The hospital was a massive complex, with several sky-high towers—none of which indicated where I was supposed to go. Mercifully, when I wandered into the first tower, a kindly grey-haired receptionist informed me that I was actually in the right building, and just had to go up a few floors. Before I left, she gave me a kind-smiled warning.

“Just so that you’re aware, Mr. Khabib may not be in a stable enough state to see you.”

I nodded, then hurried away before she could see the tears forming in my eyes. If anything had happened to Khabib, I’d never be able to forgive myself. Once I got to the right floor, the nurse looked surprised to see me.

“We have no indication of his state, since he’s only just arrived. You can go to Room 5A, but if there are personnel inside, you will have to come back.”

So, I hurried down a hallway of florescent blinding lights, to the door of 5A, which was at the end. Inside, there appeared to be no people, so I knocked.

A bald man in nurse scrubs answered.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to see a Khabib bin Samara. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know about okay, but he’s awake,” came the honeyed voice from over the man’s shoulder.

I looked beyond the nurse, and there he was. Khabib, sitting up, looking sleepy, as if he’d just taken a nap—but otherwise unharmed. At the sight of me, his face darkened.

I turned to the nurse.

“Can you give us a minute?”

He nodded, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I advanced a step towards Khabib, then stopped when I saw how expressionless his face looked. I gazed hopelessly at that closed-off face, the same face I had seen so happy, so open—that very vulnerable face I would probably never see again.

“Just let me explain. Let me explain, tell you everything—and then, if you never want to see me again, then you don’t have to.”

He said nothing, and I continued.

“What I told you was true. When Mahir came with his demand for me to spy on you—on my first day, no less—he threatened to fire me if I didn’t agree or if I told you. I felt like I had no choice. My mom…I told you what a bad state she’s been in. I needed the money and the job to care for her, desperately. You have no idea how long it took me to get even the receptionist position at your company. If I’d quit then, with a two-year gap in my résumé and no recent references, it would have been even harder getting any future jobs than the first time around.

“I protested at first, but it was no use. Your family was adamant that either I agree, or get out. So, I agreed. I chose myself and my mom over you. But, when I agreed to what I did, I didn’t really know you. All I knew was the careless womanizer I’d seen plastered all over the tabloids, the one who partied all night, every night. So, part of me thought your parents had a point, that while their version of “looking out for you” was more intrusive than most, they almost had a right to do so. I knew it was wrong, but I rationalized it to myself, that a steadying influence on you wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

In spite of myself, I smiled.

“Well, you saw how well that went. Instead of calming you down, the opposite happened: you drew me into your fun-loving ways. Mainly because, for you, it wasn’t what the tabloids or your parents or even I had thought it was for. Sure, it was a kind of escape, but it was more than that. You had fun for its own sake, to enjoy the night, to let it take you where it would. It was that exciting, irreverent spirit that drew me in. Until I was lying to your parents, and lying to myself, too, of my feelings for you and how strong they were.

“And, all the while, you kept surprising me. Little by little, you revealed more of yourself, and I could hardly believe how different your true self was from the picture the tabloids had painted—of the sociopath womanizer, of the callous party animal. And, little by little, I saw that you had not come to the nightlife as a jaded man exerting his will, no, these late nights and swirl of drinks, girls and fun had done to you what it had done to many—it had drawn you in and swallowed you, made you forget what it was to really feel, to be vulnerable.

“I tried to resist it, Khabib; I’ve had a crush on you from the start, but I tried to resist it. I had every good reason in the book: you were a notorious womanizer, you’re my boss, and your parents would never accept me even if you did. And yet, every time I spoke to you, all that fell away. The only thing that was left, for me, was the incredible man who spoke to me the kind of way I couldn’t speak to anyone. A sort of flowing dialogue, a hooking up of brains that was so natural, it was scary.

“And then, you kissed me, and it was like an electric current went through my body. That night, the night of the launch, every time you touched me, I knew. There would be no more resisting. And even now, even as I know I don’t deserve you, and never did, even as I stand here pleading for what I know will never be, I still have to try.

“Because that’s the thing with you, Khabib, I have to try. As hopeless as it is, as pointless as this all is, I have to try. Because you’ve been nothing short of a life changer, an absolute miracle to me. And I would be more of a fool than I’ve been already to let that slip away without telling you that I love you with all my heart, and will as long as I live.”

Silence. It stretched long, confirming my worst fears. That I was an idiot to have thought this was ever going to work, to have said anything at all. Khabib’s face was as expressionless as ever—my words were useless, water under the bridge. When Khabib spoke, his voice was low.

“Lucy…when you leave, don’t come back. I never want to see you again.”

I flinched, as if I’d been struck. In a way, I had. When I searched his face, it was still as expressionless as ever, as certain, as set. I turned and walked to the door.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

At his voice, I turned around to see him eyeing me amusedly.

“You actually bought that—after all that you just said, after all the time we’ve spent together, all the heart-to-heart conversations?”

The smile forming on my face couldn’t quite rise, not yet. Not until he said what he did next.

“Lucy Morrison. Get your sexy, blond butt over here and let me kiss you.”

And once I was there, he was kissing me, as good as the first time. Better, even, because this time I knew that he loved me, just as much as I did him. And now, nothing would keep us apart.