Zayn’s POV
Her hand rested in mine—small, cold, fragile. The steady beep of the monitor filled the room, each sound a reminder she was still here, still fighting. The oxygen mask covered half her face, lifting and falling with every shallow breath.
My throat burned, vision blurring as tears swelled. I wasn’t the type to pray—never was—but she believed. And right now, I was willing to believe in her God if it meant keeping her.
If You’re listening to her… listen to me too. Please. Don’t take her. Let her open her eyes.
I tightened my hold, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. The doctor had said she was stable, but stable wasn’t enough. I needed her awake.
The monitor kept its cruel rhythm, steady and heartless. I lowered my head, pressing her hand against my forehead, and finally le
