"Do you have siblings?" His toes touch mine.
With my gaze fixed on the sky above, I bite mylower lip for a moment. "A younger brother." He gestures for me to continue, to share more. Honestly, I'm not particularly inclined to talk about Aaron. But the way Noah looks at me right now, I can't deny him this request. "He's two years younger than me," I shrug. "Even in his childhood, he caused my parents a lot of worries. He was frequently sick, showed signs of ADHD, and suffered from severe migraines."
"Is he the reason you became a doctor?" Noah asks.
"My parents dragged him to specialists all the time. No one could help." So yes, maybe that was the beginning. Perhaps he is the root of my dream. Because the desire to heal Aaron has always consumed me.
Noah touches my chin and gently directs it toward him so I look directly into his eyes. "Have you found the solution?"
A short snort escapes my mouth. "No." Despite all my efforts in school and during my studies, I never found out what caused his symptoms. And if I don't get the position for the neurology residency in Vienna, that day will never come.
"There are mountains that not even the strongest will can move," Noah's eyes suddenly glisten with tears.
That may be true. But it doesn't apply to me. After all, I was not only his only hope but also my parents'. "I have failed."
"You said no doctor could help him..." he starts, but then he interrupts himself.Why do you believe you can?That was probably what he wanted to ask me.
Perhaps rightfully so. From a rational perspective, it does seem illogical. Yet I can't let go of this desire. If I could help Aaron, not only would he lead a better life butmine would also change for the better. My parents would not only be filled with pride but also have a little space left for me in their hearts.
For a moment, he looks at me with an inquisitive gaze. "How is he doing today?" he asks.
I lower my eyelids. I can't bear to look into his eyes while confessing the consequences of my failure. "He's addicted to drugs," I choke out. "When he's not in therapy, he lives on the streets. He has problems with the police—stealing, causing public disturbances, assault. The full package."
It's my fault. I couldn't help him, so this became his only way out.
"Aaron says his life is only bearable when he's high. That heroin allows him to escape the prison he's been living in since birth, even if only for a few hours."
No one knows if it's the truth or just a convenient excuse for his addiction. But we all want to believe that he's sick.
Noah's index finger gently brushes away a single tear from my nose. "Look up," he suddenly says.
Why? He doesn't think a shooting star will streak by and grant my deepest wish, does he?
Patiently, he waits until I direct my gaze toward the starry sky, then he rests his cheek against mine. "Out there are black holes. We can't see them, but they suck in everything that comes near them. Every particle of matter and all light." I've heard about this before. It's fascinating, and its precise mechanics are beyond my imagination. Yet I don't understand where he's going with this. "It's the same with guilt," he says, his voice as thin as parchment paper. "It hides deep within us and devours everything that could illuminate our lives."
Yes, that's exactly how it feels.
A melancholic expression creeps across his face. And suddenly, he doesn't need to say anything anymore. Because I know, deep inside, that we both feel the same.
"But sometimes, when you least expect it, a miracle happens," he says, looking at me full of warmth and love. He gently brushes a strand of hair from my face. "And you meet someone who brings more light into your life than any black hole could ever devour."
What does he mean by that? Could it be that I am that person for him? Or that we could be that for each other?
Throughout my dating experience with men, I've received many compliments for my feminine curves, soft lips, and sunny laughter. Guys have adored my body, admired my profession, and recited cheesy love declarations from movies. But none—absolutely none—have ever said something as beautiful to me as Noah just did. I reach for his hand and squeeze it tightly. "Let me be your light."
Shaking his head, he gazes at me. "You already are," he murmurs hoarsely. Then he places his lips upon mine and kisses me like no one ever has before.
As if I'm something special. As if I'm a treasure that needs to be cherished. Not because of my looks. Not because I'm intelligent or accomplished. But simply because I'm me.
I surrender to our kiss, feeling his warmth, the gentle scratch of his five o'clock shadow against my chin, and the damp trails of tears left on my temples.
I want to say it.
Right now.
I want him to know that I love him. And that I will go with him wherever he wants. Nothing else matters anymore. Clara's words hold no significance. And Helene's warning can no longer hold me back.
"I..." I begin.
