Nina returned two hours later with damp hair, clean clothes, plus the chicken broth I had selected. She also carried a paper bag from Olica containing fruit, chargers, and a toothbrush nobody had asked her to buy. The room stopped feeling temporary when she arranged those things beside my cabinet.
"Your sister shops during emotional emergencies," I said, watching Nina remove three different charging cables from the bag.
"She believes preparedness can intimidate disaster," Nina replied, setting my phone within reach as she uncovered the broth, "so chew carefully or she will purchase a blender."
"That threat exceeds ordinary care," I told her, accepting the spoon after she asked whether I wanted help.
My right hand shook during the first attempt, spilling broth across the tray instead of my gown. Nina reached forward quickly before stopping herself, waiting until I gave permission with a nod. She steadied the bowl rather than taking the spoon, leaving the work with me while preventing another useless mess.
"You can let me feed you," she said, keeping her fingers against the bowl while I managed the next spoonful, "I will not add it to the student paper."
"I need one task that does not involve a nurse," I replied, swallowing slowly before my ribs protested, "otherwise the leg machine becomes my closest colleague."
"Fine," she said, rotating the bowl toward the rice as she watched my hand, "but colleagues deserve names."
The broth tasted better than hospital food because I had chosen it, though Nina's return probably helped. She described showering at Olica's apartment while her sister listed every possible motive for staying. Guilt ranked first, attraction appeared fifth, plus poor judgement occupied several positions.
"What did you tell her?" I asked, keeping the spoon above the bowl while curiosity interrupted hunger.
"I told her she makes lists when frightened," Nina replied, stealing one piece of soft carrot after checking whether I wanted it, "then she threatened to interview you."
"She already asked what I wanted," I said, remembering Olica's attention moving between us.
"That was the friendly version," Nina told me, taking another carrot while her expression warned against optimism.
After the meal, Ava removed one line from my hand before helping me sit at the edge of the bed. The room tilted briefly, forcing me to keep both palms against the mattress. Nina remained inside my view without touching me until the nurse asked her to support my right side.
"Hand beneath his elbow," Ava instructed, securing the drain pouch before I stood, "do not pull him if he loses balance."
"I heard you," Nina replied, fitting her hand where the nurse showed her, "he is the one who distrusts buttons."
My feet reached the floor after several careful breaths, carrying less of my weight than expected. Standing tightened every damaged section at once, reducing the room to Nina's shoulder beneath my hand. She waited without unnecessary encouragement until my uncertain balance had finally settled.
"You can say it hurts," she said, keeping her elbow firm while Ava adjusted the line behind us.
"It hurts," I admitted, discovering that the words changed nothing except how hard I needed to pretend.
We made six careful steps before Ava finally turned me back toward the bed. Nina matched my pace without dragging or praising me for movement normally achieved by toddlers. The return took longer because sitting required trust in muscles that currently treated instructions as optional.
[Physical recovery action recorded.]
[No reward: medical compliance is not a repeatable Life Point action.]
The System's refusal made sense, though some encouragement would have improved morale. I kept the complaint private because Nina already watched my face for signs of pain. She lowered the rail after Ava left, then pulled the chair closer without climbing onto the bed.
The afternoon passed through medication, breathing exercises, plus my mother's overseas video call. Nina offered to leave during it, but my mother had already demanded to meet the woman who submitted my essay. Their conversation became an efficient interrogation before I could introduce anyone properly.
"You are Nina?" my mother asked from a hotel room while my father leaned into half the screen, "the hospital said you rode inside the ambulance."
"Yes, Mrs. Dameire," Nina replied, sitting where the camera included her only after I asked, "I was involved in the accident."
"She was nearly hit," I added, keeping the explanation clear before blame found the wrong person, "I moved her, then the car caught me."
My parents thanked her for staying, questioned the treatment, plus promised to return within four days. Nina answered every practical question without speaking over me or correcting my answers. Whenever my mother asked how I felt, she waited until I answered before adding anything I had forgotten.
"We are grateful he is not alone," my father said, adjusting his glasses as another phone rang behind him, "Kofi has always preferred handling things quietly."
"Quietly is generous," I replied, watching Nina absorb the family version of my isolation, "usually nobody receives the handling report."
They ended the call after promising to contact Doctor Henley directly about my recovery. Nina kept her attention on the blank phone screen for several seconds, perhaps reconsidering Olica's list. I wanted to ask what she thought, but the question would place responsibility for my discomfort inside her answer.
"They love you," she said, returning the phone as she crossed one ankle beneath the chair, "but they are used to you disappearing inside `fine`."
"It saves international calling fees," I replied, receiving the expression I had begun recognizing as a rejected excuse.
"You asked me to stay," Nina said, tapping the phone against my palm before releasing it, "so maybe retire that joke."
Her words felt less critical than protective of the request I had made. I nodded instead of inventing another defense, then placed the phone beside my leg. The screen remained open on her contactless message history because we had communicated only through my device.
Nina had my password, my parents' numbers, plus access to an accidental group chat. I had nothing belonging to her except a name and the knowledge that her sister carried cameras. If she left the room, our connection existed only through the hospital.
The thought remained during another breathing exercise, following me through dinner until evening visiting hours approached. Nina packed the empty containers while I watched the clock remove our time. Asking for her number should have been ordinary after everything else, which made the fear more embarrassing.
[Suggested action available.]
[Ask plainly.]
The System offered no reward or scripted sentence, leaving only a prompt that could disappear if ignored. Nina folded the paper bag, then checked whether the charger had reached my battery. She was preparing to leave in the efficient way people used before saying they would return.
"I will come after my morning class," she said, pulling her jacket from the chair while she glanced toward the nurse schedule, "assuming Olica does not lock me inside her apartment."
"All right," I replied, hearing the old answer prepare another quiet failure.
She adjusted the bag against her shoulder, then bent to collect the blanket from the chair. Once she crossed the door, I would need to wait through a morning built entirely on her promise. Trusting that promise was not the same as creating a way to answer it.
"Nina," I said, stopping her before she reached the cabinet.
"What do you need?" she asked, turning without the impatience my mind had prepared.
"Your number," I replied, keeping the sentence free of apology as my pulse rose, "I want to message you without borrowing my own emergency contacts."
Nina looked at my phone, then back at me while a smile developed without becoming ridicule. She placed the blanket down before holding out her unwrapped hand, so I gave her the unlocked device.
"You almost let me leave without asking," she said, opening the contact screen while she leaned against the bed rail, "after I spent a night guarding this password."
"I expected journalism ethics to return it voluntarily," I replied, watching her type before the screen turned away.
"Bad assumption," she said, adding a photograph she took with tired hair plus a deliberately stern expression, "message me now."
"You are holding my phone," I said, pointing this out before receiving it from her extended hand.
"Prove the number works," Nina said, waiting beside the bed while I opened the new contact, "otherwise you might spend tomorrow wondering whether I entered one digit wrong."
She understood the exact sabotage available to me, removing it before I could pretend the concern was unreasonable. I typed `This is Kofi`, then hated the sentence because her name already appeared above it. Nina watched my thumb remain above the waiting send button without interfering.
"Do not write an essay," she told me, resting one hip against the rail while amusement returned, "Professor Lail already received one."
I sent the message before another improved version could form inside my head. A vibration came from her jacket pocket, changing something inside the room without requiring a romantic label. Nina opened the message, saved my number, then typed while standing beside me.
My phone vibrated against my hand before she finished putting hers away.
{Nina: Good. Now you cannot pretend you lost me.}
The message made relief visible across my face, which Nina noticed without commenting. She lifted the folded blanket again, then pointed toward the breathing device near my tray. I completed one slow measured inhale while she supervised the entire effort.
"Tomorrow," she said, moving toward the door after I lowered it, "message if the doctor changes anything."
"I will," I replied, looking at her contact picture instead of the empty chair.
"That sounded almost normal," she said, stepping backward into the corridor before raising her wrapped hand, "keep practicing."
The door remained open after she left, letting evening noises enter while I reread both messages. The System waited until I had replied with a simple goodnight rather than inventing something impressive. Only then did the earned receipt finally settle beside our short conversation.
[COURAGE ACTION COMPLETE: ASK PLAINLY]
[Confidence: 08 → 10]
[Life Points: 60 → 130]
Another message arrived while the screen remained visible, carrying a photograph of Nina's coffee beside the hospital visitor sticker. Her short caption used the same dangerous word I had carefully avoided aloud.
{Nina: Sleep. Our second hospital date starts tomorrow.}