If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 56

Chapter 56

The office smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink, the ordinary rhythm of work settling around Aaliyah like a familiar blanket. After days in the hospital, she had insisted on returning—her body still tender, but her spirit unwilling to surrender to worry. Wren had cautioned her, gently but firmly, about pacing herself. "Listen to your body. Don't ignore it."

Aaliyah had nodded, grateful for Wren's steady presence. She wasn't afraid. Not really. The headaches had dulled, the pelvic pain had eased, and she wanted to believe that meant she was fine.

That evening, she met Soonyoung for their long-awaited date. The restaurant was warm, laughter spilling from nearby tables, and for a while she let herself sink into the comfort of his smile. He teased her about ordering too much food, and she laughed, the sound lighter than she felt.

But midway through the meal, Soonyoung's expression shifted. His gaze lingered on her face, his playful grin fading into concern. "Aaliyah," he said softly, leaning closer. "You're pale."

She blinked, startled. "I'm fine. Just tired."

He shook his head, worry tightening his jaw. "No. You don't look fine." His hand found hers across the table, warm and insistent. "Let's go. We should hurry home."

Aaliyah wanted to protest, to insist she could handle it, but the weight of his concern pressed against her resolve. She saw the fear in his eyes—the same fear Wren had tried to hide—and suddenly the restaurant felt too bright, too loud, too much.

She nodded, letting him guide her out into the cool night air. The city lights blurred at the edges of her vision, and she leaned into him, her body betraying the confidence she had tried to carry.

Soonyoung tightened his arm around her shoulders, his voice low but steady. "We'll figure this out. You don't have to pretend."

And for the first time since leaving the hospital, Aaliyah allowed herself to admit it: she wasn't as fine as she wanted to be.

The apartment was hushed, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Aaliyah lay curled beneath the blanket, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind restless with thoughts she refused to voice.

Soonyoung sat beside her, refusing to leave. He had carried her home from the restaurant, worry etched into every line of his face, and now he kept vigil as though his presence alone could ward off whatever shadows lingered in her body.

"You don't have to stay," Aaliyah murmured, her voice muffled against the pillow. "I'll be fine."

Soonyoung shook his head, his hand brushing gently against her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could believe her own words. She hadn't told him about the hospital, about the spotting, about the way Wren's concern had unsettled her. She didn't want him to carry that weight. He deserved laughter, lightness, not the heaviness of her uncertainty.

"I don't want you to worry," she whispered.

"I already do," he replied softly. "And pretending won't change that."

Aaliyah turned her face toward him, pale in the dim glow of the lamp. His eyes met hers, steady and unyielding. She saw the insistence there—the quiet determination of someone who would not be pushed away, no matter how much she tried to shield him.

"You should rest," she said, trying one last time to dismiss him.

"I'll rest when you do," he answered, pulling the blanket higher over her shoulders.

The silence that followed was not empty. It was filled with his quiet breathing, the warmth of his hand resting near hers, the unspoken promise that he would stay through the night.