AVA'S POV
Pain is the first thing I feel.
It's sharp and biting, pressing against my ribs, wrapping around my lungs like iron chains, squeezing until I forget how to breathe. My body is too heavy, my limbs are weighted down, and my eyelids are glued shut. Everything is distant. Everything is wrong. The world tilts, sways, shifts like it's trying to pull me under.
I try to move. Try to open my eyes. Try to remember where I am, how I got here. Nothing comes.
The beeping of machines ceawls into my skull, slow and steady. It reminds me that I'm alive. That my heart is still beating, even if it feels like it shouldn't be. The air smells sterile, artificial. My fingers twitch against stiff sheets, against fabric too crisp, too clean, too unfamiliar.
I force my eyes open. White walls. Dim lighting. A thin, scratchy blanket draped over me. A hospital.
Memories slam into me all at once. The hallway. The pain. The way my knees buckled before I even realized what was happening. Riki's voice—urgent, desperate—shouting my name. The warmth of his hands, shaking me, pleading with me to wake up. Riki. My throat tightens. I turn my head, just barely, and—
He's there. Slumped in a chair beside my bed, head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers are tangled in his hair, gripping too tight, his whole body coiled like he's holding himself together by sheer force of will. He looks exhausted. Like he hasn't slept in days. Like he's spent every second since I collapsed waiting for me to open my eyes.
My chest aches, and it has nothing to do with the pain in my ribs. I want to say something. Want to call his name. But my throat is raw, my lips cracked, and all that comes out is a croak. Still, it's enough.
His head snaps up so fast I almost flinch. His eyes find mine instantly, dark and wide and filled with something I don't know how to name. His mouth falls open, like he wants to speak but can't. He exhales, sharp and shaky, and it sounds like relief and devastation all at once. "Ava." Just my name. Nothing else. But his voice is hoarse, wrecked, and there's something unsteady in the way he says it, something that makes my pulse stutter.
I try to smile, but it feels weak, wobbly. "Hey."
He shakes his head. Presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, exhales again. "Don't," he says, voice tight. "Don't do that. Don't act like everything's okay."
My smile fades because it's not. I know it. He knows it. And there's no point pretending.
I look down at my hands, at the IV in my arm, at the thin hospital gown covering me. Shame burns hot under my skin. I don't want him to see me like this. Weak. Helpless. Falling apart. But Riki leans forward, and suddenly his hand is covering mine, his touch warm, grounding. "What happened?" He asks, quieter now, like he's afraid of the answer. "Ava, what's going on?"
I don't know what to say. I don't want to lie. But the truth is dangerous. The truth means admitting I've known something was wrong for weeks. That I've felt this pain before. That I've ignored it, pushed it down, hoping it would go away. That I didn't tell anyone. Not even him.
The weight of it settles on my chest like a stone. I open my mouth, but before I can answer, the door swings open and my father walks in. I go still. The room feels colder. The air too thin.
His eyes sweep over me, sharp and calculating, like he's assessing the damage, like I'm nothing more than a problem to be solved. There's no panic in his face, no real concern. Just a flicker of irritation, quickly masked. "Ava," He says, perfectly composed. "You're awake."
Something inside me wilts. Riki stiffens beside me, his grip on my hand tightening just slightly. He doesn't speak, doesn't move, but I can feel the tension radiating off him, barely restrained. He's angry. I don't even have to look at him to know.
