outside has grown louder. Rain lashes the windows, thunder rumbling far away. The lamp flickers once, twice. Kai sits alone, the world shrinking down to the space between her heartbeat and his. He brushes his fingers over the back of her hand. Her skin is cool now. Relief mixes with exhaustion, and his throat tightens painfully.
He whispers her name, barely audible. "Alina…" There was no reply from her side, only the rhythm of her breath.
His chest aches. "You don't know that I'm here.. his voice was cracking. ..But I wish you could feel that I am.. right beside you ..He was breaking apart ....You're not alone. I am with you. He took a pause and continued ...I can't bear to see you carry all this pain by yourself. My heart… it just wants to take every bit of your pain away and give you all the peace, all the happiness I have left in me.''
He leans forward, both elbows on his knees, dragging his hands through his hair. The tremor in his shoulders grows until he can't stop it. He hides his face, choking on the silence. "Please… just wake up…"
For the first time in years, Kai cries quiet, raw tears that burn his eyes. They fall onto her blanket, small and salt-bright. He doesn't wipe them away. When the storm finally softens, he lifts his head again. She's still there, still breathing, still fighting.
He reaches out, takes her hand gently in his, and holds it to his chest. "I'm right here," he whispers, voice breaking. "And will never leave your side."
Downstairs, Granny prays again before bed, whispering to herself. She doesn't need to check on them; she knows he's still there, keeping vigil like the world outside doesn't exist. And in that old, rain-soaked house, love grows quiet, unspoken, and painfully real.