The door swung open, and she entered, her usually poised demeanour dishevelled. She carried a food tray in one hand, her eyes locking onto mine.
"You're awake," she stated, a hint of relief in her voice.
"Eat this and leave if you're feeling well," she continued, her tone detached.
But I saw beyond her façade, sensing the turmoil beneath.
I didn't want to leave her alone, not yet, not until I've ensured she's okay.
"I'm still not feeling well," I said, feigning weakness.
I gazed up at her, my eyes locking onto hers. "Do you think I've recovered quickly from last night's ordeal?" I asked, my voice laced with a hint of vulnerability.
Her expression faltered, her mask of detachment cracking. For an instant, I saw a glimmer of concern, a flicker of empathy.
"Can't I stay here for a few days?" I pleaded, my gaze searching hers.
Her expression wavered, her resolve softening.
