The room is lit now—but not with the harsh, sterile glare of hospital lights that kept time with my heartbeat for days.
Instead, sunlight spills through the glass wall—warm, golden… almost forgiving.
Deniz pushed the curtains aside completely because I told him I don't feel good in dim rooms anymore. They remind me of things I want to forget.
Shadows that move when nothing is there.
Corners that seem to breathe.
I sit on the bed, leaning back against a mountain of pillows, my body aching from the inside out.
Not sharp pain—nothing I can point to and name. Just a dull, persistent throb that settles into my bones like an unwanted guest and refuses to leave.
It follows the rhythm of my breathing, rising and falling with every heartbeat. I've learned to live with it.
For now.
