Mira's POV
Mira hated hospitals at night.
During the day, they were loud—busy with footsteps, voices, life moving forward. At night, they became too quiet. The machines filled the silence with reminders that her body needed help to do what others' did naturally.
She lay awake, staring at the faint glow of the heart monitor beside her bed. The numbers flickered steadily for now, but she knew better than to trust calm.
Her phone vibrated.
Geveva:
How are you feeling?
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Fine would be a lie.
Better would invite questions.
I'm scared felt like too much.
She typed instead:
Mira:
Still here.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Geveva:
Good. I was hoping you'd say that.
Her lips curved despite herself.
Another pause.
Geveva:
Can I come see you tomorrow?
Her chest tightened—not from her heart this time, but from fear.
Because if he came, she would have to tell him.
Geveva's POV
Geveva didn't sleep.
He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment Mira had collapsed over and over again. The way her body had gone slack. The way her heart had felt wrong beneath his hand.
He'd looked it up.
He'd read articles until the words blurred together.
Arrhythmias. Ventricular. Sudden cardiac arrest.
Some pages said manageable. Others said fatal.
None of them mentioned what it felt like to care about someone whose heart could betray them without warning.
When his phone buzzed with her reply—Still here—he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Tomorrow, he decided.
He needed to see her with his own eyes.
Mira's POV
The next afternoon, Geveva stood awkwardly at the foot of her hospital bed, hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn't sure where he was allowed to exist.
"You don't have to stay long," Mira said quickly. "I know hospitals are… uncomfortable."
"I'm okay," he replied. "I mean—this isn't about me."
She nodded, twisting the edge of the blanket between her fingers.
Silence stretched.
This was it.
"There's something I need to tell you," she said.
Geveva didn't interrupt. He simply pulled the chair closer and sat.
Mira swallowed hard. "I was born with a heart condition. It's called malignant ventricular arrhythmias."
He didn't flinch.
"It means my heart rhythm can suddenly become dangerous," she continued. "Too fast. Too chaotic. Sometimes it just… stops doing what it's supposed to do."
She waited for his face to change.
It didn't.
"I faint," she said quietly. "I collapse. I end up here a lot. I take medication every day. I can't do sports. I can't get too excited or too stressed or too tired." Her voice cracked. "I can't live like other people."
Geveva leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is that why you keep people at a distance?"
Her eyes burned. "People leave when they realize I'm not temporary trouble. I'm… lifelong."
He considered her words carefully.
"Does your heart condition define you?" he asked.
She blinked. "It defines my life."
"That's not the same thing," he said gently.
Her breath caught.
"There are days," she whispered, "when I'm scared I won't wake up. Days when I wonder how much time I have left."
For the first time since she'd started talking, Geveva's expression wavered.
But he didn't pull away.
Geveva's POV
Hearing the name of it—malignant ventricular arrhythmias—made everything feel heavier. More real.
But looking at Mira, pale against white sheets, trying so hard to be brave, Geveva felt something else rise above the fear.
Resolve.
"So what do you need from me?" he asked.
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Do you want me to back off? To treat you like glass?" His voice softened. "Or do you want me to stay exactly as I am?"
Mira stared at him.
"I don't want you to feel trapped," she said. "I don't want to be someone you have to worry about all the time."
He shook his head slowly. "Caring about someone isn't a trap."
She looked away. "It is when they might not always be here."
Geveva reached out—not touching her, but close enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.
"I don't need guarantees," he said. "I just need honesty. And the chance to choose."
Her eyes met his.
"And if I choose you?" she asked.
His answer was immediate.
"Then I stay."
Mira's POV
Something inside her chest loosened.
Not her heart.
Something deeper.
She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding herself together until that moment. How much energy she'd spent preparing for abandonment that hadn't come yet.
"You don't know how this ends," she whispered.
"No," Geveva said. "But I know how it starts."
He smiled, small and steady.
"With you."
That night, Mira fell asleep to the sound of her heart beating evenly in the quiet room.
For once, she wasn't counting how many beats she had left.
She was thinking about the boy who'd chosen to stay—after knowing the storm inside her chest.
And somewhere deep down, she wondered when friendship had stopped being enough.