The door opened slowly, quietly, as if afraid to disturb the silence Maya had wrapped herself in.
Tim stepped in—hair disheveled, shirt wrinkled, dark circles etched beneath his eyes. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in days. Yet the moment his eyes met hers, a tired smile bloomed across his face, soft and full of something that ran deeper than words. Relief.
"You're really awake," he whispered, voice cracking as he stepped closer. "God, Maya…"
He didn't rush her. Didn't smother her in panic or demand answers. That was Tim—steady, even when he was breaking inside. Always giving her space. Always anchoring her.
She reached out weakly, and he took her hand gently in both of his, lowering himself to sit beside the bed. His grip was warm. Familiar. Comforting.
And yet… something flickered behind her eyes.
The moment their skin touched, something shifted. Her senses—sharpened now by the return of her past-life memories—picked up something strange. Or rather, something missing.
No mana foundation.No spiritual root.No body refinement.
In the world she had come from, even ordinary villagers had at least a dormant foundation. But Tim… was entirely unawakened. Fragile, by comparison. A single well-placed strike could shatter him.
Maya blinked, unsettled by the realization.
But before she could dwell on it—
"Is he crying or is that just his face?"
Clara's voice rang out like a door slammed open.
Tim stiffened instantly, not looking at her. "Nice to see you too, Clara."
Clara strolled in, arms crossed, lab coat flaring slightly behind her. "It's three in the morning, I haven't had coffee, and your wife just woke up from a coma. Excuse me if I'm not in the mood for your usual 'emotionally constipated dad energy.'"
Tim turned his head slowly. "And yet, here you are. Still talking."
Maya let out a weak laugh. "Oh no. You two again."
Clara flashed her a grin. "Told you I'd wake up before he got here. He probably spent ten minutes parallel parking outside like a responsible citizen."
"I was being careful," Tim replied calmly, brushing a hand through his messy hair. "Unlike someone who thinks rules are optional."
"Rules are optional," Clara said with a wink. "That's why I'm fun and you're... well, you."
"Reliable?" he offered.
"Predictable," she countered. "Like a spreadsheet in human form."
Maya sighed, smiling through her exhaustion. "You both do realize I nearly died, right?"
They both turned to her, simultaneously softening.
"Sorry," Clara said. "You know how it is. Shared trauma. Mutual dislike."
Tim squeezed Maya's hand again, his voice gentler. "I'm just glad you're okay. Really. I didn't know if I'd get to hear your voice again."
Her heart tightened.
Messy or not. Tired or not.He was here.And in this life, that mattered more than any foundation of power.
Clara groaned loudly, throwing her hands up. "Okay, that's my cue. I'm leaving before this turns into a full-blown romance drama."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "Clara…"
"Nope. I refuse to stand here while Tim gives the 'I thought I lost you' speech like he's in some low-budget love story on basic cable," she said, already backing toward the door. "Next thing I know, he'll pull out a mixtape and propose again under fluorescent lights."
Tim blinked. "I don't even own a mixtape."
"Exactly," Clara deadpanned. "But I can feel the emotional corn coming."
She pointed at Maya. "You, rest." Then at Tim. "You, try not to be too tragic."
With a final dramatic spin, she exited the room. "I'll be in the break room if anyone needs me—or if this scene gets too unbearably romantic and someone needs a sarcasm refill."
The door clicked shut behind her.
And just like that, the room settled into something quieter.Something only they shared.