Waking up in a hospital bed wasn't exactly how I envisioned my second chance at life. Honestly, I had imagined something a lot more cinematic—like rays of golden light streaming through the window, an angelic choir singing hallelujah, and maybe a soft breeze blowing through a field of flowers. You know, peaceful.
Instead, I got the harsh glow of fluorescent lights that flickered like they were trying to escape from the fluorescent hell they were born into, the steady beep of machines that sounded more like a countdown to something terrible, and the faint, pungent smell of antiseptic that practically screamed, "welcome back to reality."
I opened my eyes slowly, blinking against the sterile brightness, as the world seemed to come into focus. The white walls surrounding me felt like they were closing in, pressing down on me like the world's worst metaphor for isolation. Well, this is just great, I thought, trying to move but realizing my limbs were sluggish and stiff from being bedridden for who-knows-how-long.
But the real problem wasn't the sterile environment or the general sense of impending doom. No, the real problem was the two people hovering over me like I'd been resurrected from the dead. Which is in fact, I was.
"Henry," my mom sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue for what had to be the hundredth time in the last five minutes. I was starting to wonder if she was wearing a second one in her other hand just for backup. "You've been given a miracle," she said, her voice trembling with emotion like she'd just seen me walk on water. "A second chance at life, and at... whatever it is you're supposed to accomplish." Thanks for rubbing it in my face, Mom. She's so dramatic
Her words floated in the air, but all I could focus on was the fact that my head felt like a balloon about to pop. My mom's tears were becoming a steady soundtrack to my new life, and I didn't know whether to be touched or terrified.
I blinked a few times, trying to focus on her face through my haze. "Mom," I croaked, my voice raspy from disuse. "It's fine. Really. I'm alive. You can stop crying now." Even talking hurts like heck.
Her response was to dab harder, like her tears were some sort of contest she'd determined to win. Honestly, it was impressive. At this rate, she could probably fill an Olympic-sized pool with how much water she was producing.
"Not until you're fully recovered, Henry!" She sniffled again, her voice cracking in that way that moms do when they've reached peak emotional distress. Great. I'm a walking emotional wrecking ball now.
I tried to look reassuring, but it felt like my face wasn't fully awake yet, so I just blinked stupidly at her. "I'm serious, Mom. I'm fine. No need to make this more dramatic than it already is. I haven't even seen the nurse yet, and I can already tell I'm going to need a lot of therapy after this."
I turned my head toward my dad, hoping for a little bit of sanity in the storm.
Victor the Stoic—that was what I liked to call him. He stood in the corner of the room like he was preparing for a board meeting with an invisible enemy. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed in that intense, judgmental way that could either mean "I'm contemplating the meaning of life" or "I'm trying to figure out why you're doing something so dumb".
He occasionally glanced down at his phone, probably checking stock updates or texting my mom about the vitamins she was about to force-feed me. My guess was both.
"Mom," I groaned, trying to push myself up from the bed. "Can you please stop dabbing your eyes like you're about to go on a reality TV show? I'm alive. I'm somewhat alert. I'm awake. The enthusiastic part, maybe but you can calm down now."
My dad finally spoke, his voice low and steady like he was talking to a particularly difficult client. "You need to rest, Henry. You're not out of the woods yet."
Not out of the woods?
He's right. Waking up from this and realizing I'm back in time. I must fix or at least not get poisoned by that witch, Dahlia Vayne. And most importantly- her face, my sweet , my poor Nyssa Albright was something I'm longing for.
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease myself into a sitting position, but my body wasn't having any of it. Every inch of me screamed, Stop moving, you idiot.
Just as I was about to fake unconsciousness in a last-ditch attempt to escape this drama, there was a knock at the door.
Oh, great. As if my parents weren't enough.
The door creaked open, and a familiar face peeked inside. Nyssa.
WAIT NYSSA???
Wait, I'm glad she's here, but isn't this too sudden?
She was clutching a bag that looked way too heavy for someone her size, her wide green eyes darting nervously between my parents and me. Her lips parted slightly like she was trying to decide whether to speak or flee the scene entirely.
"H-hi," she stuttered, stepping inside as though the room might swallow her whole. Man, I wanna swallow her whole.
I swear my heart skipped a beat. Not the "help, I'm dying again" kind of skip, but the kind where you realize someone looks so effortlessly adorable it makes you forget how to breathe. She was just as shy and sweet as I remembered, and somehow even more beautiful.
Her orange hair tumbled in soft waves, framing her delicate face, with the vibrant red tips perfectly accentuating the blush dusting her cheeks. The two moles on her left cheek added an endearing charm, while the one on her neck subtly drew my gaze like a whispered secret. Her striking green eyes glimmered with an innocent warmth that felt almost too pure for this world.
Standing at 5'6", she was petite in comparison to my towering 6'5" frame, but her presence was anything but small. Her thick thighs and full, curvy figure gave her a grounded, almost goddess-like aura, as if she belonged to some Renaissance masterpiece brought to life. For that brief moment, all the crushing weight of my memories, my guilt, and even my parents' overwhelming presence seemed to dissolve into nothingness.
"Nyssa!" I said, a little too loudly, sitting up so fast I almost yanked out my IV.
Mom gasped. "Henry, be careful!" she cried, rushing to my side.
But I ignored her. My attention was entirely on Nyssa, who was now clutching her bag like it was a life raft.
"You're here!" I said, grinning at her like an idiot.
Her blush deepened, and she looked down, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "I-I just thought I'd b-bring your notes," she said softly, her voice as delicate as a whisper, still avoiding my gaze.
"Notes?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow as I eyed the bag. It looked heavy enough, but despite that, she carried it with all her might. "Nyssa, I just woke up from a coma. Homework isn't exactly at the top of my priority list."
She hesitated, her grip on the strap tightening even further. "I-I thought it might help you catch up... you know, since..."
"Since I've been out of commission?" I finished for her, sitting up a little straighter. I gestured to the bag with a playful smirk. "Let me guess, it's all textbooks?" She nodded, her face flushing an even deeper red.
"Nyssa, you're amazing," I said, and I meant it. "But if I'm going to catch up on anything right now, it's my strength." I leaned back against the pillows, adopting what I thought was a casual and confident pose. "What I really need is—dumbbells." Her head shot up, and she blinked at me in confusion. "D-dumbbells?"
"Yeah," I said, lifting an arm and giving it a mock flex. "I've been out of commission for weeks, and these muscles won't maintain themselves. Gotta start somewhere, right?"
I shot her a grin, adding a quick wink for good measure. Smooth, Henry. Very smooth.
Her reaction wasn't what I'd expected. Instead of giggling or swooning, she stared at me for a long moment, blinking, as though she were trying to figure out if I was being serious.
"W-well," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-I guess I could, um... look into that for you..."
Her eyes flicked to my arm for a split second before she quickly looked down again, her face turning an even deeper shade of red.
Is she blushing because of me? I thought, my chest swelling with pride. Of course she is. Look at me—absolute perfection, even in a hospital gown.
"You're, um... recovering," she said quietly, her voice barely audible.
"And you're adorable," I blurted out before my brain caught up with my mouth.
Her head shot up, her wide green eyes locking onto mine for the first time since she'd entered the room. "W-what?"
"Uh, I mean... I said... you're being so thoughtful! With the notes and all," I stammered, scrambling to save myself. Good job, Henry. You're flirting skills is still the worst ever in this life.
From the corner of my eye, I could see my mom suppressing a giggle while my dad rolled his eyes. Just great, I forgot they were even there.
"Henry," Dad said dryly, "you're still wearing a hospital gown. Maybe tone it down."
I groaned, slumping back against the pillows. Trying to hide my embarrassment "Thanks, Dad. Great pep talk."
Nyssa giggled softly, her blush fading just enough to make me feel like I wasn't entirely ruining this moment.
My parents exited the room as to give me and Nyssa some privacy, My mom has her covering her mouth but I can see the smirk she is making while Dad, I don't know what face he is making.
As Nyssa set the bag of notes on the bedside table, I couldn't help but think about how ridiculous I must've looked. Hair sticking up in every direction, wearing the world's least flattering outfit, and still trying to act like some kind of romantic male lead. But somehow, Nyssa didn't seem to mind. She fidgeted nervously, her hands twisting together as she avoided my gaze, and it hit me—she was just as flustered as I was.
Maybe, just maybe, I still had a chance to not completely mess this up.
"Nyssa," I said, my voice softer this time. "Thanks for coming. Really. It means a lot."
She peeked up at me, her lips curling into a shy smile. "I-it's no problem. I just... wanted to help."
And for the first time since waking up, I felt like everything might actually be okay. But-
This was not going according to plan. Time to crank up the charm. Henry Novar doesn't give up that easily. Especially not in this lifetime.
I shifted to a more dramatic pose, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back slightly, as if I were the cover model for a cologne ad. I angled my chin just so and gave her what I thought was a smoldering look—the kind that could make anyone weak in the knees.
"What do you think, Nyssa?" I said smoothly, letting my voice drop an octave. "Still looking good, or should I be worried?"
No response.
She didn't even look at me. Her gaze stayed firmly fixed on the floor, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag like it was her last line of defense. She muttered something incomprehensible, probably a prayer for the ground to swallow her whole.
Alright. No big deal. Time for Plan B.
I adjusted again, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. My hospital gown slipped a little, and I made no effort to fix it. The blanket conveniently slid off just enough to reveal a hint of my abs. I leaned forward, trying to exude casual confidence, the kind that said, Oh, this? Just my ridiculously perfect body. No big deal.
"What about now?" I asked, grinning. "Still got it?"
Her head snapped up like a startled deer, and for the briefest of moments, her wide green eyes locked onto mine. Then she immediately looked back down, her face turning an impossible shade of red.
"I—I, uh—y-you're f-f-fine!" she stammered, clutching her bag even tighter as if it might save her from whatever embarrassment she was feeling.
"Fine?" I repeated, feigning mock offense as I placed a hand dramatically over my heart. "Just fine? Come on, Nyssa, throw me some compliments here. You're killing me."
Her response was... not a response. She shrank further into herself, her shoulders hunching so much it looked like she was trying to fold into her bag.
Okay. Time for Plan C. Let's bring out the big guns.
I stood up this time, carefully untangling myself from the IV line as I tried to project all the confidence I could muster. The hospital gown fluttered around me like an awkward cape, but I made it work. "Alright, Nyssa," I said, striking a heroic pose with my hands on my hips, staring into the distance as though imagining a glorious battlefield. "What do you think of this one? Bold? Commanding?"
Still nothing.
Her gaze remained fixed on the floor. I cleared my throat, trying to regain her attention. "I mean, if you're going to ignore me, at least let me know if my form is off. I could always work on it."
She peeked up for half a second before looking down again. "Y-you, um... l-look... fine," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Fine again?" I muttered under my breath. "We're going to need to upgrade that vocabulary."
Time for something flashier. I pivoted into a slightly crouched pose, one arm flexed upward and the other reaching out as if inviting her into my greatness. "How about now? Strong and approachable, right? Like I just defeated a dragon and now I'm helping rebuild the village?"
Still nothing.
Plan D, Henry. Don't stop now.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, I dropped into a lounge pose on the hospital bed, propping myself up on one elbow. My gown slipped even further down, and the blanket was long gone at this point. "Now this," I said with a smirk, "is a classic. Timeless, really. You're welcome, by the way." Her head snapped up again, and I saw the faintest twitch of a smile before she immediately hid it, her cheeks glowing like embers.
Just as I was beginning to think my charm offensive was finally working—or at least not entirely backfiring—the faint sound of the door clicking shut snapped me out of my delusion.
I turned slowly, dread creeping in, to find my parents standing in the doorway. Both were wearing the exact expressions you'd expect from parents who had just walked in on their son mid-hospital flirt disaster: a mix of concern, disbelief, and the faintest hint of "where did we go wrong?" I don't know mom, dad. Probably in my previous life? Where did you guys decide that my seven-year-old self-promise to marry someone was ironclad?
"Henry," my mom, Eleanor, said, her voice quivering with equal parts exasperation and despair. She took a step forward, clutching a tissue in one hand like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"Mom?" I asked hesitantly, blinking at her.
She looked between me, Nyssa (who was now frozen in place like a startled deer), and the disheveled state of the room. Finally, she pressed the tissue to her face, shaking her head in disbelief. "Where... where did I go wrong?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, genuinely confused.
Eleanor gestured vaguely, her arm flailing in the general direction of me, Nyssa, and my hospital bed—which, let's be honest, probably looked like a scene from a budget rom-com gone wrong. "This. All of this." She sniffled dramatically. "You're hopeless! Your poor friend is trying to be polite, and you're—you're posing like some kind of shirtless mannequin!"
"I'm not shirtless," I said defensively, gesturing to the hospital gown that was, admittedly, barely hanging onto my dignity. "I'm in a hospital gown!"
"That's even worse!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "And what kind of grown man tells a girl to bring dumbbells to a hospital?!"
"A man with priorities," I shot back, crossing my arms. "I can't woo her properly if I'm out of shape. You wouldn't understand." Eleanor let out the most dramatic sigh I'd ever heard, burying her face in both hands like the weight of my existence was too much to bear. "I can't do this. I just can't. Henry, you're impossible."
From the corner of the room, my dad, Victor, who had been unusually quiet up until now, cleared his throat. His expression was the perfect combination of unimpressed and mildly amused, like he was trying to decide whether I was worth the effort of intervention. "I brought you something," he said, breaking his silence as he stepped forward and set a stack of books on the bedside table with a weighty thud.
Curious, I leaned over and glanced at the titles. My stomach sank as I read them aloud. "Flirting Pros and Cons. How to Impress Without Stress. The Art of Conversation."
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, my face burning. I gestured wildly at the books. "What am I supposed to do with these? Write a dissertation on why I'm hopeless?"
"Clearly," Victor said, deadpan, "you need help. If you're going to embarrass yourself, you might as well do it effectively." I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. What could I even say to that?
Victor didn't wait for a response. He turned on his heel, heading toward the door with the kind of finality that left no room for debate. "Don't scare her off," he added over his shoulder, motioning toward Nyssa, who was still clutching her bag like a shield. "She's the only one who came voluntarily."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad," I called after him, rolling my eyes.
As Victor exited, Eleanor lingered for a moment longer, her expression softening as she looked at Nyssa. "Sweetheart," she said gently, "you're very patient. You must have the tolerance of a saint." Nyssa blinked, looking like she wanted to sink into the floor. "I just wanted to help."
Eleanor smiled sympathetically before giving me one last exasperated look. "Henry, try to act like a human being, will you?" With that, she followed Victor out, closing the door behind her.
The room fell into an awkward silence after my parents made their dramatic exit, leaving nothing but the faint hum of the hospital equipment to keep us company. I slumped back against the pillows with a long, exaggerated sigh, running a hand through my hair as I could somehow comb the awkwardness away.
"Well, that wasn't humiliating at all," I said sarcastically, shooting a glance at the door as if it might burst open again with more unsolicited parental wisdom.
Nyssa let out a nervous giggle, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "Y-your parents are, um..."
"Intense? Dramatic? Completely impossible to deal with?" I offered, raising an eyebrow.
She hesitated, then gave me a small, shy smile. "They care about you."
I snorted, gesturing at the stack of books my dad had unceremoniously dropped onto the bedside table. "Oh, they care, all right. They care so much they've decided I need a crash course on flirting like it's a college elective." I picked up the top book—Flirting 101—and waved it dramatically. "This is their way of saying, 'Henry, you're a failure, but we still love you.'" If they really cared about me, they would respect my present decisions and not the ones I made when I was younger, damn it.
Nyssa giggled again, her blush deepening as she tried to cover her smile with her hand. "I-I think it's sweet," she said softly.
"Sweet?" I repeated, pretending to be offended. I gasped, clutching my chest like she'd delivered a mortal blow. "Nyssa, that's betrayal! You're supposed to be on my side." Even in your death.
Her laughter softened, and her eyes flickered up to meet mine briefly before darting away again. "I-I'm always on your side," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
My heart did a weird little flip at her words, and for a moment, all the embarrassment and awkwardness faded away.
But just as I was beginning to think I might've redeemed myself, Nyssa shifted uncomfortably and clutched her bag tighter. "I-I should g-go," she mumbled, her voice hesitant and shaky.
"No, wait!" I blurted, sitting up so quickly that the IV tugged uncomfortably at my arm. I winced but powered through, holding out a hand to stop her. "Don't leave yet. I didn't mean to—uh—make you uncomfortable." My words tumbled out in a rush, and I felt my cheeks heat up as I realized how desperate I sounded. "Really, I didn't. I'm just—uh—bad at this."
Nyssa paused at the door, her cheeks still flushed. For a moment, she looked at me, and then, to my surprise, she smiled—a small, genuine smile that made my chest ache in a way I couldn't quite explain. "I-it's okay," she said softly. "I-I'll bring the d-dumbbells next time."
Before I could respond, she slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
I flopped back against the pillows, letting out another long sigh. "Well, that was a disaster."
The sound of footsteps made me glance toward the door, and there was my mom, standing just outside, shaking her head like I'd just totaled the family car.
"A disaster?" she said dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. "That was a train wreck!"
Did they just? Were they just outside the room this whole time??
"Hey, I'm trying," I said defensively, crossing my arms. "It's not like there's a manual for this."
Without missing a beat, my dad appeared beside her, picking up one of the books from the stack. He held it out to me with a completely straight face. "Try harder," he said simply. Right, there is a manual for this.
I stared at the book in my hand—How to Impress Without Stress—and let out a resigned groan. Ah right, I forgot he just gave me this.
This was going to take some serious work.
But for Nyssa?
I'd do it. Even if it killed me. Again.