Chapter 10 -The Moment Everything Changed- 2
-The Days That Followed-
It became natural—so natural I didn't question it anymore.
I didn't set out to build a routine.I didn't consciously decide, I'm going to see him every day.
It just… happened.
Every day, I brought him lunch—something warm, something comforting, something better than the bland cafeteria trays he pretended weren't torture.Every day, we talked a little more.Every day, I felt safer with him than I had in months—maybe longer.
He never judged.Never laughed at the wrong moments.Never dismissed the way my thoughts spiraled.
If anything, he had this habit—subtle, almost shy—of looking at me with this soft, quiet attentiveness that made me feel like my words weren't burdens.Like they mattered.Like I mattered.
And I wasn't used to that.
Sometimes I rambled about classes—how I felt both too much and not enough at the same time.Sometimes I talked about stress—how pressure clung to my ribs like heavy vines.Sometimes—on the days when I was braver, or more tired, or simply too raw to pretend—I talked about fears I'd never voiced aloud.
And he just… got it.Not because he said the perfect thing,but because he listened like every word I said was something he wanted to keep.
He noticed things, too.
When my hands fidgeted with the zipper of my hoodie.When my sentences trailed off.When my eyes drifted not because I was distracted, but because something hurt that I didn't know how to name.
"Are you alright?" he'd ask softly.No pressure.No expectation.Just genuine concern.
And God, the way he asked—like he cared.Not about the right answer, but about me.
I don't think he realized how much that mattered.
And yes—I noticed things too.Things he didn't think I saw.
Like the way his heart monitor spiked the moment I stepped into the room.
The first time, I thought it was a coincidence.Machines beep for all kinds of reasons.Maybe he shifted. Maybe a nurse adjusted something.
But the second time?The third?The fourth, when all I did was say "hey" from the doorway?
By the fifth time, it was undeniable.
It was because of me.
The realization hit me in this weird, dizzy way—part embarrassment,part warmth,part something new and unsteady that fluttered beneath my ribs.
Because no boy had ever reacted like that.Not to me.
Not ever.
And then… the bed thing happened.
It started because he couldn't move much without hurting. Sitting upright too long made his ribs ache. Lying on one side made his breathing weird. The bed was too stiff. The pillows weren't positioned right.
I noticed.
So one afternoon—after he laughed too hard at something I said and immediately regretted it—I climbed onto the bed beside him.
Carefully.Slowly.Deliberately.
"I don't want you to stretch," I said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "Just—let me adjust the pillow. Scoot a little?"
He tried, grimaced, and hissed in pain.
So I reached out without thinking, steadying him, helping guide his movement.My hand brushed his shoulder.His skin was warm beneath the hospital gown.
He froze for a second—not from pain,but from something else.
And suddenly, we were close.Closer than we'd ever been.
His breath brushed my sleeve.Mine caught in my throat.
Finally, the pillow was fixed, and he let himself sink into the bed with a soft exhale.
"You okay?" I whispered.
He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
But I didn't move.
The bed was narrow.Warm.Quiet.And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel the need to run or pretend or shield myself.
So I stayed.
Not touching him,but close enough to feel the heat of him.Close enough that if I shifted even slightly, our hands might brush.
We talked like that for nearly an hour.Soft voices.Quiet smiles.Comfortable silence.
It felt…safe.Natural.Right.
When I finally climbed off the bed, my heart was doing this strange, fluttering thing that didn't stop even after I reached the hallway.
My face was hot.Embarrassingly hot.
And I wasn't sure if it was from how close we were—or from the fact that I couldn't stop wishing the bed had been a little wider.
The Cheek Kiss
The first time it happened, I didn't plan it.
I was leaving his room.He was half-asleep.His voice was warm and quiet when he thanked me for lunch.
And something in my chest just… overflowed.
Before I could stop myself, I leaned down—hesitated for a fraction of a second—and pressed a soft, shy kiss to his cheek.
Not the flirty kind.Not the dramatic kind.
Just a gentle little thank youfor making me feel like I could breathe again.
When I pulled back, my face went on fire.My ears were burning.My stomach dropped.My brain screamed: What are you doing?!
I hurried out of the room before he could react.
The moment the door closed behind me, I pressed my hands to my burning face and nearly groaned aloud.
"What is wrong with me?"
I'd never done that with anyone.I'd never even dated anyone.I'd never felt this—whatever this was—not even close.
No boy had ever made my heart monitor spike.No boy had ever listened like he wanted to understand me.No boy had ever made me feel both comfortable and nervous at the same time.
No boy had ever made me want to crawl into a too-small hospital bed just to be near them.
And now here I was, kissing cheeks like some kind of confident person—which I was absolutely not.
But even though embarrassment swirled through me like a storm,there was something softer beneath it.
A quiet truth I wasn't ready to name yet.
I liked being near him.
More than I should.More than I wanted to admit.More than made sense for someone I met because of an accident.
And each day, as I opened up more, as I let down walls I didn't know I had—I felt myself falling into something warm and scary and real.
-The Discharge-
When the doctor said he'd be discharged soon, a strange ache bloomed under my ribs.
I should have been happy.Of course I should have.
if he was getting discharged it ment he could finally start living his life again after it was put on pause to save me.
But all I could think was:
No more lunches.No more quiet afternoons.No more visiting routine that felt like ours.
I didn't know how to ask if we were still… whatever we were… after he left.
But I didn't need to.
He asked me if I wanted to visit once he was out.
I said yes too quickly. He pretended not to notice. I pretended not to care.
But I did care. I care way too much.
-The Weekend Cooking-
Cooking with him felt surreal.
Seeing him upright.In normal clothes.Standing in his kitchen like he wasn't supposed to be broken and bruised.
Seeing him in this normal environment outside of the hospital... he looks different, better.
He chopped vegetables.I stirred sauces.We laughed over nothing and everything.
And the whole time I kept thinking:
I'm going to miss this when it ends.I'm already missing it even though it hasn't ended yet.
*****
And then today happened.
When I arrived early—telling myself it was an accident—he opened the door with a surprised blink.
"Ava? You're early."
"Just a little," I lied.
He stared for a moment, almost too long, before clearing his throat."…Actually, perfect timing. I, uh—I had something planned."
"Um... Ethan? What exactly is all this?" I ask him as I see a picnic basket filled with food and blanket.
His ears turned faintly pink.
"I thought a picnic would be nice," he said softly.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
A picnic?With… me?
"A picnic?" I ask hesitantly.
Is this—Do people do this platonically?Was this…
"Only if you want to. I just figured you've been cooped up in a hospital room all week. and outside feel a bit different. better and I thought you course use a change of pace-" he started rambling on in a way that made me forget to breath.
No.
The way he moved—the awkward little smile—the softness in his voice—none of it felt like a guy trying to impress a girl for her attention.
It felt… pure. like he really did just do this for me.
Like he just wanted me to breathe.Relax.Have one good day.
We took a cab to the park since I didn't want him over exerting himself even though he just got out of the hospital.
We sat by the lake.The water glittered under sunlight.The breeze was warm.The world felt unreal.
He laid out a green-cream checkered blanket, bowed dramatically, and said:
"My lady."
I actually giggled—the embarrassing kind—because he looked both stupid and charming at the same time.
He unpacked everything:Cheese and crackers.Sandwiches he made himself.Fresh fruit.Homemade lemonade.A bottle of wine.Water.Folded triangle napkins.Even a tiny portable speaker.
"You went over the top," I said, torn between shock and flustered warmth.
"You deserve nothing but the best," he joked.
But then—then he kept going.
"Well… truth is… I just wanted to see you smile. Spoil you a little. You've spent enough time trapped in white hospital walls. I thought some fresh air with good food might help you breathe again."
My heart cracked open.
"What… why would you—"
I didn't finish.My face heated.My chest tightened.Tears filled my eyes.
"That's my line," I whispered. "You were the one in the hospital due to me! I brought you food to help. So why are you treating me… so kindly?"
He looked at me with that soft, steady warmth that I didn't know how to handle.
"Because you deserve a quiet moment of rest too," he said. "Everyone does."
And that—
That was it.
The exact moment I knew:
I was in trouble.Serious, emotional, heart-level trouble.
We spent hours lying on the blanket, pointing at clouds, laughing softly, sharing stories.He fell asleep beside me, breathing slow and steady, hand resting near mine.
I watched him.
And for the first time since the accident, I allowed myself to admit:
I didn't want this to end.I didn't want us to end.
-After the Picnic-
He walked me back to my dorm, I hesitated.
I didn't want to walk away.
So I said the stupidest, most flustered thing imaginable:
"Oh—I'm such an idiot. I don't know why I didn't think about this before but… we should exchange numbers. You know. In case something happens. Or—to stay in touch. You know."
He smiled—warm, genuine.
"Yeah. Of course."
We exchanged phones.Saved contacts.
When I got inside my room and the door clicked shut behind me, I leaned against it and stared at my phone.
His name was there.
Ethan.
Plain.
Simple.
Safe.
And yet…it felt too small.
Too ordinary for what my chest felt.
After a long moment of indecision, I clicked "Edit."
Deleted the name.
Typed a new one:
Ethan ☀️
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then smiled—small, shy, helpless.
Exactly the kind I'd been trying to hold back for days.
"This is stupid," I whispered, but I didn't delete it.
Because it wasn't stupid.
It was honest.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel it.