Iris sat lost in thought, a faraway look in her eyes. Kylie,
her friend, noticed her distress.
"Iris?" Kylie asked softly, concern etched on her
face.
Iris flinched, startled from her reverie. "Oh… Umm…
Y-yes?" she stammered.
Kylie gently rubbed Iris's shoulder. "Are you
okay?"
Iris managed a sad smile. "Y-yes, of course."
Kylie's voice was calm, understanding. "Thinking of him
again?"
Iris sighed, a single nod her only answer.
"Come on, Iris, it's been a year. You need to move
on," Kylie urged gently.
"It's not that easy, Kylie," Iris whispered,
another sigh escaping her lips.
"I know, but you have to try. Cheer up!" Kylie
offered a bright smile, a determined attempt to lift Iris's spirits.
"Thank you," Iris murmured, the sad smile
lingering. "Doctor Millie needs me
to assist a patient in Room 208. He was transferred from the U.S.A. Here's his
profile." Kylie handed Iris the folder.
Iris took the folder and left, her mind still swirling with
memories.
Iris's POV: A year. A
year since I lost him, my Iñigo. Five years we had together, five years of
love, laughter, and unwavering support. How could I possibly move on? The pain
was a constant ache, a hollow space where his presence used to be. The memory
of that dreadful day – the message from his family, the crushing weight of his
loss – still sent shivers down my spine. He was everything to me: loving,
caring, protective, supportive. Since
that day, I felt incomplete, like half of me was missing.
On my way to Room 208, I bumped into someone. "Oh my
god… I'm so sorry," I mumbled, bowing my head. "It's okay," the
girl replied before hurrying away. She
looked familiar…
Room 208: I entered the room, closed the door, and was about
to examine the patient's file when I saw him. My breath hitched. My body froze,
every muscle stiffening with shock. Tears welled in my eyes. I quickly checked the folder, my heart
pounding. The patient's name… Iñigo.
My tears fell onto the printed name.
He was alive.
My knees weak, I slowly approached him, my hands trembling
as I reached for him. My tears fell onto his hand. Overwhelming emotions – joy, betrayal,
relief, and a deep, lingering sadness – crashed over me. He was alive, yet I had been told he was
dead. Why?
"My love…" I whispered, the words choked with
emotion. "How are you, my love?" I gently touched his cheek.
I remembered the girl I'd bumped into – Iñigo's cousin from
Japan. I'd only met her once, during a video call. I checked Iñigo's file again. Comatose for a year. What had happened?
The door opened, revealing Iñigo's mother. "You?! What are you doing here?!"
she shrieked, her voice sharp with anger.
I bowed my head.
"I'm his assigned nurse. I thought… Iñigo… was dead."
"You stubborn woman! I told you he was dead! What do you want? Money? Name your price and
leave my son alone!" Her words stung, laced with venom.
"Ma'am, money can't replace my love for Iñigo," I
said, my voice thick with tears.
"Stay away from him!
It's over! I don't want you for him!" she screamed. "Leave before he wakes up!"
"Ma'am, your shouting might wake him," I said, my
voice barely a whisper.
Iñigo's father entered.
"Iris?" he said, his voice laced with surprise and a hint of
something else.
Iñigo's mother turned to her husband. "Don't you dare
protect this girl. She's bad for our son!"
Then, Iñigo's weak voice cut through the tension. "Mom…
Dad…"
His mother's shock was palpable. "Iñigo?! You're awake?
Baby, how are you?"
His father spoke softly. "Hey son… how are you?"
Iñigo's eyes found mine.
His mother forcefully pulled me from the room.
"Mom!" Iñigo protested, his voice weak but
firm. His father was stunned. I've never
heard him shout at his mother like that
Iñigo tried to stand, but he fell. His parents rushed to his side. He pushed his mother's hand away. "Just
kill me if you're going to take away the person who gives me the strength to
live," he said, his voice strained but resolute. He ripped off his oxygen mask and IV line and
stumbled out of the room to find me.
Hallway: I was walking, sobbing, when I heard his voice,
weak but unmistakable.
"Iris…"
I turned to see him, frail but determined. He collapsed.
"D-don't l-leave m-me… P-please," he choked out, tears streaming down
his face.
I rushed to his side, hugging him tightly. "I won't, I won't leave you," I
whispered, kissing his forehead. "Let's go back to your room. You need to
rest. You shouldn't have taken off your oxygen and IV."
"No… Take me to a different room. I don't want you to
be uncomfortable with them," he whispered.
"I can't do that, my love. You need to go back to your room. Don't worry
about me; I'm fine as long as you are," I said softly, wiping away my
tears. "Let's go." I helped him to his feet.
The Next Day: Iñigo woke up to find his parents watching
him.
"Oh! You're
awake. Good morning," his mother said.
"Good morning, sweetie," his father added, kissing
his forehead.
I entered, carrying his breakfast. Iñigo smiled at me. "Here's your food," I said, placing
the tray on the table.
"Iris… stay here, please," he said, his eyes
pleading.
I nodded. "Can you feed me?" he asked.
"Sure," I replied, feeding him. His mother sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Iñigo, she's a nurse; she has work," his mother
said.
"And I'm the patient; she needs to take care of
me," Iñigo countered, his voice firm.
"Whatever. As soon as you're better, we're flying back
to the States," his mother stated.
"I'm not going with you," Iñigo said coldly.
"What?! No! You'll be in danger here!" his mother
argued.
"I won't be in danger as long as I'm with Iris,"
he said, his voice unwavering. He
revealed his mother's manipulation and the accident that almost cost him his
life.
His mother was about to slap him when his father
intervened. "Don't you dare hurt my
son," he said sternly.
A week later, Iñigo's parents returned to the States. Iñigo and I walked hand-in-hand in the park,
his love a constant, unwavering presence in my life.