The couch swallowed me whole, like it understood exactly how much rest I needed. I turned on the TV and let some random zombie apocalypse series play. It's funny—maybe I'm the only person in the world who can fall asleep watching that kind of thing. The moment characters start running from flesh-eating monsters, my eyes get heavy, as if someone has turned it into a lullaby.
When I woke up, the light in the room had changed—sunlight was slipping through the curtains in that lazy late-afternoon gold. The series was still playing, some episode I absolutely did not remember watching, and then the phone rang, cutting the quiet in the room.
I reached for the side table and checked the screen. It was my mother.
"Hi, mom."
Her voice came full of energy.
"Sweetheart! I finally got ahold of you. How are you? Settling in for the start of classes? Did you travel back safely?"
I smiled, adjusting the pillow behind my head.
"I'm fine, mom. Still a little tired, but fine…" I tried to keep my tone steady.
I told her small, harmless things—about the weather, the flowers in the garden, and even lied that I was reviewing university material so she wouldn't ask questions. What I didn't say was that my knee was immobilized, that I could barely walk, and that classes would have to wait a few more days.
We talked a little longer, and then we said goodbye, warm as always.
When I hung up, I finally noticed something on the coffee table: a golden croissant, filled with hazelnut caramel, and a cup of coffee beside it.
I stared for a moment, confused.
My heart gave a jump.
The only person who knew how much I loved that croissant was Rafael.
For a second, I thought it was absurd—impossible. Would he really have gone all the way to the university café just to buy this for me?
I grabbed it, mouth already watering. The dough was soft, the smell unmistakable. I took the first bite slowly, and the taste was exactly the same—maybe even better than the ones I used to get at the library.
After finishing every last crumb and drinking the coffee that had already started to cool, I realized I urgently needed the bathroom. I sighed, laughing to myself.
"Great… and how am I supposed to get there."
I tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through my knee, forcing me back onto the couch with a muffled groan. I took a breath and scanned the room, praying the crutches were within reach.
And there they were—perfectly placed next to the couch, at the exact distance my hand could reach.
"Of course he thought of that…" I muttered, grabbing them. "Rafael probably plans even the path of ants."
With some effort, I leaned on the crutches and began the journey to the bathroom.
I was almost there when I heard knocking outside.
"Who is it?" I asked, trying not to sound winded.
"It's me," that deep voice answered, and my heart responded instantly.
"It's open! Come in! If I go all the way to the door, I'll only get there tomorrow!"
Rafael opened the door quickly, eyes immediately locked on me.
"Did the pain get worse? Do you want me to get the painkillers?"
"No, it's fine," I said, trying to preserve what little dignity I had left, supported by two crutches. "I can handle it."
His expression tightened, annoyed and worried at the same time.
"And why aren't you sitting with your leg up? The doctor was very clear about resting, Helena."
"I know," I pointed toward the bathroom. "But unless he invented a magic way to pee without standing up, I kind of have to move sometimes."
Rafael exhaled sharply, impatience slipping out.
"Let me help you."
"No, sir," I cut him off. "This is definitely a mission I need to accomplish alone."
He froze for a moment, embarrassment softening his expression.
"Alright… I'll wait here," he murmured, looking away. "But take it slow. If it hurts, call me."
A laugh escaped me before I could hold it back.
"Don't worry. And for your information, even if I did need help, I wouldn't call."
He shot me a look halfway between amused and exasperated but ended up giving that tiny half-smile that always undid me.
"Stubborn…" he muttered, returning to the living room.
And I made my way to the bathroom, hiding a smile that insisted on showing, even with my knee throbbing.
It wasn't easy—balancing on crutches and sitting carefully, praying not to slip or drop anything.
"What a humiliating situation…" I whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Trying not to make any noise so he won't hear… this is peak disgrace."
I tried my best to be discreet—which is, of course, impossible in that circumstance. It took three times longer than normal, but finally, I managed. And honestly, I deserved applause.
I left the bathroom limping, dignity partially intact and patience exhausted.
Rafael shifted in the armchair, looking like he was about to get up.
"Don't even think about it," I warned. "I'm not that useless."
He hesitated, crossed his arms, and sighed.
"Fine. Pretend I'm not here, then."
I made my way toward the couch, concentrating on every step. But before I reached it, he gave up on pretending. In two strides, he was beside me.
"Rafael…" I tried, but the words came out weak.
He didn't respond. One arm slid behind my back, the other under my arms, steadying me as he guided my body into place. His touch was firm, gentle. The closeness stole my breath.
I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing my neck. For a moment, I was almost grateful for the injury.
When I finally sat, he didn't move right away. His hands were still holding me. Time paused—only our breathing filled the room.
Then he seemed to realize it. He pulled back abruptly, running a hand over the back of his neck, looking away.
To break the growing silence, I forced a smile.
"Thanks for the croissant… and the coffee."
He looked up, surprised.
"Oh… that." He made a vague gesture. "I was already passing near the university."
I raised an eyebrow, still smiling.
"Rafael, you went there just to get it for me, didn't you?"
"It wasn't a big deal… after the way you fell… and how I didn't get to catch you—"
"So that's it," I murmured. "A consolation croissant."
"Well—someone needs to make sure you eat."
"Funny," I said. "I'm pretty sure I didn't ask for a nurse."
"Well, you got one anyway," he answered, with a quick look that stole whatever witty comeback I might have had.
A knock on the door broke the moment. Rafael went to answer, and soon the landlord appeared with a tray in his hands. The warm smell of vegetable soup filled the room.
"I brought you something, Helena," he said, placing the tray on the coffee table.
I smiled.
"Thank you, really. I don't deserve all this after the scare I caused."
"Nonsense," he replied. "Accidents happen. What matters is that you're going to be okay."
Then he turned to Rafael:
"And you, don't take too long to come down, hm? If you stay here forever, your soup will get cold."
Rafael gave a small half-smile, arms crossed.
"If it gets cold, I'll heat it up."
His voice was simple—but the way it made me smile? Impossible to hide.He wasn't in a hurry to leave.
And that was enough for me.