He sagged against the bedside, relieved. As she stared at in him astonishment, some embarrassment crept over his face. He leaned down and tucked her in once more before hobbling back to his bed. He worked hard at a natural smile as he explained: "I had a nightmare, I thought…"
Feng Zhiwei understood.
All those days and nights as she lingered on the edge of death, he must have stayed by her side just like this. All those long, dreadful nights, he had watched and waited in fear and anxiety. He had dreamed that she no longer breathed, and he had rushed over so many times now that it was already an instinctive reaction, and even now that she was recovering, he would still wake from the nightmare.
How many times had he woken like this and how deep and heavy his concern until he had formed such a compulsive habit?
Feng Zhiwei silently stared up at the ceiling, blinking.
Tears dripped down her face.
…
"Here, medicine."
