I was back in the hospital bed, the familiar beep-beep-beep wrapping around me like an old blanket. The outings had left me tired but strangely lighter, replaying those gentle moments in my head when the room was quiet. I'd almost convinced myself the spark might last.
Two days later, the door opened softly around noon. The girls slipped in—Isabella first with her usual bounce, Aveline carrying a small cooler bag, Ayla checking my monitor out of habit, and Camila last, cheeks flushed like she was holding in a secret too big for her mouth.
Camila came straight to my side, leaned close so her breath tickled my ear, and whispered, "Today you're meeting Eliot again. And if everything feels alright… you can have your very first time. With him. That handsome, gentle guy."
My face ignited. Heat rushed from my neck to my ears so fast I thought I might faint. Shy didn't even cover it—I wanted to pull the thin blanket over my head and disappear.
At the same time, a tiny, trembling excitement bloomed low in my stomach, warm and terrifying. Eliot's kind eyes, his long fingers pouring tea, the way he'd called me careable like a kitten… the thought of his hands on me, on my intimate parts, careful and slow, made my breath catch.
I pressed my lips together, nodding once, barely audible. "Okay."
Isabella caught my expression and grinned. "We only told the doctor about 'dates.' Nothing about… the you know the intimate part. He said short, calm outings are still fine as long as you're monitored. No one's risking you."
They helped me change into soft clothes again—a pink flattering one, because "it makes you look pretty and innocent"—and wheeled me out the same side exit.
This time we drove straight to Camila's apartment, the one she shared with Ethan.
The place smelled like vanilla candles and fresh flowers when we arrived.
Inside, it was transformed. Fairy lights strung across the living room, a small table with a chocolate cake that said "Happy Anniversary" in loopy icing, balloons in soft pastels tied to chairs.
Music played low—something acoustic and sweet.
I knew it was their love anniversary they have been celebrating since the past three years but I was shocked to see that no one else came, it was just us.
Ethan was already there, wearing a nice button-down, smiling wide when he saw me. "Blossom! You made it. Happy to have you here."
Camila kissed his cheek. "It's our anniversary, but tonight's really for Blossom. No big crowd—just us, and… one guest."
Eliot was standing near the window, hands in his pockets, looking even more handsome than I remembered in a long charcoal coat and long dark pleated pant.
When our eyes met he gave that small, warm smile and lifted a hand in quiet hello. My stomach flipped.
After some sweet gossips about us girlies and those two brothers' childhood memories, it was time to cut the cake.
Ethan lit the candles, everyone sang off-key, and I managed a shy laugh when they insisted I blow them out "for good luck."
I felt small and out of place among their easy joy, but their glances kept checking on me—gentle, not pitying. I ate one small bite of cake, mostly pushing frosting around the plate, too nervous to taste much.
Then Camila looked at Ethan. "Babe, can you run to the corner store? We're out of… sparkling water. And maybe grab some strawberries? For the vibe."
Ethan raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Sure. Back in ten." He kissed her forehead and headed out.
The second the door clicked shut, Camila nodded at the others. "Okay. Now."
They gently guided Eliot toward the hallway. "Come with us for a sec?" Aveline said, voice calm but firm.
Eliot glanced at me—quick, uncertain—then followed them into Camila's bedroom.
The door stayed half-open. I stayed in the living room, heart hammering, fingers twisting in my lap. I could hear low voices, Camila starting.
"Eliot, we need to be really honest. Blossom has advanced cardiac angiosarcoma. A tumor in the lining of her heart. It's spread. The doctors gave her about a month. Maybe less."
Silence. Then Aveline's steady voice. "She's never been with anyone. Never even kissed any guy. And she wants… one gentle, safe time. With someone kind. Someone who'll be careful. That's you. She trusts you after the garden. If you're okay with it, we've got everything ready—condoms, lube, her meds close by. We'll be right outside. Doctor cleared low-intensity stuff. But only if you want this too."
More quiet. Then Eliot's voice—soft, hesitant. "I… I like her. A lot. She's sweet. But… she's so sick. She's had heavy chemo, radiotherapy. What if there's something lingering in her system? What if it… affects me somehow? I don't want to risk that. For me. Or… I guess for her either."
Isabella's tone sharpened. "Cancer isn't contagious, Eliot. The treatments don't leave radioactive residue on her skin. Aveline has the facts right here—"
"I know," he cut in gently. "I just… I can't. I'm sorry. I can still be there for her—dates, visits, talking. Anytime she wants. I'd like that. But this… I can't."
Aveline sighed. "Okay. Thank you for being honest."
Trying to keep calm even though she was very irritated.
"Coward " Isabella whispered slightly but Camila stopped her before she could say anything further.
The door opened wider.
Eliot stepped out first, head down, not meeting my eyes. He walked straight past me—past the cake, past the lights—grabbed his jacket from the couch, and slipped out the front door without a word.
I froze. My chest caved in like someone had punched the air out of me. He hadn't even looked at me. Not once.
The front door opened again almost immediately.
Ethan stepped in, plastic bags dangling from his hands—sparkling water, strawberries, a confused frown on his face.
"What… what's going on? Eliot just bolted past me like the house was on fire. Did I miss something?"
Camila opened her mouth, closed it. No answer came.
I stared at the floor, tears blurring the icing on the half-eaten cake. It was because of me.
They must have told him the sex part—the real wish—and he'd run. Of course he did. Who would want that? A dying girl, fragile, medicated, asking for something so intimate when she might not even make it through the night.
My fault. All of it. The stupid wish, the planning, the hope. I felt terrible—small, broken, like I'd poisoned the air just by wanting.
Isabella knelt beside my chair, hand on my arm. "Blossom, no. This isn't on you."
But the words sounded far away. The fairy lights blurred through tears, and for the first time in days the beep of the heart monitor in my memory felt louder than anything else.
Like a countdown again.