“This wasn’t what I meant.”

Those were the first words he heard prior to opening his eyes a few days after his mom visited him. He was feeling slightly better, but he knew it was only for the moment. The number of people allowed into his room was limited, only doctors and nurses and immediate family.

He didn’t know what to reply to the person holding his hand once he registered who it was, so he just stared at his visitor, and she stared right back.

They had a conversation without exchanging any words: she knew, to an extent, what he was going through. She had gone through something similar. They’d talk about it eventually; she’d want to know what he was thinking, if anything of what he was feeling right now was what she felt not that long ago.

“You scared me,” she finally whispered, voicing the one emotion that reigned over all the others. She was trying to be brave though.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away as a response.

“How did you get here?” he asked hoarsely.

“I know one of the nurses, and she smuggled me in. It was difficult.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

A lull descended on them for a while.

“But I need you to know something,” she said quietly, breaking the silence.

“I came to say that I love you, just like you loved me then.

“I know you didn’t do anything wrong, I believe in you and I’m here for you. If you ever need me. Like I needed you, even though I didn’t k