The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the rehab suite, painting the walls in golden streaks. Dennis stirred awake to the faint sound of Ann humming by the window. She had brought along a stack of papers from the university, and while she graded, she hummed softly, as though creating a soundtrack of comfort around them.
Dennis blinked against the light, his muscles stiff from yesterday's exertion. For the first time, though, he didn't wake with dread. Instead, he allowed himself a small smile. I'm still here. She's still here. And I can move forward.
"Good morning, professor," he teased, his voice raspy but warm.
Ann turned, her eyes lighting up instantly. "Good morning, fighter. Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough." He adjusted himself slowly in his chair. "You looked so focused, I didn't want to disturb you. But then I realized, if I don't disturb you, who will?"
She chuckled, setting aside her papers and moving closer. "Disturbances from you are always welcome." She brushed his hair back from his forehead, her touch light but grounding.
Dennis held her hand there, savoring the connection. "You know… every morning I used to wake up with this knot in my stomach, wondering if today would be another day of failure. But now, I wake up thinking, maybe today will be the day I surprise myself."
Ann's lips curved into a smile that was both proud and tender. "That's because you've started to believe. And belief is half the battle."
Therapy that day was grueling as usual, but something had shifted. Dennis no longer carried the same bitterness in his steps. When he faltered, he didn't curse or slam his hand in anger. Instead, he would take a deep breath, reset, and try again.
Shane, the therapist, noticed the difference. "I don't know what changed," he remarked during a break, wiping sweat from his brow, "but you're carrying yourself differently. Like you've made peace with the process."
Dennis gave a half-smile. "Let's just say I stopped fighting the wrong battle. The enemy isn't my body— it's my doubt."
Ann, standing nearby with a water bottle, felt her chest swell with pride.
That afternoon, during another session on the parallel bars, Dennis managed fifteen steps. His legs trembled, his breath came in heavy gasps, but he did it. And when he turned around, Ann was crying— again.
"You'll run out of tears one day," he said, breathless but grinning.
She shook her head, laughing through her tears. "No, these tears are endless, Dennis. Because every step you take fills me with more joy than I can hold."
He reached for her hand, gripping it firmly. "Then save some tears for the day I walk to you without any support."
In the evenings, they carved out little rituals of home. Ann brought his favorite books, and sometimes they read to each other. Other nights, they played card games, Dennis fumbling clumsily at first until his coordination improved.
One particular evening, Ann decided to cook in the small rehab kitchen with Jacob's help. When she served Dennis a plate of homemade biryani, the aroma filled the room.
Dennis blinked at the sight. "You did this… here?"
"Of course," Ann said, almost proudly. "What's progress without good food to celebrate?"
He took a bite, closing his eyes as flavors flooded his senses. For a brief moment, he was transported back to the evenings before the accident— Ann cooking, him stealing bites from the pot, both of them laughing.
"This," he said softly, "tastes like hope."
Ann laughed, her heart swelling. "Then I'll keep cooking you hope until you're overflowing with it."
The next day, Dennis had visitors— his parents, Jacob, and to his surprise, Roy.
Dennis arched an eyebrow when he saw Roy at the doorway. "Didn't expect you here."
Roy smiled, slightly awkward. "Well, someone has to make sure Ann doesn't forget her colleagues. And… to be honest, I wanted to see you. I've heard about your progress."
Ann quickly intervened, sensing Dennis's hesitation. "Roy's been supportive, Dennis. You'll see."
The conversation began stiffly but soon flowed more naturally. Roy spoke less like a colleague and more like a friend— sharing stories from campus, joking lightly, even offering a few motivational quips.
At one point, when Ann stepped out to fetch tea, Roy leaned toward Dennis. "I used to think Ann was extraordinary just for her brilliance in class and her dedication as a teacher. But watching her with you, Dennis…" His voice softened. "I see something even greater. She loves you with a fierceness that's rare. Don't ever doubt her worth— or yours."
Dennis looked at him, speechless for a moment. "You know… I didn't expect to hear that from you."
Roy chuckled. "Well, life has a way of teaching us humility. I just wanted you to know —you're not alone in this. You've got Ann, your family… and even me, if you'll allow it."
When Ann returned, Dennis looked at her differently. For the first time, he saw the ripple effect of her love— how it touched not only him but those around them.
Later that night, Dennis sat with Jacob after Ann had gone home to rest. The cousins spoke quietly, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging in the air.
"You've changed," Jacob observed. "There was a time you were pushing everyone away, even Ann. But now… you're letting people in again."
Dennis exhaled, staring at his hands. "Because I realized something. I was so afraid of being a burden that I forgot love isn't a weight— it's a gift. Ann gave it to me freely, and I kept trying to push it back. But she never let me."
Jacob smiled knowingly. "She's stubborn that way."
Dennis chuckled. "Yeah. And thank God for that."
A few days later, a symbolic turning point arrived. The rehab center organized a small event where patients could showcase their progress. Families gathered, therapists watched with pride. Dennis had been dreading it, afraid of failing publicly.
But when Ann squeezed his hand, whispering, "I'll be right here," something inside him steadied.
With the walker, Dennis stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, but steadily. The room erupted in applause as he walked across the stage. Each step was a thunderclap in his heart. When he reached Ann at the other side, she threw her arms around him, tears streaming freely.
"You did it!" she cried, holding him tightly.
Dennis buried his face in her shoulder, overcome with emotion. "No… we did it."
That night, when they were alone again, Dennis pulled Ann close, his voice low and filled with emotion.
"I used to think our love would break under the weight of all this. But it didn't. It grew. Stronger than I ever imagined. You gave me hope when I had none. And now… I want to give you the same."
Ann's eyes shone as she cupped his face. "Then promise me something, Dennis. No matter how long the road, no matter how slow the steps— you'll never stop walking it with me."
His lips brushed hers in a tender kiss, and when he pulled back, he whispered, "I promise. Step by step, all the way to tomorrow."
And for the first time, Dennis didn't just believe in recovery— he believed in a future.