The surgery went as planned. That’s what the nurse said when Maya opened her eyes. “Textbook smooth,” she chirped, checking her vitals. “You’re in recovery now. Try to rest.” But Maya’s thoughts were already scanning the room.
No flowers. No Aiden. Just the low hum of machines and white light. Her body ached in a way she hadn’t felt before. Not the good kind of ache—this was hollow, sharp, wrong. She tried to sit up, but her head spun.
The nurse eased her back down. “No movement yet,” she said gently. “Let your body catch up.” Maya’s eyelids fluttered. Her throat was dry, her side aching. “Aiden?” she croaked. “He’s in recovery too,” the nurse replied. “Different wing. But everything went smoothly—for both of you.”
Maya drifted in and out of sleep that first day, comforted by the idea that he was close. She imagined him just a few corridors away, maybe watching the same ceiling, maybe asking about her too. He’d visit, surely. As soon as they let him.