#1 wattpad teen 12/05/2020
#2 Nigerian teen 12/05/2020
#34 Newbook 12/07/2020
#23 New Author 9/05/2020
#18 Naija 10/07/2020
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"A beautiful story about two young hearts merged together to save a dying one..."
A...
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14|ℐᏉᎯℕ
I HOLD HER TIGHTER. She said yes. I want to stay here in this moment for all my life, but I'm worried that she's crying more than necessary. I wait for her to calm down before saying anything.
"Look at me, Boma." She turns her face up. The corners of her eyes are red and puffy. "You've been crying?" I wipe a stubborn drop of tear holding on to her cheek.
"I-I'm sorry. I got upset a-and said t-those things. . . I-I just freaked out." Her words are interrupted by her sobs.
"You already said that in the text. What is this thing that you don't want to tell me?" I ask, looking at her eyes. They're a stilly pale blue, like a Caribbean ocean, with tears like crashing waves and lashes like sails.
She's so beautiful.
"If I tell you, it'll change everything." She takes the teddy bear and flowers, dropping them gently the brown sofa.
"Nothing will change the way I feel about you. It didn't change when I was eight, I couldn't even change it if I wanted. I choose you now and I'll always choose you." I say.
She turns to look at her mother who also seems to have been crying.
What's going on?
"Okay." She looks back at me, easing what I believe is nervous air from her parted lips.
I begin counting how many black lines cross her blue iris when she reaches her hands out to take mine. They're freezing.
She looks at her mother again, biting the corner of her bottom lips, a white spot appears when her teeth let go. Her mother nods, smiling a sad smile before walking upstairs.
Is her mother sick? I better not be right.
Boma looks back at me, taking a deep breath that I can't afford to take. As it is, I have no space for air in my lungs.
Her lips quiver, she bites it again, looking away every now and then with more tears rising in her eyes.
I finally gather some breath, squeezing her hand. "Tell me, what is the problem?"
"Ivan," she exhales. "I have progressive organ failure. There's no treatment, and transplant is a long shot so it's terminal."
My own hands freeze instantly. I withdraw it from hers. "Boma, I don't understand you."
"You were right, I'm dying." She bites nervously on her finger.
I was right, Is she joking?
"I don't understand." I repeat waiting for her to palm my chest, laughing, before telling me that she was playing pranks. There are no signs.
