Tulips and Lilies

The white ceiling had become her sky for two days. No birds, no clouds—just blinking lights and the occasional whisper of footsteps in the hallway. Nova blinked herself awake for what felt like the hundredth time, her body too weak to do more. Her throat was dry, and her chest ached in that dull, familiar way it always did now. The monitor beside her beeped softly, a constant reminder that she was still here. Still waiting. Still breathing. A soft knock pulled her gaze toward the door. A nurse peeked in, holding a tray in one hand and a gentle smile on her face. “You’re awake,” the nurse said warmly. “Good. Someone’s been waiting for you.” Nova furrowed her brows. “Who…?” The nurse chuckled as she set the tray down. “Tall boy, looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Bit of a mess, but sweet. Vincent, I think his name is? He’s been here since you were admitted. Hasn’t left except to use the restroom.” Nova’s chest tightened—but not from the illness this time. “You should let him in, sweetheart,” the nurse added softly. With a nod that took all her energy, Nova whispered, “Call him in.” Moments later, the door creaked open again. And there he was. Vincent. His hoodie was wrinkled and hung loosely on his frame, like it hadn’t been washed in days. His eyes, normally calm and curious, were shadowed with fatigue and silent panic. A bit of stubble lined his jaw, and his hair was the kind of messy that only came from running his hands through it too many times. But even like that—tired and worn—he was familiar. Safe. Hers. He froze when he saw her. As if her being awake might be a dream he was afraid to disturb. “You look like a ghost,” Nova teased weakly. Vincent blinked, then smiled—just a little. “You’re one to talk.” She managed a small laugh, and that seemed to be the permission he needed. In a few quiet steps, he was at her side, pulling the chair closer and sitting down like he’d been holding himself up on sheer will. “I’m okay,” she said gently, brushing his hand with her fingers. “No, you’re not,” he whispered back, eyes never leaving hers. “But you’re awake. That’s enough for me.” Nova squeezed his hand. “Go home, Vincent. Eat. Sleep. Come back tomorrow.” “I’m fine here—” “You’re not,” she said firmly, even though her voice was barely above a whisper. “Please.” His jaw clenched. “You’ll be okay if I leave?” “I’ll be better knowing you’re taking care of yourself.” That did it. With a reluctant sigh, Vincent stood up, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Try not to run away without me.” “I’ll try.” He lingered a second longer before finally walking out, closing the door softly behind him. The nurse returned shortly after, adjusting Nova’s IV and checking her chart. She glanced at the door, then at Nova, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “You two,” the nurse said with a soft smile, “how long have you been this close?” Nova closed her eyes for a second, letting the question settle. “Since forever,” she murmured, opening them again. “He was four. I was three. We didn’t meet—we grew.” The nurse chuckled. “Sounds like a story worth hearing.” Nova smiled, her mind already drifting backward. To swing sets and scraped knees. To sleepovers and fireflies. To the boy with warm eyes who always stayed, even before she asked him to. “It is,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “It really is.”