Novels by Naj

ETHAN'S POV The doctors cleared Brahms for travel on Thursday.Ten days after the transplant. Eight days after the rejection crisis. Seven days after the night in the hotel that we both agreed wouldn't happen again.Seven days. A week. It felt both longer and shorter than that.Long because every day at the hospital stretched into endless hours of waiting and monitoring. Short because I'd already gotten used to this rhythm. This routine of being Brahms's father.And now we were leaving. Taking him home. Whatever home meant now.Dr. Mercier explained the requirements. Medical transport. Oxygen available. A specialist booked in New York to continue monitoring."I'll handle it," I said.Isabella looked surprised. "You don't have to—""I know. But I will anyway."I made calls. Arranged medical transport. Booked a private flight with medical clearance. Contacted the best pediatric transplant specialist in New York and got Brahms an appointment for the day after we arrived.I called in fa

ISABELLA’S POV I wake before Ethan. The room is grey with early morning light.My body feels different. Sore in small ways that remind me of what we did. Of the choices I made.I don't let myself linger on the memories. Don't let myself replay the moments. That way lies a complication I can't afford.He's still asleep in his bed. Face relaxed. Peaceful.I watched him for a moment. Let myself have that.He looks younger when he sleeps. Less guarded. The tension he usually carries in his jaw is gone. His hair is messy. One arm is thrown over his head.For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If we were different. If the past six years hadn't happened the way they did.Then I stopped. Because that's not reality. And I've built my life on dealing with what is, not what could have been.Then I get up. Shower. Dress. Make coffee from the machine in the room.The shower is quick. Efficient. I scrub away the evidence of last night. The scent of him o

ISABELLA’S POVI knew exactly when it shifted.Ethan was telling me about his childhood. About his mother who died when he was twelve. About how he learned to cook because his father couldn't.And he says something that makes me laugh. Actually laugh. Not polite acknowledgment. Real laughter.He looks surprised. Like he'd forgotten I could laugh.And that's when it changes. When the air in the room becomes different. Heavier.We both feel it. I can see it in his eyes. The way they linger on my face. The way his voice drops slightly.I should stand up. Go to my bed. End the conversation.I don't.Instead, I asked another question. Something innocuous about his work. About the gallery.But my voice is different too. Softer. More intimate.He answers. Moves from his bed to sit on the edge of mine. Not touching. But close enough.I don't move away.We keep talking. About nothing important. About everything.And then there's a moment. A specific moment. Where his hand is near mine on the b

ISABELLA’S POV "We should get a room," Ethan said.I looked up from the hospital chair. "What?""There's A hotel Across the street. You haven't slept in a real bed in days. Neither have I.""I can't leave the hospital. What if something happens?""The nurses have our numbers. The hotel is a three-minute walk. We can be back in five minutes if they need us."I wanted to argue. But I was exhausted. "Okay," I said. "Just somewhere to shower and sleep for a few hours."Ethan pulled out his phone. Made a call. "Done," he said. "They're holding a room for us."We told the nurses where we'd be. Left numbers. Confirmed they'd call if anything changed with Brahms.Then we walked across the street.The hotel was small. Clean. The kind of place business travelers used when they needed to be near the hospital.Ethan checked us in. The clerk handed him one key card."Just one room available," Ethan explained. "Everything else is booked. Medical conference in the city."I didn't argue. Didn't ha

ETHAN’S POV The coffee machine was down the hall. Past the nurses' station. Past two empty waiting rooms.I'd walked this route three times already tonight. Learned which buttons to press. Which ones stuck.The machine made a grinding noise. Spit out something that barely qualified as coffee.I got two cups. Black. No sugar.I didn't know how Isabella took her coffee. Realized I should know that. Realized there were a thousand things I should know about her and didn't.When I got back to the corridor, she was exactly where I'd left her. Standing outside Brahms's room. Staring through the window.She'd been standing there for hours. Hadn't moved except when the nurses made her."Here," I said. Held out one of the cups.She looked at it. Then at me.Took it without comment.I watched her take a sip. Her face didn't change. No grimace. No reaction.It had to taste terrible. But she drank it anyway. One slow sip after another.Through the window, I could see Brahms. Still unconscious. St

ETHAN'S POVI caught her before she hit the floor.My body reacted before I thought. It was fast, but not clean. The movement pulled sharply through my back and shoulders, a reminder that I was still recovering, still not fully steady on my feet.I adjusted my grip as I lowered her with me.Careful. Controlled.We ended up on the floor against the corridor wall.My back hit first. I felt it immediately. A dull, spreading pain that I ignored because there was no time for it.She didn’t resist.That told me everything.Her strength had already run out.She was shaking. Not subtle. Not contained. Her whole body trembled against mine like she couldn’t regulate it anymore.And then she broke.She cried like someone who had crossed a line she could not come back from.It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t the kind of crying people try to hide.It was loud. Unfiltered. Raw.The kind that comes when there is nothing left to hold on to.I kept my arms around her.Not tight enough to restrain her.Ju