I jolted awake.
So, it was just a dream—a gentle dream, free of blood, tears, and pain. Yet, my heart was filled with emptiness, loss, and disappointment. I shifted, trying to sit up, but I couldn’t. A pair of strong arms held me tightly in place.
It was him. His embrace was the same as always—warm and steady.
How did this happen?
I remembered coming back to the hotel last night, exhausted and lost. He was waiting for me at the door, disheveled, his eyes dark with fatigue. He looked as if he had been completely drained.
I had walked past him indifferently, without greeting him, and pushed open the door to my room. He stood up abruptly and followed me inside, shutting the door behind him with a cold finality.
Startled, I turned back to push him out, but before I could, he grabbed my hand and threw me onto the bed.
Seeing me wince in pain, he tried to stay calm as he interrogated me.
"Where did you go? Why didn’t you say anything to me?"
I sat still, staring at him with an emotionless gaze. I had never seen him this agitated before. Shouldn’t he be gentle with me?
I spoke cruelly.
"I went for a prenatal check-up."
"You’re lying. We haven’t done anything." His firm expression wavered for a brief moment.
"It’s not your child. It belongs to someone else."
"I don’t believe you." His eyes locked onto mine, as if trying to determine whether I was lying or telling the truth.
"Believe it or not, it’s up to you. I’m no longer pure. Let me go." My voice trembled slightly, but I forced myself to remain strong.
What right did he have to be jealous? We were nothing to each other now. There was no future for us. Clinging to the past would only bring more suffering.
I had to end this.
I stood up, intending to leave, but he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me down. My instincts took over, and I clutched my shirt tightly.
Was he going to force himself on me?
Even if I was no longer pure, I was still a person. I had the right to choose whether to give myself to someone or not.
I turned my face away, bit my lip, and held my breath, stubbornly gripping my clothes.
Then, suddenly, I felt a heavy weight press down on me.
He had collapsed on top of me, fast asleep.
For a moment, I was stunned. Then, I lay still, watching him. I breathed as quietly as possible, afraid that even the slightest movement would wake him.
He must have been searching for me desperately these past few days.
I barely recognized him—this once cold and composed man, who had always been ready to let go of anything that didn’t fit into his world.
Yet now, he was clinging to me like a child in a field of dandelions, desperately trying to hold onto a petal before the wind carried it away.
Even in his sleep, his arms remained tightly wrapped around me, as if afraid that if he loosened his grip, I would disappear forever.
A bitter taste filled my throat.
I let myself lie there, and at some point, exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep.
Maybe it was because I had wandered the streets of New York for too long, drained and lost.
Half a day had passed.
The sky was beginning to lighten.
I reached out and brushed my fingers through his hair. It was so soft. His eyelashes were long, casting delicate shadows over his cheeks.
He was my first love, my bittersweet, unfinished dream.
It had been so long since I had been this close to him.
It felt just like before.
But back then, he belonged to me. Back then, he was my dream, filled with hopes for a beautiful future.
Now, nothing was complete anymore.
He was just a dream that had already faded.
People must live in reality, not in dreams.
Then, he spoke. His eyes remained closed, his breathing steady.
"You’re awake?"
I flinched, quickly pulling my hand back. I stayed silent.
Had he woken up before me?
Had he known all along that I was watching him? That I was touching his hair?
"When you disappeared, the nightmare came back," he said, voice hoarse. "It was the same feeling I had when my father died. That pain—the kind that makes you lose your mind. I searched everywhere. Tourists spots, hospitals, rivers, lakes. Every time I heard news of an accident, my heart stopped, afraid that it was you. I told myself that if you just came back safely, I would give you anything you wanted. As long as you came back, I would never let you go again."
His words felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
Why was he saying this now?
Didn’t he realize it was too late?
I let out a tired sigh.
"I don’t deserve you anymore. I’m not pure."
"Stop talking." He held me even tighter.
"I might be pregnant."
His lips crashed onto mine, silencing me.
He swallowed my words, as if refusing to accept them.
Maybe he still couldn’t believe that the girl who had rejected him so many times had now given herself to someone else.
But my stance was clear.
Whether he wanted to believe it or not, that was his choice.
"I’m infertile," he murmured against my lips. "If you don’t marry me, no one else will. So please, don’t leave me."
His confession pierced through my heart like a dagger.
Even if my dream remained unfinished, I wished for his to be whole.
But reality was always so cruel.
Why?
He sat up and pulled a small, delicate box from his pocket.
Opening it, he took out a ring, lifted my left hand, and kissed it gently before slipping the ring onto my finger.
"Marry me."
The ring fit perfectly, accentuating the slender beauty of my hand.
My emotions exploded in a tangled mess of happiness and despair.
Tears streamed down my face.
I tried to take the ring off—but then, I slid it back on.
I was completely torn.
He smiled, pulled me into his arms, and drifted back to sleep.
He didn’t ask me anything more, though I knew he had countless questions about what had happened.
He would only know one version of the truth:
That I had willingly fallen into someone else’s arms because I was drunk.
And that he was just the fool picking up the pieces.
A lie, if believed for long enough, would eventually become the truth.
A bitter taste lingered in my throat.
How would I face him?
Would I be a girl who had failed miserably?
Or a girl overflowing with happiness in the arms of the one she loved?