Chapter 8: The Last Wishes

The days began to blur together, each moment more precious than the last. Lysander and Amara's connection had deepened, their shared adventures painting memories that would stay with him forever. But time, relentless and indifferent, continued its march. Amara's condition worsened, though she never let it show for too long. Every day she put on a brave face, eager to fulfill the rest of her dreams.

---

It was early morning when they arrived at their next destination—a small coastal town, known for its peaceful beaches and stunning cliffs. Amara had always dreamed of seeing the ocean, feeling the saltwater breeze against her skin. Lysander, though exhausted, was determined to give her this final wish.

As they walked along the shoreline, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks echoed in the quiet morning air. Amara closed her eyes, letting the wind ruffle her hair. "It's everything I imagined," she whispered, smiling softly.

Lysander stood beside her, watching her face light up with joy. "I'm glad," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "You deserve every bit of it."

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds being the ocean and their footsteps in the sand. After a long pause, Amara stopped and turned to him. "Lysander," she said, her voice steady but laced with something he couldn't quite place, "I want to do something before it's too late."

He looked at her curiously. "What is it?"

"I want to get married," she said quietly. "To you."

Lysander's heart skipped a beat. He had known that Amara had always hoped for this, but he hadn't dared to ask her, fearing that it would be too much for her. Her health was deteriorating so quickly, and every moment they had together felt fragile. But here she was, asking him.

"I want you to be my husband," she continued, her eyes earnest, "even if it's just for a short time. I want to know that in my final days, I was loved, and I loved in return."

Lysander's chest tightened with emotion. "Amara, I—"

"Please," she interrupted gently, "I know time is slipping away. But if I could have one last wish come true, it's this. I want to be yours. Will you marry me?"

There was no hesitation in his heart. "Yes. Yes, I will."

---

The days that followed were a blur of planning, though Amara's condition continued to decline. Lysander's mind raced as he tried to arrange everything as quickly as possible. It wasn't about the grandeur of the ceremony—it was about fulfilling her wish, making sure she could experience the love she deserved. They decided on a small, intimate ceremony at a beachside chapel, the same place where they had spent that morning together.

On the day of their wedding, Amara's strength had been sapped, but her spirit remained vibrant. She wore a simple dress, delicate lace that had once been her mother's, and Lysander stood by her side, holding her hand with a tenderness that spoke of everything unspoken between them.

When the vows were exchanged, Amara's voice was faint but filled with love. "I, Amara, take you, Lysander, to be my husband. To have and to hold, for as long as I have breath in me."

Lysander could barely speak, his throat constricted with emotion. "And I, Lysander, take you, Amara, to be my wife. I promise to love you, honor you, and cherish you, no matter how long we have together."

When the ceremony was over, Lysander leaned in to kiss her, but just as their lips were about to meet, her breathing grew shallow. She pulled away from him slightly, her face pale.

"Amara?" Lysander whispered, panic rising in his chest.

Her hand tightened around his. "Don't cry, Lysander. I'm happy. I'm so happy."

Her breath hitched, and she tried to smile through the pain. But then, she fell back against him, her body going limp.

"No... no!" Lysander cried, his heart shattering as he held her close. "Please don't go, Amara. Not now, not like this..."

The doctors were quick to arrive, but their efforts were futile. Amara had already slipped away, her final moments spent in the arms of the one person who had given her everything she had ever wanted.

---

Lysander sat alone on the beach after the ceremony, the weight of his grief almost unbearable. His heart ached for her, for the future they could never have.

He stared at the ocean, remembering her words. She had wanted him to live, to find his happiness, even after she was gone. But how could he? How could he live in a world without her?

The waves crashed against the shore, but all Lysander could hear was the silence in his heart.

---

That night, under a blanket of stars, Lysander kept his promise to Amara. He would carry her in his heart for as long as he lived. Her wishes had been fulfilled, and she had left this world content, knowing she had been loved. And though the pain of her loss would never fade, Lysander vowed to live—no matter how hard it would be.

Because Amara had given him something he never thought possible: a reason to live, even when everything else seemed so meaningless.

And so, with the ocean at his back and the stars overhead, Lysander whispered into the night, "I'll carry you with me, Amara. Forever."