By the time Yara declares me "stable enough for mild chaos," it's group therapy time. Which, honestly, is perfect timing because I'm ready to prove I can still talk more than anyone in this hospital.

The therapy room is on the third floor — soft lighting, round chairs, walls covered in watercolor paintings from patients who came before us.
It smells faintly like lavender and cleaning spray, which feels poetically appropriate for me.

Charlotte wheels beside me, her curls tied up in a bun today, looking as if she actually follows doctor's orders. Lily walks beside her, IV pole trailing behind like a glittery staff, and Calian follows us all — hands in his pockets, quiet, unreadable. I'm convinced he comes to these sessions just to make sure I don't try to start a musical number.

We take our usual spots in the circle: me between Charlotte and Calian, Lily on Charlotte's other side.
Our therapist, Dr. Ren, sits in her soft armchair like she's secretly part angel, part referee.

"Alright," she says warmly, "today we're talking about something simple. Fear."

I groan dramatically. "Ugh. I thought we were gonna talk about pudding again."

The room chuckles. Dr. Ren smiles. "We can circle back to pudding if it helps you open up, Eliora."

"Everything circles back to pudding," I say solemnly.

Charlotte elbows me gently. "Focus, Eli."

Dr. Ren glances around the circle. "Let's start with what fear feels like to you — not what it is, but how it feels."

There's a pause. The kind that makes the air feel fragile.

Lily's the first to speak, voice small but steady. "It feels... tight. Like someone's sitting on my chest, and I can't make them leave."

Charlotte nods slowly. "Yeah. It's heavy. Like carrying something invisible that no one else can see."

When it's my turn, I pick at the string on my wristband, searching for words that don't sound too heavy. "I think mine feels loud," I say finally. "Like a heartbeat that's trying too hard. Like my body's scared I'll forget I'm alive if it doesn't keep reminding me."

The room goes quiet for a moment.

Dr. Ren's eyes soften. "That's beautiful, Eliora."

"It's also dramatic," I add quickly, grinning. "Can't help it — I was born to monologue."

That gets a few laughs, which makes it easier to breathe again. Then Dr. Ren looks toward Calian. "What about you?"

He hesitates, his hands twitching slightly against his knees. "I don't know."

"Take your time," she says gently.

He stares at the floor. "It's... quiet," he says finally. "Fear, I mean. It doesn't scream. It just... sits there. Heavy. Like the world got smaller, and I don't know how to move in it."

His voice is soft, but it hits hard — the kind of honesty that feels heavier than noise.

I look at him, blinking back something warm in my chest. He glances at me once, then quickly away, like he didn't mean to say any of that out loud.

Dr. Ren nods slowly. "That's beautifully said, Calian. Thank you."

He mutters something under his breath, probably regretting every syllable.

Lily raises her hand suddenly. "Can I say something else?"

"Of course," Dr. Ren says.

Lily looks between all of us, her tiny voice trembling but brave. "I think fear feels smaller when I'm with people like this. Like when we laugh. Or talk about dumb stuff. Or just... exist together."

I feel it then — that little spark that starts in my chest and warms the whole room. I reach over and squeeze her hand. "You're right, Lil. Fear hates laughter. It doesn't know what to do with joy."

Charlotte wipes her eye, pretending it's dust. "You two are too much sometimes."

Calian glances up, and for just a second, his eyes meet mine again — quiet, thoughtful, full of something that feels a lot like understanding.

Dr. Ren lets the silence linger for a bit after Lily's words, her hands folded softly in her lap. You can almost hear the hum of the air vent. The faint shuffle of a chair. The sound of a few hearts trying to remember how to beat quietly again.

Then she smiles — gentle, patient, curious.
"We've talked about fear," she says. "What it feels like, what it does to you. But I want to ask something now."

Her gaze drifts slowly around the circle, landing on each of us like sunlight. "What is courage to you? What does it feel like?"

The question hangs there, glowing.

Charlotte is the first to answer, her voice calm, even. "I think courage is doing something even when you already know it's going to hurt. Like showing up to a day you're scared to live through."

Her words land like something steady — a foundation we all breathe a little easier on.

Dr. Ren nods. "Beautifully said, Charlotte."

Lily's hand shoots up next, her small voice piping through the stillness. "Courage feels like... when I get my blood drawn and I want to cry, but I don't, because I know I'll get a popsicle after."

Everyone laughs softly, the sound breaking the heaviness like a cracked window letting light in.

"That's a very real form of courage," Dr. Ren says with a smile. "Doing something scary for something sweet."

Lily grins proudly.

Then the room turns to me. I fiddle with the charm bracelet on my wrist — the one Mom brought last month — and take a deep breath.

"Courage," I say slowly, "feels quiet. Like when your heart's breaking but you still decide to love anyway. Or when you wake up another morning you didn't think you'd get. It's not loud like people think — it's more like... breathing through the ache and still finding something to smile about."

Charlotte squeezes my hand. Lily's watching me like I just told her a secret. Dr. Ren nods softly. "That sounds like something you live every day, Eliora."

I shrug, smiling. "I fake it really well."

A few chuckles ripple through the room, but they fade when Dr. Ren turns to the one person who hasn't spoken. "Calian," she says gently. "What about you? What does courage mean to you?"

He's quiet for a long time. His fingers tap rhythmically against his knee, eyes on the floor like he's measuring each thought before it comes out.

When he finally speaks, it's soft — barely more than a breath. "Courage," he says, "is... letting people see you when you don't know if you'll stay."

The air shifts. No one moves. It's not loud or dramatic, but somehow his words hit deeper than anything else said that day.

Lily looks at him with wide eyes. Charlotte blinks, surprised. I just... feel my heart tighten.

Because I know what he means. I know what it's like to exist with an expiration date and still let someone hold your gaze. To still reach for laughter. To still let yourself be loved.

Dr. Ren's voice is quiet when she speaks again. "That's... very brave, Calian. Thank you."

He just nods, uncomfortable with the attention, and goes back to studying his hands.

But I can't stop looking at him. There's something in the way he said it — the honesty, the ache, the surrender of it — that feels like an echo of my own heart.

For a moment, the whole room feels suspended in something sacred. Like all our broken pieces are just floating there together, finding their way toward each other through the noise.

Dr. Ren clears her throat softly. "I think that's a perfect place to end today. Thank you all for sharing your truths. Sometimes courage isn't about climbing mountains — it's just about sitting in a chair and telling the world you're still here."

And as we start to leave, Lily hums under her breath, Charlotte wipes her cheeks with her sleeve, and Calian gives me one small look — the kind that feels like a quiet promise.

I smile back, even though my chest hurts in that familiar, beautiful way.

Because I think I finally understand something:
fear is loud, but courage is steady —
and sometimes, courage looks a lot like love.