Something is tormenting her, and that makes my mood shift as well, turning cautious and worried. ‘But?’ I look at her questioningly. ‘What’s going on, Nyla?’
She swallows. ‘But I don’t know how long it would go well.’
What does she mean by that? ‘In what way?’
‘I could get sick.’ Her expression turns apologetic. ‘Seriously sick.’
And there it is again, that all-overshadowing worry. Why is she so fixated on it? Is there a genetic predisposition? Or does what she sees every day at work scare her that much?
I stroke her arm soothingly. ‘That could happen to anyone.’ It’s something no one is spared from.
‘Yes, but…’
‘Explain it to me,’ I say. When I asked her earlier why she has such a hard time living in the moment, she said it could destroy her life. Does it have something to do with that?
She lowers her lids, exhales shakily. ‘My risk of getting sick is higher than other people’s.’
Risk – so she has a genetic predisposition. As a doctor, she lives from and with these data, I understand that, but in truth they’re not even worth the paper they’re written on.
Gently I slip my index finger under her chin and lift it until she looks at me again. ‘But right now you’re healthy.’
She looks at me for a while, then nods.
‘No one knows what things will be like in a month, a year, or a decade,’ I say earnestly, because that’s simply the truth. For her, for me, for every person. If she’s constantly thinking about the worst that could happen, she’s missing out on her life. The thought hurts me more than I expected.
‘You’re probably right,’ she says.
‘It could just be what it is right now,’ I suggest, although deep down I feel that that might not be enough for me.
Questioningly, she tilts her head to the side.
‘A wonderful time.’ And maybe a little more, who knows. ‘Just …’
‘…us,’ she finishes my sentence, and I’m sure she continues it in her head.
Now the corners of her mouth lift. The moonlight casts gentle shadows across her face and makes it clear how much she longs for it.
‘Day by day. Moment by moment. No more, but also no less,’ I say, because I sense that this is what she needs right now, even though I myself would rather have more than less.
Hope dominates her expression. ‘That sounds lovely. But you don’t know if…’
Carefully, I lay my index finger on her mouth. Because everythingIneed to know, I’ve known for a long time. ‘I know how your eyes shine when you’re happy. I know what your laughter sounds like when you let go. I know how you glow whenyou feel free.’ I study her far too intently, I’m aware of that, but I can’t help it.
Her breathing is heavy, she leans toward me almost imperceptibly. ‘It would be nice.’
It would be more than that. ‘You decide.’
Only a few centimeters separate us, I see the longing in her gaze, see that she wants it just as much as I do.
Seconds pass, then she places her hands on my cheeks and studies me, weighing me up.
‘There are no guarantees,’ she finally breathes, and I nod in agreement, even though my heart feels a little heavy as I do.
She touches the tip of her nose to mine and then, very slowly, our lips find each other. Just a whisper of a touch, and yet I feel it everywhere inside me.
‘See? You can do this,’ I whisper against her lips. ‘And whether you can still do it tomorrow doesn’t matter today. We’ll just find out when the time comes.’
‘Okay,’ she answers tonelessly.