The moment my feet hit the floor, reality hits right after.
Hard.
Not dramatic—just… honest.
My knees feel slightly off, like they're still deciding whether they trust me. My side pulls in quiet protest, a dull reminder that I'm not as "fine" as I've been aggressively claiming for the past hour.
Or day.
Or week.
"Okay—nope," Kiara mutters behind me, already reaching out like I'm a toddler learning how to walk. "You're doing that thing where you pretend you're strong and then collapse two seconds later."
"I'm not collapsing," I say, taking another step.
I almost sound convincing.
Almost.
My hand reaches for the edge of the bed, fingers gripping it tighter than I want her to notice.
She notices.
Of course she does.
"You're gripping that like it personally offended you."
"It did," I mutter. "It's been holding me hostage for three weeks."
Kiara lets out a breath that's half laugh, half concern. "You're unbelievable."
"I've been told."
Another step.
Slow.
Measured.
But real.
And something shifts inside me.
Not physically—
something else.
Something deeper.
Because for the first time since that night…
I don't feel like the girl in the hospital bed.
I feel like me.
Or at least—
a version of me that's trying to come back.
The room suddenly feels too small.
Too tight.
Like it's been shrinking around me this whole time and I just didn't notice.
"I hate this place," I say quietly.
Not angry this time.
Just… tired.
Kiara softens immediately. "I know."
"No, you don't," I shake my head slightly. "You get to leave. You get fresh air. You get normal conversations that don't involve doctors staring at you like you might break."
A pause.
"I don't even feel like a person in here anymore."
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Honest.
Too honest.
Kiara goes quiet behind me.
And that silence—
it makes everything louder.
My thoughts.
My chest.
That strange, tangled feeling I've been avoiding for days.
I take another step.
And then another.
And suddenly—
I'm in the middle of the room.
Not in the bed.
Not trapped.
Just… standing.
Breathing.
Alive.
A small, almost disbelieving laugh escapes me.
"Wow," I whisper. "Look at me. Walking. Revolutionary."
Kiara rolls her eyes. "Don't get dramatic now."
"I was shot, Kiara. I earned dramatic."
She snorts despite herself, shaking her head.
And for a second—
everything feels lighter.
Normal.
Like maybe I can just step out of this whole situation and pretend none of it happened.
But then—
it comes back.
That thought.
That him.
Zane.
It's like my mind refuses to stay in one place.
Like it keeps dragging me back to the same question I don't want to answer.
Why isn't he here?
Not the logical answer.
Not the "it's for your safety" answer.
I understand that.
I do.
But understanding doesn't make it easier.
Doesn't make it hurt less.
Doesn't stop that small, irritating voice in my head from whispering things I don't want to hear.
Is he avoiding you?
Is he regretting this?
Was it all just… a moment?
I stop walking.
Kiara notices immediately. "Hey… you okay?"
I nod too quickly.
"Yeah. Just… tired."
A lie.
Not entirely.
But still a lie.
Because I'm not just tired.
I'm—
confused.
Frustrated.
Annoyed at myself for even caring this much.
Because I wasn't supposed to care.
This wasn't supposed to mean anything.
It was a deal.
An arrangement.
A business move dressed up as something else.
And yet—
that night in the garden didn't feel like business.
That kiss didn't feel like strategy.
The way he held me—
definitely didn't feel like obligation.
So what changed?
Or maybe—
what didn't?
Maybe it was always just me reading too much into it.
My chest tightens slightly at that thought.
I hate it.
I hate how easily it slips in.
I hate how much it bothers me.
"Ugh," I groan, running a hand through my hair carefully. "I hate feelings."
Kiara blinks. "That came out of nowhere."
"No, it didn't," I mutter. "They've been building up. I just finally said it out loud."
She crosses her arms, watching me closely now.
"Okay," she says slowly. "What's actually going on in that very dramatic brain of yours?"
"Nothing."
"Luna—"
"I said nothing."
She raises an eyebrow.
I sigh.
Loudly.
Dramatically.
"Fine," I snap. "Maybe I'm just annoyed because I almost died, I've been stuck in this hospital for three weeks, I feel like a fragile object, and the one person who made this whole situation more complicated decided to disappear."
Silence.
Kiara doesn't say anything for a second.
Then—
"Oh," she says.
Just oh.
I glare at her. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you get it."
"I do get it."
I shake my head, pacing slightly now—slow, careful, but restless.
"No, you don't. Because I don't even get it."
I stop again, exhaling sharply.
"He's here but not here. He cares but doesn't show it. He keeps distance but somehow feels closer than anyone else in the room."
My voice lowers slightly.
"And it's messing with my head."
Kiara softens.
"Maybe he's just trying to protect you."
"I know that," I snap, then immediately sigh. "That's the problem. I know that."
A pause.
"But it still feels like…"
I hesitate.
Like I'm about to say something I can't take back.
"Like I mattered for a moment," I finish quietly. "And then suddenly… I don't."
The room goes still.
Too still.
Kiara steps closer slowly.
"Hey," she says gently. "You don't know that."
I don't respond.
Because she's right.
I don't know.
And somehow—
that's worse.
Because uncertainty leaves room for everything.
Doubt.
Hope.
Fear.
All tangled together in a way that makes no sense.
I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers slightly.
Still here.
Still steady.
Still mine.
"I just want to go home," I whisper again.
This time, it's not about the hospital.
Not really.
Kiara nods softly.
"I know."
And for once—
I don't argue.
Because I'm tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Of overthinking.
Of pretending I don't care.
Of trying to untangle something that doesn't want to be understood.
I take a slow breath, straightening slightly.
"Okay," I say, quieter now.
"Okay what?" she asks.
"Okay… I'll behave," I mutter. "For now."
She squints at me. "That sounds suspicious."
"It is," I admit.
A small smile tugs at my lips despite everything.
Because even in all this mess—
I'm still me.
A little broken.
A little confused.
A little too emotional for my own liking.
But still standing.
Still fighting.
Still trying to figure out what the hell my life has turned into.
And maybe—
just maybe—
that's enough for now.