The next morning came too fast, like the hospital had decided time wasn't going to give me any extra mercy.
I woke up to the same antiseptic smell, the same soft beep-beep-beep that had become the soundtrack of my life, and the same dull ache sitting heavy in my chest.
But something felt different. Not the pain—it was still there, stubborn as ever—but me. There was this tiny, stubborn spark left over from yesterday, the one that refused to let me just sink back into waiting.
My phone buzzed on the side table before I even finished my first sip of watery hospital coffee. A group chat notification from the girls. The thread was already long.
**Isabella** (sent at 7:12 AM): Morning, queen. We're coming back today. No arguments. Brought contraband.
**Camila** (7:14 AM): I'm baking muffins. Yes, I know last time was a disaster, but these are edible I swear. Ethan helped. He says hi and he's sorry he can't come but he's rooting for you.
**Ayla** (7:18 AM): I talked to my gym guy. Just casually asked if he knows anyone "super chill and respectful." He laughed and said he might. I'm vetting HARD.
**Aveline** (7:25 AM): I made a list. Pros and cons for every name we threw around yesterday. Also printed out actual medical info on sex + heart conditions so we're not guessing. We're not doing anything stupid.
**Isabella** (7:27 AM): Aveline you nerd ♡ but also thank you. Blossom, how are you feeling? Scale of 1-10 where 1 is "I want to die right now" and 10 is "I could maybe do a cartwheel"?
I smiled despite everything. My thumbs hovered over the screen.
**Me** (7:38 AM): Maybe a 4. But seeing you guys yesterday made it a 5. I'm okay. Tired but okay.
**Isabella** (7:39 AM): 5 is progress!!! We're leaving campus in 20. Prepare for chaos (the good kind).
They arrived just after lunch, when the floor was quiet and the nurses were doing rounds on the other end of the hall. Isabella led the charge, sneaking in first with a dramatic tiptoe even though no one was watching. She had a paper bag clutched to her chest like it contained state secrets.
"Contraband delivery," she whispered, grinning like a kid who just stole cookies.
She pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker, a deck of cards, and—somehow—a bottle of sparkling apple cider that still had the label on it. "Non-alcoholic, obviously. But it's fizzy and fancy. We're having a mini party."
Camila came in next, balancing a Tupperware of slightly lopsided blueberry muffins. She looked proud.
"Ethan said they're better than last time. He tasted one and didn't die, so that's a win."
Ayla slipped in behind her, carrying a soft blanket that smelled faintly of her vanilla body spray.
"For when the hospital one gets too scratchy," she said quietly, draping it over my legs.
Her eyes flicked to the monitor, then back to me. "Heart rate okay today?"
"Stable," I said. "They're happy with it."
Aveline was last, arms full of printed pages and a small notebook.
She looked like she'd been up all night researching. "I talked to the palliative care nurse this morning—before you ask, no, I didn't tell her everything. Just… hypotheticals. She said low-intensity intimacy is sometimes okay if vitals are stable and there's no active crisis, but we absolutely have to run any plan past your actual cardiologist. No exceptions."
I felt my face heat up again. "You really did homework."
"Someone has to," she said, but her voice was soft. "I don't want you hurt."
Isabella plopped onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle the IV. "Okay, enough serious for five seconds. We're starting with games. Then snacks. Then we talk boys. Deal?"
We played cards first—some ridiculous version of Uno that Isabella kept changing the rules on whenever she was losing.
She accused Camila of cheating, Camila accused her of being a sore loser, Ayla refereed while laughing so hard she had to cover her mouth, and Aveline just sighed every time someone yelled "Draw four!" like she was babysitting toddlers.
But it felt good. Normal. Like we were back in the dorm lounge instead of a cancer ward.
After the cards, they dimmed the overhead lights a little and turned on the speaker—soft music, nothing too loud.
Camila passed around muffins. They were actually decent.
Then the conversation turned, slowly, carefully, back to yesterday.
Isabella leaned in, eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint she gets when she's up to something.
"So… we made a shortlist. Three guys. All vetted by at least two of us. No creeps, no fuckboys, no pity vibes."
Ayla nodded. "The gym guy gave me one name—his friend from spin class. Quiet, respectful, apparently very good at listening. Said he's the type who asks before he even kisses someone."
Camila added, "And Ethan's cousin—don't laugh—he's 20, super gentle, studies literature, volunteers at an animal shelter. He's shy too. Might be good for a first time."
Aveline slid the notebook toward me. "I ranked them on kindness, patience, and how likely they are to actually stop if you say stop. Also cross-checked social media. No red flags."
I stared at the page. Names. Bullet points. Little stars next to the ones they liked best.
My throat tightened. "You guys… did all this for me?"
Isabella reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Duh. You're our Blossom. If you want one beautiful, gentle, perfect night where you feel wanted and safe and alive… then we're getting you that night."
Ayla's voice was quieter. "But only if the doctor clears it. And only if you still want it tomorrow. No pressure. Ever."
Camila squeezed my ankle under the blanket. "And if it's too much, we pivot. Movie night. Or we just sit here and eat more muffins and talk shit about professors. Whatever you need."
I looked around at them—Isabella's playful grin, Camila's soft worried eyes, Aveline's serious focus, Ayla's steady calm—and something cracked open inside me. Not pain this time. Gratitude. The kind that hurts in a good way.
"I still want it," I whispered. "I'm scared. But I still want it."
Isabella's face lit up like Christmas. "Then we keep going. Step by step. Doctor first. Then we pick the guy. Then we make sure he knows exactly how special you are."
Aveline added, "And we'll be right outside the door the whole time. Or down the hall. Whatever makes you feel safe."
I laughed—a small, shaky sound. "You're all insane."
"The best kind," Camila said, and leaned in to kiss my forehead.
They stayed until visiting hours ended, talking softly, laughing, planning. When the nurse finally made them leave, Isabella slipped the Bluetooth speaker under my pillow.
"Play our playlist when you're alone," she whispered. "Remind yourself we're coming back tomorrow."
After they were gone, I lay there in the dark, heart monitor still beeping its steady rhythm, and for the first time in weeks the sound didn't feel like a countdown.
It felt like background music to something that might still happen.
Something good.
Something mine.