Aliya's voice choked. It was like she was struggling to get her words out. Her once energetic voice came out in a bare, hoarse whisper as if her throat had been scratched or she had not spoken for a long time. The couple would soon find out that it was the latter.
Ian took in the scene, and lightly placed one leg before the other, moving forward steadily as if he was tranced, but he never let go of Shelby's hand.
He examined the young woman on the bed with each step. She resembled a ghost of her former self, her delicate silhouette merging with the stark white sheets of the hospital. Aliya's brown eyes were glassy and distant.
They seemed to stare past them into some unseen void, showing her more vulnerable than she was. This vulnerability was as palpable as the slight smell of the antiseptic scent clinging to the air, like any hospital. Shelby was not fond of hospitals, having experienced more than her share recently.
