Chapter 4 Healing

It had been two weeks since I woke up from the coma.

The first few days were strange. I was in a place that felt too soft, too clean, too quiet for someone who had almost died. My body was weak, but my mind was loud. Sometimes I would wake up sweating from dreams I didn't want to remember. Sometimes I would stare at the ceiling for hours, too afraid to close my eyes.

But I was healing. Slowly.

The doctors came in every morning, checking my progress. They all said the same thing: I was recovering faster than they expected. They smiled like it was a miracle. But I knew, when your heart is full of pain, sometimes your body just wants to move on. It has to.

What surprised me more than anything... was him.

Benjamin Grey.

He had this quiet presence. Always calm, always composed, like nothing could ever shake him. He barely smiled, but when he did, it was faint and brief, like the smile didn't want to linger too long on his face.

But even with all that power in his appearance, there was something gentle about the way he looked at me.

He never said much. But he was always there.

On the first day I tried to stand on my own, I nearly collapsed. My legs were weak, like they didn't belong to me anymore. I reached out for the wall to steady myself, but before I could fall, his arms were already around me.

"I've got you," he said quietly, like it was nothing.

I looked up at him, breathing hard. He wasn't smiling, but there was something calm in his face. Something that made me feel... safe.

He walked me back to the bed and sat me down slowly, like I was glass.

"Take your time," he added, handing me a glass of warm water. "No one's rushing you."

That was how it started. Every day after that, he helped me walk a few more steps, eat a little more food, and sit longer without feeling dizzy.

He checked on me every day, asking if I had eaten, how I was feeling, and if I needed anything. I didn't know how to act at first. I was used to being lied to. Used to being ignored unless someone needed something from me.

But he never asked for anything.

One morning, I struggled to sit up on my own. My ribs still ached, and I let out a quiet gasp.

He was standing by the window, scrolling through his phone. But the moment he heard me, he put it away and came over.

"You should've called me," he said, gently placing a hand on my back to support me.

"I didn't want to disturb you," I mumbled.

"You wouldn't be disturbing me," he said. "You're the reason I'm here."

Those words stayed with me the whole day.

He was patient. When I didn't feel like talking, he sat silently with me. When I cried in the middle of a sentence, he didn't rush me. He just handed me tissues and waited.

There was a day I asked him, "Why are you doing all this?"

He didn't look at me right away. He just stared out the window like he was thinking about something deeper than my question.

Finally, he said, "I guess... I couldn't just walk away."

And somehow, that answer felt honest enough.

I looked at him and finally asked, "Do you live here all alone?"

He gave a small nod. "Yes."

I wanted to ask more, like why someone so successful and powerful lived like a ghost, but I didn't. I didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable around me.

Each day felt a little less heavy. I started sitting on the balcony in the evenings, watching the sun go down.

Benjamin joined me sometimes. We didn't always talk.

We didn't need to. The silence between us wasn't awkward, it was somehow comforting.

He brought me books when he noticed I was bored.

Soft sweaters when the AC was too cold. Even my favorite kind of tea, which I never told him I liked. I didn't even remember telling anyone.

There was something intentional about everything he did.

I began to notice little things about him. How he always looked me in the eyes when he spoke. How he never raised his voice. How he noticed things others missed.

And how he always kept his distance just enough... like he did not want me to feel pressured.

This evening, after a warm shower, I came down the stairs slowly. My legs still shook a bit, but I didn't want help. I wanted to feel like myself again.

Benjamin was already waiting in the dining room.

The table was set beautifully, with candles, soft lights, and two plates with warm food. The scent of grilled salmon and roasted potatoes filled the room. My stomach actually growled.

"You cooked?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

A small smirk played on his lips. "I had help."

I sat down slowly, trying not to flinch. He helped push the chair in, then took his seat across from me.

It was quiet for a moment as we ate. Comfortable quiet.

Then I looked up at him. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded. "Of course."

I set my fork down and leaned back, watching him carefully.

"Why did you tell me you were my secret admirer?"

He froze-just for a second. His hands rested still on the table, and he looked at me with a gaze that almost softened.

"I mean..." I continued, "It sounded like you said it without thinking that day. Like it slipped."

He leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable now.

"I've known you since college," he said, quietly.

I blinked. "What?"

His eyes met mine again, deep, serious, and calm. "We were in the same college."

Before I could ask him anything else, before I could process what that even meant, he looked down at his plate and picked up his fork.

And just like that, the conversation ended.

Like he didn't want to talk about it now, but I knew there was something on his mind.