Episode 10– When He Opened His Eyes
465 Words
She hadn’t slept.
The hospital chair had molded to her body. Her phone was dead. Her mouth was dry. But none of it mattered.
The machines beside Nadim beeped with quiet rhythm, counting seconds like heartbeats. A nurse had offered her a blanket hours ago. She never used it. She was too afraid to blink, to miss a moment, to lose him all over again.
She watched his chest rise and fall. Slow. Steady.
But every time she looked away, fear whispered, What if he never opens his eyes again?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the dark, not for the first time. “For all of it. For him. For what I became. For needing to almost lose you to realize how much I still needed you.”
Tears welled up again. Not the desperate, messy sobs from before — these were quieter. Older. The kind that came from the kind of guilt that stays in your bones.
She reached for his hand again, just to feel warmth.
“Please wake up. Just… once. Just so I know you’re really here.”
And then—
His fingers twitched.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She leaned forward. “Nadim?”
He stirred, lids flickering like someone trapped in a heavy dream. Then slowly… his eyes opened. Groggy. Unfocused. Then blinking fast as light touched them.
She stood immediately, brushing tears away with trembling hands. “You’re okay,” she said. “You’re okay, I’m here.”
His lips parted slightly. His gaze found hers. Confused at first. Then soft. And tired.
“Why are you crying?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Because you scared me.” Her voice cracked. “Because you’re awake.”
He said nothing. Just looked at her. And maybe something inside him broke open too.
“I thought I’d never get the chance to make this right,” she said. “And I know it won’t be easy. I know I hurt you in ways I’ll never fully understand. But I’m here. I’m still here. And I’ll stay until I earn back every piece of you.”
His gaze didn’t flinch. But a long pause followed.
Then, slowly, he raised his hand. Not to stop her. Not to push her away.
But to brush a tear off her cheek.
“You didn’t lose me,” he said softly. “Not completely.”
That’s when she broke.
Not from fear this time — but from relief.
She bent forward, forehead resting lightly against his hand. He let it stay there.
No promises were made.
No “I forgive you” yet.
But they had this moment. And maybe one more after that. And maybe even a future built slowly, painfully, honestly.
And sometimes, that was enough.
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- Writer
