The soft patter of rain against the windowpane was the first thing Emmanuel noticed when he woke. It was the kind of rain that seemed to carry a weight, a steady reminder of the heaviness that had settled over the days since Funmi's revelation. The room was dim, the curtains drawn halfway as the gray skies pressed close.
Emmanuel lay still, the early morning quiet filling the space between them. Funmi was asleep beside him, her face serene in rest but marked with the faint traces of exhaustion. The lines around her eyes seemed deeper now, as though they held more stories than he had ever imagined.
He traced a finger lightly over her arm, careful not to wake her. So much had changed, yet in this moment, she was simply the woman he loved.
The memories of the past weeks spiraled through his mind — the confessions, the hospital visits, the quiet moments of vulnerability that had shifted the foundation of their relationship.
A soft creak from the bedroom door pulled him from his thoughts. Funmi sat up slowly, brushing damp hair from her face. Her eyes met his, searching for reassurance.
"Morning," she whispered.
"Morning," he replied, voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
They dressed quietly, preparing for another day shadowed by uncertainty. Emmanuel insisted on going with Funmi to her new appointment — he wanted to be there, to understand, to support her every step.
Outside, the rain had turned from drizzle to a steady pour. Emmanuel handed Funmi an umbrella, and they stepped out together into the cool, wet world.
The hospital loomed ahead — a sterile monolith of white walls and buzzing fluorescent lights. Inside, the scent of antiseptic and the murmur of hurried footsteps filled the air.
The doctor greeted them with a mixture of sympathy and professional resolve. She spread out papers on her desk, pointing to charts and treatment plans.
"There is a new clinical trial available," she explained carefully. "It's not a cure, but it may slow the progression of your condition. It's experimental, with some risks, but it offers hope."
Funmi's hand gripped Emmanuel's tightly. "More time," she whispered.
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "We'll take every moment."
As they left the hospital, the rain had lessened, leaving puddles that mirrored the gray sky. Emmanuel pulled Funmi close beneath the umbrella, shielding her from the chill.
"Do you ever think about what comes next?" Funmi asked, voice trembling.
"All the time," Emmanuel replied, eyes fixed on hers. "And I want to face it with you."
The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle as they walked toward the car. Emmanuel kept his arm around Funmi's shoulders, feeling the subtle tremble in her frame.
She pulled away slightly, looking up at him. "Do you ever regret… everything? Meeting me? Loving me?"
The question hit him harder than he expected. He searched her eyes, seeing the raw fear beneath the surface.
"Never," he said firmly. "Not for a second. You're not your illness, Funmi. You're the person I love."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm scared, Emmanuel. Scared of losing myself, of losing you."
He cupped her face gently. "I'm not going anywhere. We'll face the shadows together."
---
That night, Emmanuel sat by the window, staring at the city lights. The weight of what lay ahead pressed down on him, but beneath it, a fierce hope burned.
A flashback came unbidden — a memory of the first time they met.
---
The café was crowded, the hum of conversation wrapping around them. Emmanuel had bumped into Funmi by accident, spilling her coffee.
"I'm so sorry," he had said, flushing.
She laughed, brushing it off. "It's okay. Happens to the best of us."
Their eyes met, and something clicked — a spark neither could explain.
---
Back in the present, Emmanuel closed his eyes, feeling that spark still alive despite everything.
He vowed silently: no matter how dark the path, he would hold her hand through it all.
The next morning arrived with an uneasy calm. Emmanuel found Funmi sitting by the window, a cup of tea warming her hands, her gaze distant.
"I've been thinking," she said quietly when he sat beside her.
He looked at her, waiting.
"About the trial. The risks, the uncertainty… What if it doesn't work? What if things get worse?"
Emmanuel reached for her hand. "Then we face that too. Together. No pretending. No running away."
She nodded but didn't speak.
Later that day, Emmanuel met with his closest friend, David, at a quiet café. Over steaming coffee, he spilled everything — the diagnosis, the struggles, the hope.
David listened, then said, "You're lucky to have each other. But remember, love doesn't mean being perfect. It means being honest, even when it's hard."
Those words stayed with Emmanuel.
Back home, tension simmered. Funmi's fatigue deepened, and Emmanuel found himself juggling hope and helplessness.
One evening, after a difficult day, Funmi broke down.
"I'm scared, Emmanuel. So scared."
He held her close, whispering, "It's okay to be scared. We're in this together."