Skies & Florets

Chapter 34

QUENTIN

The hospital room is dimly lit, shadows dancing softly on the walls as the late afternoon sun sinks lower in the sky. Lilac lies on the hospital bed, her face pale and fragile, a s t a r k contrast to the vibrant spirit I've always known.

I sit in the chair beside her, gripping her hand as if I can infuse her with my strength. The rhythm of her breathing is steady but shallow, a reminder of the reality we now face.

My heart aches as I watch her. This beautiful, resilient woman has endured so much, and yet here she is, fighting against a battle I wish I could fight for her. I wipe away the tears that threaten to spill, unwilling to show her the d e p t h s of my pain.

I lean closer, brushing my fingers across her cheek. "Lilac," I whisper, hoping to wake her from the depths of sleep, but she doesn't stir. Her brow is furrowed, and I can tell that even in her slumber, she is troubled.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my emotions settle heavily on my chest. In moments like this, I want to do more than just be present. I want to soothe her, to ease her pain in any way I can. So, I do the only thing I can think of—I start to sing.

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. . ." My voice is soft, almost a whisper as I begin the familiar tune. The melody flows from my lips, wrapping around the room like a gentle embrace. I choose this song because it holds a certain magic, a reminder of childhood dreams and endless possibilities.

I want her to feel that magic again, even for a moment.

As I sing, I watch her, hoping the sound of my voice might reach her heart, even in her sleep. "There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby. . ." The notes tumble from my mouth, carrying my emotions with them. Each word feels heavy with meaning, an offering of love and hope in the face of despair.

But as I continue, I can't hold back the tears any longer. They slip down my cheeks, warm and salty, a testament to my heartache. I cry for the girl I fell in love with, the girl who brightened my world with her laughter and warmth. I cry for the moments we've lost and for the uncertain future that looms ahead of us.

I can't help but think of the times we shared—the sun-soaked afternoons in her flower shop, the quiet conversations about dreams and fears, and the way her smile lit up even the darkest days. "High above the chimney top, that's where you'll find me. . ." My voice quivers, the emotion spilling into every note. "Oh, somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly."

As I sing, I lean closer, resting my forehead against her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against my brow. "Lilac, please," I murmur, my voice breaking. "I need you to fight. I need you to wake up and chase your dreams again. You're stronger than this, I can't lose you, baby. You're all I ever wanted."

The tears continue to fall, pooling on the sheets beneath her. I can't bear the thought of losing her, of a world without her laughter and light. I remember her laughter, bright and carefree, and it feels like a distant memory, a ghost of a happier time. "If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow. . . why, oh why can't I?"

The last notes hang in the air, a f r a g i l e whisper as silence envelops us once more. I sit in that silence, hoping against hope that my song reaches her, that she feels the love and determination woven into every word.

Suddenly, a soft fluttering of her eyelids catches my attention. I hold my breath, my heart racing. "Lilac?" I whisper, lifting my head to look at her. Her eyes blink opens slowly, the confusion in her gaze clearing as they focus on me.

"Quentin?" she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, hoarse but somehow comforting.

"I'm here," I reply, my heart swelling with relief. "You're safe."

She offers a weak smile, and even in her fragility, it brightens the room. "Did you. . . sing to me?"

I nod, wiping my eyes quickly, trying to gather myself. "I did."

"Thank you," she says softly, her voice shaky but filled with gratitude. "It means a lot."

"I'll sing for you every day if it helps," I promise, my heart pounding. "You just need to get better. We have so much to talk about, so many dreams to chase. We'll still tie a knot under that big oak tree, right?"

She closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as if she's drawing strength from my presence. "I want that, too."

As she drifts back to sleep, I remain by her side, holding her hand tightly. My heart aches with love for her, for the woman who has faced so much with such grace. I vow to be her strength, to fight with her against the darkness that threatens to take her away.

As long as she can hear my voice, as long as she knows I'm here, she can fight. And I will sing for her, over and over, until the world feels b r i g h t again.