Between the desks

Chapter 77

Elizabeth's POV

I sat by Amren's bedside, my fingers still gently holding hers, the soft, rhythmic beeping of the machines filling the otherwise quiet room. The minutes stretched into hours, but I didn't care. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, pressing down on my body like a stone, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I couldn't leave her—not like this. My mind had been a constant loop of guilt and regret since the moment I arrived. I hadn't realized how long I'd been staring at her face, memorizing every curve, every bruise, desperate for any sign that she was still in there, that she would come back to me.

The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I told myself I was here to ease my conscience, to find some sort of closure. But deep down, I knew the truth: I didn't want to face a world without Amren in it. I couldn't. The weight of everything I had left unsaid, the feelings I had buried so deep, was suffocating. I wanted to tell her the truth, even if it was too late.

And then it happened.

Her fingers twitched ever so slightly in mine. At first, I thought it was a trick of my tired mind, but then I felt it again—her hand tightening, just a fraction. My heart skipped a beat, a rush of adrenaline flooding my veins. I leaned in, breath catching in my throat, my pulse pounding in my ears as I stared at her face, waiting for more. Was she waking up? Was this real?

"Amren?" I whispered, my voice shaky, the words barely audible, as if saying them too loudly might shatter the fragile hope growing inside me.

Her eyelids fluttered, the faintest movement, as if they were too heavy for her to lift. I held my breath, afraid to blink, afraid to look away, watching intently as her lashes trembled against her pale skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, her eyes cracked open, just a sliver at first, as if the effort was too much. But then, they opened fully, unfocused, her gaze wandering the room in confusion.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst. I leaned even closer, my hand tightening around hers, as if anchoring her to the present, to me. When her eyes finally found mine, my breath caught in my throat. There she was. After all this time, after all the fear and guilt and sleepless nights, Amren was looking at me again.

The tears that had been building behind my eyes spilled over, unchecked. I didn't even try to stop them. "Amren..." My voice broke, raw with emotion, and I could barely get the words out. "You're awake... You're really awake."

Her brows furrowed slightly as if trying to piece together where she was, what had happened. I could see the confusion in her eyes, the faint flicker of panic as she tried to move but winced in pain. I quickly grabbed the glass of water by her bedside, lifting it to her lips carefully, helping her take small sips. Her lips were dry and cracked, and she grimaced with each swallow, but she drank.

After a few moments, she spoke, her voice barely a rasp, hoarse and weak from disuse. "W-Where am I...?" Her eyes darted around the room, still wide with confusion and pain.

"You're in the hospital," I said gently, trying to keep my voice steady, though every part of me was trembling. "You were in an accident. A truck hit you." My throat tightened as I remembered the details, the fear that had gripped me when I read Lily's email, the frantic drive to the hospital, the dread that followed me into this room.

Her eyes widened slightly, the realization dawning on her. I saw the fear flash across her face, followed by confusion, and then... recognition. She blinked slowly, turning her gaze back to me, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.

"Professor...?"

My heart clenched painfully at the sound of her saying my name. It was both a relief and a heartache, all at once. The guilt surged up again, threatening to choke me, but I fought it back. I needed to be here for her. She needed to see me strong, not drowning in my own regrets.

"Yes, Amren, it's me. I'm here." I leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, my hand trembling as it grazed her cheek. "I came. I couldn't... I couldn't leave you."

Her gaze held mine, and for a long moment, neither of us said anything. Her lips trembled, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes. She blinked them away, her hand weakly squeezing mine as she struggled to speak again.

"I... I hurt you," she rasped, her voice filled with guilt. "I'm sorry."

The words cut through me like a knife. Even now, lying here, broken and bruised, she was blaming herself for something that had been my doing. I shook my head, the tears falling freely now, my voice trembling as I spoke.

"No, Amren, you didn't hurt me. This... none of this is your fault. I'm the one who lied to you. I'm the one who pushed you away." My throat tightened as I tried to keep my voice steady, the weight of everything I had done crashing down on me. "I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was protecting both of us, but I was wrong. I only ended up hurting you."

She stared at me, her eyes wide and full of pain, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. I could see the turmoil in her gaze—the confusion, the hurt, and the fear. And beneath it all, there was something else: hope. A faint, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, I still cared.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I thought you didn't care. I thought I ruined everything."

"You haven't lost me, I do care" I said, my voice steady and resolute, even as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, we sat in a profound silence, the weight of all that had been left unspoken settling heavily around us. It was as if the air itself was thick with everything we had been too afraid to express—the pain, the guilt, the unhealed wounds. Yet, beneath that heavy burden, a flicker of hope began to emerge. Hope that, despite all we had endured, we could still navigate this turbulent path together, hand in hand.

I gently squeezed her hand, relishing the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft thrum of her heartbeat beneath my fingertips. In that moment, it became painfully clear: she was here with me. She was alive, breathing, and fighting. And that was the only thing that truly mattered to me.