Alekos
The kitchen was unusually quiet.
The eggs hissed softly in the pan, and I focused on the sizzling sound like it could burn away the guilt crawling under my skin. Last night haunted me. Not because I did anything—but because I wanted to. And I didn't know what she wanted. That realization kept me awake through the coldest hours of dawn.
So I cooked.
She was still in her Stitch pajamas when I saw her last, curled up like a child in her armchair, reading a worn-out book with her knees tucked to her chest. I told myself I'd forget it. Her bare face. Her sleepy voice. The innocence of it all. I told myself to just breathe and move on.
I heard the sound of a page being closed. Soft footsteps approaching. The air shifted around me the moment she entered the room.
Then—
"Ale?"
That voice—light, delicate—made my heart skip a beat.
But when I turned around, the world tilted.
She was standing still, confused. A line of blood trickled from her nose, bright against her pale skin.
"Selin—"
And then she fell.
The thud was something I never wanted to hear again.
I dropped the spatula. My hands burned from the heat of the stove, but I didn't feel it.
She was on the floor, curled sideways, eyes fluttering, nose bleeding.
"Selin!" I shouted, skidding to my knees. Her skin was clammy. Her breathing was shallow.
I didn't think so. I just moved. I carried her out of the house and laid her gently in the car my parents had given us as a wedding present. My voice trembled as I whispered, "Hold on, please, please hold on."
I sped through the roads like a madman. Traffic didn't exist. Time didn't exist.
Only her.
At the Hospital, I burst through the hospital doors with Selin in my arms.
"Vanessa!" I shouted. "Where the hell is Vanessa?!"
A nurse came running. Another took Selin from my grip. My arms felt cold and useless without her in them.
Ten minutes passed. Maybe thirty. I don't know. I only remember pacing. My heartbeat hadn't slowed since the moment she collapsed.
Then I heard her voice.
"Alekos."
Vanessa.
She looked calm, but her eyes held something guarded. Something serious. I moved toward her instantly.
"She's asleep. But Alekos… we ran some tests. Her blood counts are dropping faster than we anticipated. The cancer is progressing. We need to begin chemotherapy as soon as possible."
His chest tightened as the word chemotherapy echoed in his mind. He looked at Selin—so fragile and pale in the hospital bed, like a fragile light dimming.
The air left my lungs.
"She needs to start treatment now. And... she needs to consider fertility options soon if she still wants children. We don't have the luxury of time anymore."
I stared at her, silent, trying to absorb it.
She wanted children. I was here to support her. To help her get the life she dreamed of, whatever that looked like. But at that moment, I started to question everything.
Was I really strong enough? Could I be the anchor she needed? Was I even worthy of helping her achieve the dream she carried so close to her heart?
Then another voice joined us.
"Alekos?"
I turned.
It was Marianne. Selin's best friend, fellow doctor—her person. Her eyes were wide with horror, taking in the hospital room, the sterile scent, the panic in my stance.
"What happened?" she whispered, approaching me.
I told her everything. The nosebleed. The fall. The night before. Every single thing that had driven knives into my chest for the past twelve hours.
And when I finished, she just stared at me.
"She's scared," Marianne said. "But she trusts you. She chose you, Alekos. So you have to be strong for her now."
I nodded. But inside, I wasn't sure if I was strong enough.
Not when it felt like she was already slipping through my fingers.
Selin
Everything ached.
My body felt like it had been wrung out, my limbs heavy with a strange kind of emptiness. My throat was parched, each breath dragging against it like sandpaper. Even my eyelids resisted as I blinked into the blur of white walls and sterile light.
Then a shape came into focus.
Vanessa.
She stood at the foot of my bed, her expression too calm, which only ever meant one thing: something was wrong.
"You're awake," she said gently, her voice layered with both relief and hesitation.
"Barely," I rasped, my voice more air than sound.
She walked closer, clipboard in hand, though I could tell she didn't need it to tell me what she was about to say. Her eyes spoke before her lips did.
"Selin… your blood counts have dropped. Significantly." She paused. "The cancer's progressing faster than we expected. We can't wait any longer."
The words didn't surprise me. Still, they landed like stones, stacking quietly over the weight I'd carried for months.
I closed my eyes, letting her words settle. I already knew this moment would come.
"Okay," I whispered, the only answer I could give.
Vanessa's voice softened, but the edge of urgency never left.
"If you still want to try for a child… Selin, the window is closing. Fast."
The air in the room thickened. I stared up at the ceiling—at the flickering light above me, at the cracks in the paint, anywhere but her face.
Because this was the moment I had feared and hoped for all at once.
The moment where everything I wanted became a question of time and risk and impossible odds.
But I didn't cry. I didn't even flinch.
I had made peace with this a long time ago. I'd mourned the possibility even as I dreamed of it.
"I'm ready," I said quietly, but clearly.
And I was. For whatever came next. Even if it shattered me.
Vanessa nodded, her expression unreadable. "Then we begin."
She left, her heels clicking softly down the corridor, leaving only the hum of machines and my own shallow breaths behind.
I lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the storm press against the inside of my chest.
Was this what fate looked like?
A quiet hospital room, a war waging silently inside me, and time slipping like water through my fingers?
But even now… even with the pain and the fear and the fatigue curling deep in my bones…
I wasn't done.
Not yet.
I turned my head toward the door, the motion slow and aching.
And I waited.
For Alekos.
Because this time, I was ready—for the fight, for the grief, for the fire, for the dream I still dared to chase.
For whatever we had left.
And whoever I would become in the ashes of it.
This wasn't how my life was supposed to go.
I was supposed to help people, save them—not be the one lying in this bed, trying to bargain with fate. I was supposed to fall in love, marry someone because I adored them, not because I was running out of time. I was supposed to have children when I was ready, not because death was tapping at the edge of my future.
Not like this.
And even though I loved Alekos in a way I couldn't always say out loud, I knew. I knew he only agreed to help me because he cared. Because he's the kind of man who can't walk away from someone he loves—loves as a friend.
He wasn't doing this because he was in love with me.
He was doing it because he's Alekos. Because he knew this dream of mine—becoming a mother—was slipping away. And he was trying to hold it together for me.
I wiped my eyes as the door creaked open. Alekos stepped inside, slow and quiet, and behind him, Marianne.
She tried to smile, but her red-rimmed eyes gave her away. I could see the way she avoided looking at the machines, the pale skin under my eyes. The way her lips trembled even as she smoothed them into a brave curve.
It hit me then—really, truly hit me.
I was dying.
I watched them like I was outside of myself. Like I was watching someone else's life slowly fall apart.
"Are you okay?" Marianne asked gently.
"Do you feel anything strange? Pain? Nausea?" Alekos followed, his voice calm but laced with concern.
"I'm okay," I whispered. I smiled, even though it hurt. "I'm okay."
They stepped closer and I reached out, pulling them both into a hug. I held on a little longer than usual, not because I needed it—but because I knew I did.
Then I caught Marianne's eyes and gave her a look. A quiet one. She understood immediately. She nodded and gave Alekos's arm a quick squeeze before walking out.
He sat beside me without saying anything.
I stared at my hands.
"I want to talk about the baby," I said softly.
He didn't move. He just listened.
"I know this isn't what you imagined. It's not what I imagined either. I hate that we're even having this conversation because…" I swallowed hard, "...because I'm dying."
He tensed beside me.
I forced a small laugh, the kind that didn't belong there. "At least it'll make a great memoir, right?"
He didn't laugh.
God, I hated myself for saying that. For dragging him into this. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I shouldn't have asked you. It was selfish."
He turned to me, took my hand, and held it with both of his.
"Don't apologize," he said, steady and low. "You know I care about you. I'll always be here, Selin. Whatever you need—I'll do it."
The warmth of his hands, the sincerity in his voice—it made my chest ache.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"I am," he said. "Let's start the IVF process. Whatever you need, I'm here."
I felt the tears rising again. "You're a good friend, Alekos," I said, leaning into him as he wrapped his arms around me.
I meant it. He was. The best.
But as he held me, I felt that sharp pang of guilt again. Because I knew I was asking for too much. And yet, I couldn't stop myself.
Alekos
A good friend.
That's what she said.
That's all I am.
I kept holding her like I could protect her from everything—even from what she just said. But the words echoed like thunder in my chest.
She said it with such softness, such warmth, and somehow that made it worse. It wasn't rejection. It wasn't cruelty. It was kind. Love, but not the kind I hoped for.
Not the kind I felt.
And I hated myself for hoping.
I loved her. Maybe I always had. I never told her. Maybe I never will. Because right now, what she needs isn't romance or confession. What she needs is someone who won't let go. Someone who will say yes. Someone who will stay.
So I did.
Even if all I'll ever be is her good friend.
Even if that word breaks something inside me every time she says it.