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Morning slipped into the room slowly, like it was afraid to disturb them. Pale sunlight threaded through the curtains, casting delicate patterns on the floor and the bed. Yalda stirred first, blinking against the golden haze. Her body was heavy with a lingering ache, but it was the good kind, the kind that came from closeness, from love.
Alexander was still asleep beside her, one arm looped beneath her waist, their legs knotted under the covers. His breathing was soft, even, but each rise and fall of his chest tugged at something deep inside her. The contrast between his strength and his fragility never felt more vivid than now, in the hush of dawn, with his face relaxed and so heartbreakingly beautiful.
She didn't want to move. Not yet.
Instead, she lay there and studied him, her fingers gently brushing through his dark hair. The shadows beneath his eyes looked deeper, the pallor of his skin more pronounced under the morning light. But he was warm, and he was here, and that was all that mattered.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, there was a flicker of confusion that melted quickly into a smile. She recalled when she had craved his smile, when all she ever got were humorless chuckles and petrifying smiles that chilled her spine.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.
"Morning," she whispered back.
They stayed that way for a long time, tangled together beneath the sheets, the world reduced to the shared warmth between them. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressing a lingering kiss there, she felt him exhale a contented sigh.
It would have been perfect, if not for the ticking clock she heard in her head, it was louder than the birdsong outside, louder than the beat of her own heart.
Their days settled into a rhythm both gentle and devastating. Alexander insisted on waking early, despite her protests, and together they moved through the morning in unhurried tandem.
He brewed the coffee himself at times, always insisting it tasted better when he made it, and she would curl up on the loveseat wrapped in his sweater, watching him move about the kitchen which he was only just familiarizing himself with.
He still teased her easily, still smoothed her hair down when she let it run wild. But underneath the lightness, something had shifted. His hands lingered longer. His eyes sought hers more often. His kisses, once hungry and consuming, had become slow, deep things, like he was trying to live in every moment, to savor every second he spent with her.
They spent almost every second together. There was hardly a time they were apart. And it was in those quiet, intimate moments that she felt most unsteady. Because he never said the word. He never acknowledged the thing that hovered between them; the countdown neither of them could stop.
But she could see it. She could feel it in the way he leaned on her just slightly when they walked. In how he rested more often. In the pauses between his words.
In the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and golden across the skyline, Yalda found him in the study, slumped in the armchair with a book in his lap and his eyes closed. Panic surged until she heard the faint sound of his breath.
He was asleep.
She stood there, watching him, her throat tight. The book had slipped from his fingers, pages bent, and his head rested against the chair like he was already halfway to some place she couldn’t follow. Her knees buckled as she knelt beside him, brushing her fingers across his cheek.
"Alexander," she said softly.
He stirred, slowly, and opened his eyes. "You always wake me just as I get to the good part."
"That’s because you fall asleep every time you sit down," she replied, trying for humor, but her voice cracked at the edges.
His eyes searched hers for a moment, and then he reached for her hand. "Come here."
She climbed into the chair with him, their limbs fitting together awkwardly but intimately, her head on his shoulder, his hand stroking her arm.
"You’re getting weaker," she whispered after a long silence.
"I know."
His calm reply was a knife between her ribs. She turned her face into his shirt, not wanting him to see the wetness gathering in her eyes. Not wanting to make him feel bad at all.
"I hate it," she murmured. "I hate that it’s happening. I hate that I can’t stop it."
He pressed his lips to her hair. "Me too."
They sat there for a long time, the world outside their window slowing to nothing.
Then he said, “I didn’t think I’d get this. Not with you. Not with anyone.”
She looked up at him.
“I’d already given up,” he continued. “Love wasn’t in the cards for me. And then you came back into my life, stubborn, bright, beautiful you changed everything; you made everything better.”
She shook her head, choking on her emotions. “Don’t talk like this. Please.”
But he went on, voice steady, eyes locked on hers.
“You gave me something to look forward to. You gave me peace. Yalda, I wasn’t afraid to die until I realized I’d be leaving you behind.”
Tears spilled over then, silent and scalding. She pressed her forehead to his, breathing him in, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the feel of his skin. "Then don’t leave me."
"If I had a choice," he said, kissing her gently, "I would spend lifetimes with you."
~~
That night, the air was still. The sky outside the window was painted in midnight blue, stars faint through the city haze. Yalda fell asleep beside him in bed, her head on his chest, their fingers intertwined.
Alexander didn’t sleep.
He watched her, memorizing the shape of her mouth, the way her lashes fluttered as she slept. He stroked her hair, his hand shaking slightly as he traced circles on her back.
His heart ached, not just from illness but from the unbearable weight of having to say goodbye to her, to this; her warmth, her breath, the softness of her body against his.
Being here with her in this moment was everything, and he wouldn’t have it for long. But for tonight, she was here. And so was he.
He closed his eyes and pulled her closer.
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