Chapter 198 He is the Warmth
Ava's head swirled in a dizzying fog, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Her voice, reduced to a mere whisper, was raw and hoarse, her throat as dry as a desert.
Ever the attentive companion, William poured her a steaming cup of water from the kettle.
Ava accepted it gratefully, drinking in large, desperate gulps. The warmth of the water seemed to clear her mind, and fragments of the previous night began to resurface.
The details were hazy, but she had a general sense of the events that had transpired.
"You're lying to me," Ava's voice was suddenly cold, her face stern as she leveled her gaze at him.
A jolt of fear shot through William's heart at her accusatory stare. Had she remembered the events of the previous night and misconstrued his actions?
His mind raced, panic creeping in as he attempted to explain, "Ava, I..."
"You took care of me all night and now you're lying to me," Ava interjected, not allowing him to finish. "The more you do this, the guiltier I feel. I'd rather you just tell me the truth."
As he met her gaze, William realized she wasn't accusing him of any wrongdoing. Relief washed over him, and he offered her a gentle smile tinged with regret, "You had a fever last night and couldn't take any medicine. I was worried about you, so I stayed by your side."
In retrospect, he was grateful he had insisted on not leaving her alone at the hotel. What would she have done, alone and feverish?
Ava studied William, her mind awash with fragmented memories. She had vague recollections of being held in a man's arms, sobbing while he comforted her.
The experience was eerily similar to being with Alexander, talking to him. A chill of dread ran down her spine - had she, in her fever-induced delirium, mistaken William for Alexander?
With a growing sense of unease, she asked, "Did I talk nonsense last night?"
"No, you had a fever and were mostly sleeping."
If she were to learn the full details of the previous night, she would undoubtedly feel mortified.
Ava let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps the fever had caused her to dream, and the memories were merely figments of her imagination.
"Thank you. I don't even know how to express my gratitude."
Beyond expressing her thanks, she was at a loss for words. William sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze warm and comforting, "The best way to thank me is to stop feeling sad over people who aren't worth it. I know it's hard, but time heals all wounds."
Ava's eyes fell, a shadow passing over them. The notion that time healed all was a bitter pill to swallow.
Then, raising her gaze to meet his, she asked with a depth of emotion in her eyes, "Do you think love can also be worn down by time, leaving nothing left?"
If that were the case, what was the purpose of love? If even love had an expiration date, how was it any different from any other perishable commodity?
William met her gaze earnestly and began to speak, "Over time, love gets buried in the heart, like a precious thing locked away in a box, set in the corner. You can't bear to throw it away, because it's important to you, yet you don't want to open it because it might bring you sadness. However, as long as it stays there, you can carry on with your life as usual. When you remember it occasionally, it's still locked in that iron box. By that time, you might just reflect on the past for a moment and then continue on with your life."
William's words enveloped her like a warm current on a winter's day. He had always been this way, answering her questions with careful thought, not from a detached perspective, but with a sense of empathy and understanding.
