CHAPTER 149: THE QUIET BETWEEN HEARTBEATS

Camila sat still for a long while, fingers curled gently around Billy’s. But her own hand had gone cold.

She stood again.

Her steps were quiet, careful — like noise might somehow disturb the delicate space holding her brother together.

She walked to the window and cracked the blinds just a bit more. Outside, the day looked normal — cars moving, people living, the world continuing.

And it hurt.

Camila leaned her forehead lightly against the glass, exhaling a thin cloud against it. Her arms folded across her chest.

"Four days," she murmured to herself. "You never even used to sleep past seven."

She closed her eyes. The sharp sting behind her lids had been building all morning. She didn’t cry. Not yet.

A nurse passed by in the hallway. Camila caught her reflection in the window — pale, tired eyes, hair tied in a rushed twist, her cardigan slipping off one shoulder.

"You look like Mom," she muttered with a faint, tired smile.

She turned back, looked at the room again — Billy so still in the bed, the same gentle rhythm of the machines surrounding him.

She crossed the room slowly, crouched beside the bed, and reached into the side drawer for the tiny blue notebook she brought days ago.

She flipped past pages of old lyrics, doodles, grocery lists... and stopped on a blank one.

She pulled out her pen.

Then she started to write.

Notebook Page

Day Four. I’m scared. But I won’t say that to anyone. Because I’m the strong one, right? The brave little sister who always keeps things light. But Leon, I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll wait here — even if the world forgets. Even if everyone else moves on. I’m not leaving until you come back. You hear me?

She underlined the last words.

Then she sighed, quietly pressing the book closed and holding it against her chest for a moment.

A knock broke the silence again — soft, deliberate.

She turned.

The door eased open. A familiar figure stepped in, wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a stethoscope.

Dr. Harris.

The door clicked gently behind him as he stepped in, calm and composed as ever, though the subtle furrow between his brows betrayed a deeper concern.

Camila rose from the chair immediately, brushing the notebook against her thigh before setting it aside.

"Good morning, Dr. Harris."

"Morning," he replied softly, nodding once as he approached the bed. "I heard he hasn’t woken up yet."

"No. Not a sound. Not even a blink," she whispered, eyes flicking toward Billy.

Dr. Harris didn’t reply immediately. He stepped to the bedside, his movements steady, familiar.

He checked the monitor, then gently adjusted the IV line before leaning slightly to inspect Billy’s pupils with a small flashlight.

He remained quiet the entire time.

Camila stood just behind him, arms crossed tightly.

"Is this... normal?" she asked.

Dr. Harris finally straightened, turned slightly toward her.

"Every surgery carries different recovery rhythms. There’s no exact time we expect someone to wake up. Some people open their eyes the same day, others take more time."

He glanced again at the monitor, then back to Billy.

"He’s stable. That’s important."

Camila swallowed, but her shoulders stayed tense.

"But it’s been four days."

"I know." His tone lowered. "And that’s why we’ll keep a close eye. His brain is resting after the trauma. The surgery was precise. Clean. But healing doesn’t always happen on a clock."

She nodded, though the worry in her chest didn’t ease.

"Is there... anything I should do?"

"Just talk to him," Dr. Harris said gently. "He may not respond, but sometimes hearing a familiar voice helps. Remind him he’s safe. That he’s loved. It might be the one thread pulling him back."

Camila looked at Billy again, eyes softening.

"He never liked being alone," she whispered.

Dr. Harris nodded once more.

"Then don’t let him be."

He offered a small, kind smile.

"I’ll check back in a few hours. But if anything changes, call me immediately."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Harris paused for just a moment longer — then turned and exited the room, the door closing gently behind him.

Camila moved slowly back to the bed. She sat down again, pulled the chair closer, and gently laced her fingers through Billy’s.

"You hear that?" she whispered. "You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere."

Outside, a bird chirped from the windowsill. The soft rustling of trees touched the edges of the moment.

Inside — just the steady beeping, and her voice like a thread of light.

The sun had shifted again — its light now softer, lazier, touching the edge of Billy’s bed like it, too, was waiting.

Camila had stayed right where she was — beside him, fingers still gently brushing his hand now and then, as if reminding him: You’re still here. I’m still here.

The room was quiet.

Then—

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

Billy’s phone, resting on the small tray beside the bed, began to vibrate.

Camila blinked, startled by the sudden sound. She leaned forward and picked it up, reading the name on the screen:

Mark

Her heart gave a tiny squeeze.

She answered softly, stepping toward the window for a bit of space.

"Hello?"

Mark’s voice came gently on the other end, cautious, careful.

"Camila... hey. It’s me."

"Yeah... hey," she said, keeping her voice light, though it wavered slightly.

"I just... wanted to check. How did the surgery go? Is he okay?"

She hesitated.

Her eyes drifted back toward the bed — Billy, still unmoving.

"The surgery itself went well. Dr. Harris said it was clean. No complications."

"That’s good," Mark said, relief washing through his tone. "So... he’s recovering now?"

Camila was quiet.

Then:

"He hasn’t woken up yet."

A beat.

"It’s been four days."

The line went silent.

Mark didn’t respond right away.

Camila could hear the small inhale, like he was trying to understand, trying to process it.

"Four days?" he said finally, voice tight.

"They said it happens sometimes. Everyone’s different. His vitals are stable, but... yeah."

Her voice broke slightly on that last word.

Mark exhaled, a low sound of concern.

"I wish I was there," he murmured. "I’d... I’d talk to him. Maybe he’d hear me."

Camila smiled faintly, voice soft.

"I think he would."

There was a long pause on both ends — two people quietly holding the same ache in different places.

"Tell him..." Mark started, then stopped.

"What?"

"Nothing too heavy. Just that... Artur’s fine. And we’re thinking about him. That’s enough."

Camila nodded, even though he couldn’t see.

"I will."

"And you?" Mark added gently. "How are you doing?"

That simple question almost undid her. Her hand tightened on the phone for a second.

"I’m... okay. Just really tired."

"Then get some rest when you can, alright? You don’t have to do all of this alone."

"I know," she whispered.

"Call me if anything changes."

"I will."

"Take care of him for us."

"Always."

They ended the call quietly — no goodbye, just the soft click of understanding.

Camila walked slowly back to the bed, sat down, and placed the phone back on the tray.

Then she leaned close, brushing a stray lock of hair off Billy’s forehead.

"You heard that?" she whispered. "They’re all waiting for you. No pressure or anything... but we kind of miss you, Leo."

Meanwhile in the village the air smelled faintly of earth and leaves. Wind stirred the trees lazily, brushing over tall grasses that swayed like they, too, were part of a conversation.

Mark stood beneath a low tree, one hand still holding the phone at his side. His expression was unreadable — steady on the surface, but his shoulders a little tighter than before.

Jay approached from the trail where he’d been waiting, a bottle of water in hand.

"That was billy family?"

Mark gave a small nod, slow.

"Yeah."

Jay studied him for a moment.

"How is he?"

Mark didn’t answer right away. He exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly against the light.

"Surgery went well. But... He hasn’t woken up yet. It’s been four days."

Jay’s brow furrowed.

"Four days?"

Mark gave a brief nod.

Jay stepped closer, more gently now.

"Are you going to tell him?" He tilted his head slightly toward the open field where Artur was still working — not too far, not too close. Alone. Focused. Or pretending to be.

Mark didn’t turn to look at him. His gaze remained fixed ahead.

"No." His voice was quiet but firm. "Definitely not."

Jay hesitated.

"He’ll want to know."

"And I’ll tell him when it matters. When I have something to give him. Right now... all I’ve got is waiting." Mark’s jaw tightened just slightly. "If I tell him now, he’ll fall apart."

Jay looked down, absently kicking a pebble across the dirt path.

"You think he’s still pretending?"

Mark finally turned, just enough to glance toward the field.

Artur was bent over the soil, sleeves rolled to his elbows, muscles tense. From a distance, he looked composed. Productive. But even that was a kind of armor.

Mark sighed.

"He has," he said. "He just doesn’t know how to admit it. And if I tell him Billy hasn’t woken up... he’ll stop pretending. And he needs that right now."

Jay nodded slowly, quietly respecting that answer.

Then he looked up again.

"You think he’ll wake up?"

Mark’s gaze turned distant.

"I don’t know," he whispered. "But I hope he waits just long enough for Artur to be ready."

Jay didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then:

"You’re a good friend, Mark."

Mark scoffed faintly, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"Not really. I just know what it’s like to love someone who’s still healing."

They stood in silence for a beat, both staring toward the field where Artur worked — sunlight gilding his figure like a memory that wouldn’t let go.