The hospital had a way of swallowing time. Daylight passed in squares across the floor, slipping from one wall to the next. Then came evening, when the lights in the corridor hummed awake, throwing long shadows that stretched beneath every door.
Inside, the room was hushed except for the steady pulse of machines.
Gu Ze Yan had not moved for hours. He sat close to the bed, Qing Yun's slender hand wrapped in his own as though it were the last thread holding him together. His shoulders were rigid, his eyes fixed on her pale face, but the exhaustion pooling beneath his eyes betrayed him.
The door opened quietly. Chen Rui entered, balancing a paper bag and a thermos. His usual grin was absent, replaced by something softer, almost cautious.
"Boss," he said, setting the food down on the side table. "You haven't eaten all day."
Ze Yan didn't turn his head. "Later."
Chen Rui's gaze flickered to the woman lying unconscious, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the machine's beeps. "How is she?"
"I don't know." Ze Yan's voice was hoarse, stripped of all his usual calm command. "I just wait."
Chen Rui hesitated, as though tempted to say more. But something in Ze Yan's hunched posture, the way his thumb kept brushing circles against Qing Yun's motionless hand, stopped him. He nodded instead.
"Call me if you need anything."
The door clicked shut, and silence reclaimed the room.
---
It was past midnight when Ze Yan finally bowed his head, forehead pressing against the back of Qing Yun's hand. Her skin was cool, fragile, frighteningly still.
"Please wake up," he whispered, his voice breaking like glass. "I miss you. Too much. I don't care if you push me away. Just… just wake up."
His shoulders trembled. For once, there was no composure, no CEO armor, no careful restraint. Only a man begging the woman he loved to return from wherever she had gone.
---
Morning came slowly. Pale light crept across the blinds, painting stripes on the white sheets. Ze Yan had dozed off at last, his body slumped forward, still clutching her hand as though sleep itself couldn't pry him away.
Qing Yun's lashes fluttered. Her fingers twitched. Slowly, with the heaviness of someone resurfacing from deep water, her eyes opened.
The first thing she saw was him—head bowed, his hand enfolding hers, his breath uneven against her skin.
She watched him for a long moment. Her lips curved faintly, politely, almost distantly.
---
Ze Yan stirred. His head lifted sharply, eyes flying open. For a heartbeat, he thought he was dreaming. Then he saw her—her gaze meeting his, awake, alive.
"You're awake," he breathed, his voice trembling with relief. "Thank God… Qing Yun…"
Her smile remained calm, composed. "Mr. Gu."
The joy on his face faltered, just slightly, but he pushed past it. He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but she turned her head gently, avoiding the touch.
"How are you feeling?" His words tumbled out. "Are you in pain? You've been unconscious for a whole day."
She did not answer immediately. Her dark eyes studied him as if weighing each word before giving it. Finally, she nodded once.
"I'll call the doctor," he said quickly, rising. He opened the door, his voice clipped but urgent as he told the nurse, "She's awake."
---
When he returned, Qing Yun was trying to push herself upright. Ze Yan hurried forward, sliding an arm behind her back to help. She did not resist, but her posture was formal, almost businesslike, as though she were allowing assistance from a polite acquaintance.
Their faces were close—too close. He searched her expression desperately for the warmth he used to know. The smile that once belonged only to him. But her eyes were calm pools, deep and still, no ripple of the girl he remembered.
For a fleeting second, his heart plummeted.
---
The door opened.
He Ming stepped inside, white coat crisp, expression professional yet relieved. "You're awake. Good. Let's take a look."
Ze Yan moved aside, watching intently as the doctor checked her pupils, her reflexes, her pulse. Qing Yun obeyed every instruction silently.
"Everything looks stable," He Ming said after a while. "The wound is healing properly. Medication's working. But you'll need to stay for at least two more days for observation."
Qing Yun inclined her head politely. "Thank you, Dr. He."
Ze Yan exhaled, the tightness in his chest loosening slightly.
When He Ming left, the silence returned, heavier than before.
---
Not long after, a nurse wheeled in a tray: warm congee, pickled vegetables, soy milk.
Ze Yan took it himself, setting it carefully on the side table. He poured her a glass of water, adjusted the bowl so it was within easy reach. Every movement was meticulous, reverent, as though serving a queen.
"Eat your breakfast," he said softly. "And drink your medicine afterward."
Qing Yun lowered her gaze, lifted the spoon, and ate slowly, methodically.
Ze Yan sat beside her, watching every bite. His eyes softened, almost radiant with quiet joy. For him, this was not a simple meal—it was a miracle.
She drank a little soy milk, placed the spoon down after only a few mouthfuls.
He leaned forward slightly. "A little more?"
Her lips curved faintly. "This is enough."
Ze Yan's throat tightened. He wanted to protest, to beg her to eat more, to regain strength. But he bit it back. Instead, he nodded, took the spoon, and placed it back on the tray.
---
For a long moment, he only looked at her—at the delicate arch of her brows, the calm line of her lips, the faint scratch on her cheek that made his chest ache.
Five years. Five years without her. Five years of emptiness, of imagining her smile, of calling her name into silence. And now she was here, real, eating quietly before him.
His chest swelled, so full it almost hurt.
She's here. She's real. And this time, I won't let her slip away again.