Sarah took a tentative step, then another. Her injured leg protested with a dull ache, but her spirit was undeterred. The nurse, a kind woman with gentle hands and encouraging words, held her hand, offering both physical and moral support. "That's it, Sarah," she murmured. "Just a little further. You're doing so well."
Sarah gritted her teeth, her brow furrowed in concentration. Each step was a victory, a reclamation of a skill she feared she had lost forever. She was determined to walk again, to regain some semblance of control over her body, over her life.
Just then, the door to her room opened, and Damien entered. He paused in the doorway, his heart swelling with pride as he watched Sarah's determined struggle. He saw the effort etched on her face, the flicker of pain in her eyes, but he also saw the unwavering resolve that fuelled her every step. He didn't want to interrupt her, to break her concentration. He simply stood there, a silent observer, his presence a quiet encouragement.
The nurse noticed him standing there and offered a warm smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sterling," she greeted softly. "Sarah is doing so much better than the last time you visited. She's been working so hard."
Damien returned the smile, his gaze still fixed on Sarah. "She's amazing," he said, his voice filled with admiration.
Sarah, hearing his voice, turned towards him, her face lighting up with a radiant smile. The pain momentarily forgotten, she took a few more steps, then stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "Damien, look," she said, her voice filled with triumph. "I can walk and stand firmly now. My leg is healed."
Damien walked over to her, his heart filled with a warmth that spread through his entire being. He took her hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You're doing great, Sarah," he said softly.
Sarah smiled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Thank you, Damien," she whispered.
They sat down on the edge of the bed, the nurse excusing herself with a discreet smile. A comfortable silence settled between them, a silence filled with unspoken emotions and a growing sense of connection.
Sarah reached for something she had been hiding behind her back. It was a wrapped object, its shape hinting at something flat. She held it out to Damien. "I… I wanted to give you something," she said, her voice hesitant.
Damien took the gift, his brow furrowed with curiosity. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a painting. It was a portrait, done in soft, muted tones. It depicted a man holding a woman's hand. The man's face was clearly Damien's, his features captured with a remarkable level of detail. The woman's face, however, was turned away, only her back and long hair visible. She was looking behind her, as if searching for something, while Damien's gaze was fixed firmly forward, his hand holding hers securely.
Damien was speechless. He had no idea Sarah could paint, let alone with such talent. The painting was beautiful, evocative, capturing a moment of connection, of trust, of unwavering support. Since the very first meeting, he was there for her. He had been holding her hand, guiding her, encouraging her, while she had looked back, her eyes searching, questioning.
"I… I painted this for you," Sarah said, her voice barely audible. "I've been working on it for two weeks now."
Damien looked at her, his heart overflowing with emotion. He saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the tentative hope that he would like her gift. He reached out and took her hand, his touch gentle and loving.
"It's beautiful, Sarah," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you." He meant it. The painting was more than just a gift; it was a testament to their connection, a tangible representation of the trust that had blossomed between them. It was a piece of her, a piece of her heart. And he would treasure it always.
"Have you made up your mind?" he asked. "Are you willing to follow me home?"
Sarah squeezed his hand and smiled. "You said home..." she murmured.
Damien gently pinched her cheek. "Yes, your new home."
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. She had hoped he would say "their" home. But then, as if he had read her mind, he said, "That's going to be your home, and wherever you are, that will be my home too." Those words even surprised him as he blurted them out. He then took her hand and kissed it. Sarah's heart started beating uncontrollably and her cheeks flushed pink, she smiled shyly looking at their fingers intertwined resting on her lap. He then using his other hand lifted her chin up and kissed her warm lips... The world seemed to have stopped turning and that kiss brew then... It spoke of love, trust, and safety that Damien was giving her, and she knew in that moment that she would follow him to the end of the world if she had to.
After the kiss, Sarah hugged him. He felt her warm breath against his neck, and a powerful, exhilarating feeling surged through him. He immediately recognized it as a profound sense of connection and longing. "I need to get myself together," he thought, gently returning her embrace. Sarah, sensing his shift in mood, pulled back slightly and gave him a questioning look. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
Damien couldn't help but smile. "You," he said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat.
Sarah gave him a tiny peck on the lips, whispering, "I'm willing."
Hearing her words, a thrilling warmth spread through Damien. Sarah, unaware of his internal struggle, wanted to get up from the bed. Her leg felt a bit numb, so she wobbled. He quickly jumped up to steady her, and in the process, she accidentally pressed against him. She immediately moved away, her cheeks flushing pink. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch you like that just now... I..." she struggled for words.
Damien was amused, though he kept his expression gentle. He took her hand. "Miss Walker, we'll have to wait for you to fully recover first." His voice was velvet-soft. "Did you just say you're willing?"
Sarah quickly responded, "I was willing to follow you back home, that's what I meant."
Damien chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. "I meant that same thing," he said, his voice lowering just a little. "But what was that other wonderful possibility you had in mind?"
Sarah said nothing, just looked down at the floor, a shy smile touching her lips. Then Damien kissed her forehead. "I'll step out for a moment," he said. "I need to clear my head."
Sarah watched him go into the bathroom, feeling a little dazed. She remembered the awkward moment and blushed at the thought, then gently chided herself, "Sarah, what are you thinking..." She went and sat in a chair by the window.
Damien took his time in the private ward's bathroom, letting the coolness of the water in the sink steady his pulse. He kept thinking about Sarah—her smile, her courage, and the feel of her in his arms. When he finally walked out, she had fallen asleep on the chair.
Silly, precious woman, he thought. He went over and carefully gathered her into his arms. Just as he was about to place her on her bed, she stirred and spoke softly, "Don't go, Damien... hold me." He then gently laid down behind her and held her all night, his embrace a silent promise of safety and a powerful love that threatened to swallow him whole.