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It had been a month since I was kidnapped and Thomas still hadn't woken up. A whole month. He'd been lying there in that hospital bed, motionless and silent, like a ghost of himself. And I couldn't breathe. Every day I sat beside him—hoping, begging for the smallest twitch of his fingers, a flutter of his eyelids. But there was nothing. Just the machines beeping steadily, as if mocking me with his fragile grip on life. The doctors called it a "medically induced coma,", said it was controlled and temporary—that he was healing but none of it made a damn difference to me. Because he was still gone. Not dead. But not here either. And I couldn't stop thinking, what if he never came back? What if that bullet—just a few inches from killing him—had already stolen the part of him that mattered most?

What if he never woke up? What if this was it—this pale, breathless version of him, frozen in time? What if his eyes never opened again, and his voice never filled a room the way it used to? What if I'd already heard the last of his laughter?

What if something went wrong? A sudden complication, an infection, a quiet slipping away while I wasn't even there to say goodbye?

What if everything he did to save me... meant nothing? He'd taken a bullet for me. And now he might never open his eyes again. The guilt... it wasn't just heavy, it was unbearable. If he died because of me, I didn't know how I'd survive it.

I hated the waiting. I hated the hope. Hope hurts more than despair. Hope whispered that he'd come back, even when every hour felt like watching him die all over again.

"Hey, Isabella," came a voice I barely registered at first.

I blinked and glanced up, my eyes gritty and dry from staring too long. It was Alex. His voice was soft, careful—like I might break if he spoke too loud.

"How are things?" he asked gently.

"Great," I said, the word bitter on my tongue. I smiled, because I didn't know what else to do. A stitched-up, hollow smile. The kind you wear to keep people from asking too many questions.

The truth? Things were a thousand miles from great. When my brother was still here during winter break, I'd been able to breathe but barely. But since he left, it felt like I was free-falling through a tunnel with no end. He only went back to school after making our parents promise to call him every day with updates. Like he knew I'd unravel without someone watching me.

Alex sat down beside me, his presence calm and frustrating at the same time. "You know," he said, "you can't mope here forever."

I clenched my jaw. He didn't get it. He couldn't. I didn't care about school. I didn't care that I was failing classes or waking up in cold sweats every night, screaming into my pillow. I didn't care that my future was crumbling around me because it didn't matter without Thomas.

"I'll stop when he wakes up."

"The doctor said—"

"I know what the doctor said." My voice was sharp, cutting. "They keep saying he'll wake up once his body is healed enough. But what if they're wrong? It's been a month, Alex! A whole month of nothing!" My voice cracked as I spoke, and I swallowed down the ache rising in my throat. I wouldn't cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

"He will," Alex said softly. The same words, again and again, like a scratched record. "He's strong, Isabella. He'll wake up."

"But what if he doesn't?" I snapped, finally letting the panic crack through my chest. "This is my fault!"

"It's not—"

"Yes, it is!" I shouted. "If I hadn't been there—if I wasn't an Ace—he never would've gotten shot!"

The tears came hot and fast, and I couldn't stop them this time. They ran down my cheeks in streaks, burning like acid.

Alex didn't argue. He just pulled me into his arms, letting me cry into his shoulder like I had in those first nights. "Shhh... You know that's not true," he whispered, gently rubbing my back.

"Then whose fault is it?" I choked out. "Because it sure as hell wasn't Thomas'."

"You both were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. But he's here. His heart's still beating. That has to mean something."

I wanted to believe that. I wanted to. But fear had a voice louder than reason. Because what if Thomas did wake up... and he wasn't the same? What if the version of him I loved never came back?

"I know..." I whispered, even though I didn't believe it. I just wanted Alex to stop. I was too tired to fight anymore.

He gave me a faint, sad smile. The kind that said he didn't believe me either, but wouldn't call me out on it. "Come on. Visiting hours are almost over."

"Can't I stay a little longer?" I asked, my eyes returning to Thomas like he was the last anchor holding me in place.

His eyes softened, just for a moment. "We can't," he said, in a low voice. "You know the rules."

I sighed, the weight in my chest growing heavier. Leaning down, I kissed Thomas gently on the cheek—like I had done every night for the past month.

"I'll be back, same time tomorrow." My voice was a whisper, soft and cracking.

Later that evening, a soft knock pulled me from the quiet darkness of my room. Megan's little face peeked in.

Megan, Thomas' sister, had been living with us ever since he was hospitalized a month ago. With no parents around and the hospital visits, it just made sense for Megan to stay with us—closer to school, to stability. She was only nine, but somehow she carried this calm, steady presence that made the silence in the house feel a little less heavy. She was a bright light in the middle of it all, not just because she tried to cheer me up whenever she could, but because so much about her reminded me of him. The way she tilted her head when she was confused, or how she'd hum while doing homework, just like Thomas used to when he thought no one was listening.

"Isabella?" Megan's voice was gentle, cautious. "Someone's here to see you."

"Who?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Jason."

My heart skipped a beat at the knock. Jason. I hadn't seen him much since the hospital visits, just fleeting glimpses when he came for Thomas. At school, I'd been shutting everyone out, avoiding all but Amanda. I wasn't ready for pity. Not ready to face the way my world was quietly unraveling.

Jason stepped inside hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if he belonged in the fragile, broken space I'd wrapped around myself. His eyes searched mine, vulnerable and uncertain.

"Hey... how are you?" His voice cracked ever so slightly, betraying the nerves he was trying to hide.

"Better, I guess." I forced a small smile, hoping it sounded real enough. Inside, everything felt fragile.

He returned the smile, hesitant but genuine. "Listen... I came because I needed to talk to you about something."

I tilted my head, heart pounding. "Okay."

"Remember when I told you how I felt about you?"

I nodded, my throat tightening like a fist had squeezed it.

"Well... I've been thinking. And you're right. I think it's better if we just stay friends."

The words hit me harder than I expected. I looked at him—his eyes lowered to the floor, weighted with something more than regret.

"Really?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What made you decide that?"

He hesitated, then spoke, his voice low and fraying at the edges. "Because Thomas deserves you. He risked his life for you. That's something I don't think I could've done."

His honesty cut through the silence between us, sharp and painful, but it also made my heart ache for him. Slowly, I reached out and took his hands, grounding myself in the warmth of his touch.

"Jason, you'll always be one of my best friends. That won't ever change."

His voice cracked as he asked, "Really?"

"Yes, Jay." I smiled gently, and the soft gasp he let out made me realize how much he'd needed to hear that.

"You remembered..."

"Of course. I'm sorry I forgot for a while."

His voice caught for a moment, thick with emotion. "It's okay. I'm just glad you remember now."

"Me too." I tried to laugh, to push the heaviness aside. "Guess being kidnapped has its upsides."

He chuckled, and for the first time in weeks, a sliver of light flickered between us.

"So... you remember everything?" he asked, hopeful.

I nodded.

"Even the part where my mom begged us to write a story about us?"

I burst out laughing, the first genuine laugh I'd had in what felt like ages. It surprised even me, cutting through the fog that had settled around my heart. "Yeah! I finished that book in like three days."

Jay smiled, a bit of that old spark in his eyes. "I was hoping it'd trigger your memory."

"Sorry it didn't."

Jay hesitated, then offered a half-smile. "Maybe the ending was her way of saying we were meant to be just friends."

"Maybe." My eyes dropped to the bracelet on his wrist, the one I made him years ago—worn, faded, but still there. A small, soft smile pulled at my lips. "Hey, Jay... do you still have the ring you gave me when we were kids?"

His face lit up with a genuine beam. "Of course. It's at home."

"Great. I'll come by and get it soon." The words felt strange, like I was reaching into some forgotten corner of my past and pulling out a piece of it. But somehow, it felt right—like a tiny thread tying then to now.

"I'd love that."

The moment hung there, quiet and delicate—until the sound of footsteps shattered it.

Just then, Alex came bursting through the door, breathless and wild-eyed.

"Isabella!"

"What is it?" I asked, my heart already sinking. Was it news about Thomas?

"It's Thomas. He's awake."

The words slammed into me like a thunderclap. My breath caught, my body frozen—everything shifting in an instant.

"What?"

"The hospital just called. He's awake!"

My hands flew to my mouth, tears bursting through all my restraint.

"You're serious?"

Alex nodded, his eyes shining. "He's really awake."

I turned to Jason, my gaze searching his, asking without words if it was okay to leave, to chase the hope I hadn't dared to voice.

He smiled, soft and sure. "Go," he said. "Go have your reunion."

Once back at the hospital, my heart pounded as I raced down the familiar corridor, each step echoing louder than the last. When I finally reached Thomas's room, I froze at the threshold, breath catching in my throat. The door stood between me and the miracle I barely dared to believe was real. For a moment, I was afraid to cross it, as if stepping inside might shatter the fragile hope that had brought me here.

But, there he was—sitting up in bed, a weak but genuine smile lighting his tired face.

He looked exhausted but alive. Real.

"Thomas..." I breathed his name like a prayer.

He turned his head toward me, and our eyes locked.

"Izzy," he whispered, his voice hoarse but unmistakably his.

I didn't hesitate. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, feeling the warmth and solidity I'd craved for so long. His skin was still warm and not the cold emptiness I'd feared.

"I missed you," he murmured, burying his face in my hair like he was holding on to me for dear life.

"I missed you too," I whispered, my voice cracking, my tears soaking his hospital gown.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes searching mine like he was trying to memorize my face. "You look... different."

I blinked, suddenly self-conscious, aware of the dark circles under my eyes, the way my clothes fit after weeks of stress-eating and sleepless nights. I knew I'd gained a few pounds. "Is that a bad difference?" I asked, my voice barely steady, hoping the question was more about concern than judgment.

His lips twitched into a soft smile. "No. A good difference. You're beautiful. Always have been. I was an idiot for not seeing it sooner." He brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise."

My throat tightened, and for a moment I couldn't speak. The weight of those words—the apology, the reassurance—they were everything I'd needed but never dared to ask for. He loved me for who I was, not just for how I looked. And somehow, hearing that quieted the nagging voice inside me, easing the ache it carried. "I-I don't know what to say..."

Thomas' voice dropped to a playful whisper, teasing the heaviness away. "What about 'I love you, Thomas'?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "I love you, Thomas Reed."

"I love you too, Isabella Ace."

His kiss was gentle but full of the weeks we'd lost—soft and slow, like a promise to never let go again.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless, I searched his eyes. "I was so scared you wouldn't wake up."

"Me too," he admitted quietly. "But, I heard everything you said, even while I was in my coma. So, I had to keep fighting. For you. For us. For my little sister."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, suddenly terrified of all the things that might be different now. "What if things aren't the same though? What if the accident changed you? What if—"

He cut me off, his fingers curling around my cheek. "Izzy, look at me."

I met his gaze, and there was the old Thomas. "I'm still here. I'm still me. I haven't forgotten anything and I'm still yours. That is, if you still want me back..."

"Of course, I do!" My chest tightened with relief, and I let myself believe it. "I'm so sorry I did this to you..."

"Don't," he said firmly. "None of this was your fault. You saved me."

Tears spilled again, but this time they were different—healing, not broken this time.

"I love you," I whispered.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made the whole room glow. "I love you more. More than you could ever imagine."

We stayed like that, tangled in each other's arms, the weight of every shattered hope and endless night slowly lifting. In that calm space between us, the chaos of the past month—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty, melted away, leaving only happiness. A breath of peace. A promise that no matter what came next, we still had each other. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe, just maybe, everything could be okay.

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