Therapy.

Berielle’s POV:

Early in the morning, a message came.

Dr. Sang: Your results are in. Come to the hospital today. We should begin your therapy as soon as possible.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, my fingers tightening around my phone. I knew this was coming. My leg had been hurting for weeks now, especially after I started to dance again. Moreover, there isn't much time in my audition. I have to get my strength back as soon as possible.

I sighed, rubbing my thigh absentmindedly. However, I didn’t want to go through rehab again. The last time had been hell. But I also knew that if I ignored it, things would only get worse.So, after a long internal debate, I texted back a simple “Okay.”

Hours later, I found myself sitting in Dr. Sang’s office, staring at the scans of my leg.

"The nerve damage hasn’t worsened, but the inflammation is causing pain," she explained, tapping her pen against the screen. "We’ll need to restart physical therapy. The earlier we do it, the better your chances of managing this. Otherwise, you will have to go through the surgery again."

'Surgery.' The word sent a shiver down my spine. I have spent a long time in hospitals and I do not want to go through it all over again. Lying on the hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, not knowing when this shit will be over. It felt pathetic, hopeless and to be honest, I used to have countless thoughts that would compel me to end this misery once for all.

I took a deep breath. "How long will it take?"

She gave me a small, knowing smile. "That depends on you. The exercises won’t be easy, but you’re strong. You did it before. You can do it again."

I wasn’t so sure. But I nodded anyway.

The rehab room smelled like antiseptic and floor polish. It was too bright, too clean. I hated it.

"Alright, Miss. Wang," my therapist, Jason, said as he adjusted the parallel bars in front of me. "We’re going to start with the basics. Walking exercises, resistance training, and muscle activation drills."

I exhaled sharply. "Sounds like fun."

He chuckled. "Oh, you’ll love it."

"By the way, you don't have to be so formal with me. You can call me Elle."

"Elle? Okay, Elle it is." He smiled and led me towards the bars.

I grabbed the parallel bars, my fingers curling tightly around them. My right leg—my bad leg—felt heavy, stiff, almost like it wasn’t mine.

"Step forward," Jason instructed.

I did. Pain shot up from my ankle to my thigh, sharp and sudden. My breath hitched."Keep going," he said calmly. "Slow and steady. Don't forget to breathe."

I gritted my teeth and moved my other foot forward. Every step felt like I was walking on glass. I thought I have been doing a good job by stretching, however, it seems like this isn't the case anymore.

"You’re doing good," Jason encouraged. "Try to put equal weight on both legs."I tried. But my body had leaned more onto my left leg, shifting all my balance onto it.

"Again," he said. I clenched my jaw and stepped forward.One step. Another. Another. The pain throbbed, sweat forming at my temples.

By the time I reached the end of the bars, I was out of breath."Take a break," Jason said, offering me a chair. I sank into it, my heart pounding. My leg trembled slightly, and I had to press my palm against my thigh to calm the nerves.

This was only the beginning.The session continued with different exercises. With every exercise, the pain reminded me of my limitations. My body was stubborn, uncooperative. I wanted to scream.

"Alright, that’s enough for today," Jason finally said. I exhaled heavily, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.I wanted to say no. I wanted to run away from this place and never come back.

But I nodded. "Good. Go get some rest, Elle."

As I walked out, I was still not over the intense exercise that I had to do in there. However, I suddenly paused when my eyes landed on the person I wasn’t expecting to see. He was pacing anxiously in the hallway, like someone's on the brink of death.

But there he was.

Zen.

Standing by the entrance, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze lifting the moment I walked out.

I froze upon seeing his relentless gestures, "What... are you doing here?"

He exhaled, looking me over carefully. His eyes lingered on my leg before returning to my face. "You should’ve told me."

My fingers curled around my bag strap. "Told you what?"

"About your therapy." His voice was quieter now. "That you are starting today."

I shrugged. "It’s nothing. It's not like this is my first time. I have been through worse."

His jaw tightened. "I know but this time I do not want you to do it alone, Elle." The way he said my name—soft but firm—made my chest tighten. Suddenly he took a step closer to me and before I knew what was happening, he was wiping the sweat from my face. I had no idea that I was soaked in sweat until he did that.

The cold touch of his hand sent shivers down my spine and unconsciously, I pushed his hand away, "Who told you about the session?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"Dr. Sang called me," he admitted. "I knew you would hide this from me. I have practically begged you before, Elle. Do you really have to do this?"

I sighed, looking away. I hated that he knew. I hated the concern in his eyes. I hated whatever he was doing this time. No matter how much I try not to think about him and his care for me and how much I am reminded of the past.. I am still getting affected. Perhaps I have been raised so broken and deprived of love that just a little pinch of affection is turning my world upside down.

"Why are you here, Zen?" I asked again, my voice quieter.

There was a long pause. Then—

"Because I wanted to be. I want to be wherever you are." His honesty caught me off guard.

I stared at him, expecting him to follow up with some excuse, some logical reason. But he didn’t.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"You’re wasting your time."

He frowned. "I don’t think I am."

The wind felt colder now, or maybe it was just me. My body ached from the exercises, but a different kind of ache was settling in my chest.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "I beat myself up every single second for being a jerk to you in the past," he admitted, his voice raw. "I have so many regrets I can’t count."

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it. "Trust me, you’re only doing this to satisfy your ego. To reduce your guilt. That’s all this is." I shook my head, looking away. "Otherwise, this means nothing to you. I mean nothing to you."

Zen’s breath hitched slightly, but I kept going.

"I am worthless. I was worthless even in the past and now look at me.." I glanced at my leg, "I have nothing to offer you-"

He pulled me toward him, his grip firm but careful, as if he was afraid I might break.

A startled gasp escaped my lips.

"You are not worthless." His voice was low, intense. "Don’t ever say that. Do not underestimate yourself, Elle and if you will ever get to know how much you mean to me, you wouldn't be saying such ridiculous things to me right now."

The air between us felt thick, charged with something neither of us knew how to handle.

I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

I wanted to pull away, to retreat behind my walls. But a part of me—a stupid, traitorous part—wanted to stay right there. To believe, even for a second, that his words were real.

"Zen..." I whispered, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to respond to this overwhelming honesty.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

For the first time in a long time, I felt seen.

And it terrified me. 'This is too soon to give in, Elle.' I reminded myself and turned away to leave. "I should go."

"I’ll take you home," he offered.

I shook my head. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he said. "But I’m still taking you home."

Stubborn.

I sighed and gave in. I was too tired to fight back.

The car ride was quiet.

Zen didn’t ask questions, didn’t push for details. He simply drove.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His hands were tight on the wheel, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t have to be here.

But he was.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

When we finally reached my place, I hesitated before opening the door.

"Zen," I said, my voice softer than before.

He looked at me.

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Instead, I just nodded. "Thanks." I don't know why but I felt like I should tell him this.

Something in his expression shifted, just slightly.

"Get some rest," he said.

I stepped out, and as I walked inside, I realized—

Even though my leg still hurt, for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel completely alone.

I grabbed my bag and limped toward the exit. Every part of me ached.