The rain tapped softly against the hospital window, a steady rhythm that mirrored Violet's heartbeat—fragile, uneven, and painfully aware of each passing second. She sat at the edge of the bed, her hands resting loosely on her lap, staring at the white walls that felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. The fluorescent lights hummed above, and the distant footsteps in the corridor reminded her of the life outside—a life she could barely reach.
Violet…" a voice whispered, gentle and hesitant.
She looked up. Ethan stood in the doorway, his coat soaked from the rain, umbrella dripping onto the tile floor. His gray eyes, stormy and tender at the same time, carried a sorrow she recognized all too well.
"Ethan…" she breathed, a fragile smile tugging at her lips.
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face and taking her hand in his. "I couldn't stay away," he said, voice cracking slightly. "Not today. Not ever."
Her throat tightened. "I… I don't want you to see me like this. Weak. Sick. Worse than yesterday."
"You're not weak," he said firmly. "You're the strongest person I've ever known. And I'm not leaving—not until the very last goodbye."
A lump formed in her throat. "I wish… I wish we had more time. More time to laugh, to forget the hospital, to feel normal again."
He squeezed her hand gently. "We'll make every moment count. Every heartbeat, every breath—it's ours. Don't let fear steal it from us."
The room fell into a comforting silence, the storm outside raging while inside they created a small bubble of warmth. Rain streaked the window, turning the outside world into a blur of gray and silver. They held on to each other, letting the sound of rain and the soft beeping of the monitor fill the gaps between words.
After a long pause, Violet spoke again, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you ever think… that one day… this will end?"
Ethan swallowed, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a slow, reassuring rhythm. "I do. But we can't live thinking about the end. We have to live the moments we're given. Every laugh, every touch, every look—they're ours. That's what matters."
Tears blurred her vision, and she let out a shaky laugh that mingled sorrow and warmth. "It feels so unfair… that life is like this, like I'm slowly slipping away, and there's nothing I can do."
"You're not slipping away. Not yet. And even if the world says we have little time, it doesn't make our love small," he said softly, pulling her closer into an embrace. "We have what we have—and that is enough."
Violet rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the solid presence of him, the steady warmth that reminded her she wasn't alone. For a moment, the hospital, the illness, the uncertainty—all of it—faded. There was only them, and the fragile heartbeat of love they shared.
They spoke in whispers, about small things: a song she loved, a book she wanted to finish, a memory of a picnic they once had. Each word, each smile, each tear built intimacy, forming a cocoon of life and love that no illness could fully touch.
Time moved strangely in that room. Hours passed as if minutes. When the nurse finally came to check her vitals, Violet felt a pang of reality. The steady beeping of the monitor reminded her that life was fragile, fleeting. Ethan noticed her stiffen and gently brushed his thumb across her knuckles.
Don't let it scare you," he whispered. "These beeps… they're just a reminder that we're still here, together."
She nodded, drawing a shaky breath. "Promise me," she said, voice breaking slightly, "promise me we won't let this illness define us. That even when it hurts, even when the days feel endless, we'll still hold on to each other."
Ethan smiled, misting eyes glinting. "I promise. Every day. Even on the hardest days, I will be here."
They stayed like that, quiet, holding on. When the storm outside finally softened and pale sunlight broke through the rain-streaked window, it was a fragile, gentle light—enough to remind them that life, however uncertain, was still theirs. And in that small hospital room, two hearts clung to each other, silently promising that love—no matter how fleeting—was always worth holding onto.