Thank you

CHAPTER 22: THANK YOU.

NOAH'S POV

A sharp ache pulses through my temples as I stir awake. I blink a few times, my body is still sluggish from the fever that had knocked me out earlier. Instinctively, I try to sit up, but an unfamiliar weight presses against my legs, halting my movement.

I look below and see her.

Rachel.

She’s curled up at the foot of my bed, her arms folded under her head, her chest rising and falling steadily in deep sleep. Strands of her dark hair fall across her cheek, framing her peaceful expression. 

For a moment, I do nothing but watch her, my throat tightening with an emotion I can’t quite place. She stayed. Even after all the ways I’ve pushed her away, she’s still here.

Why? Is she probably putting up an act? How can she be so patient and nice? Why isn't she fighting back? Is it because I do not give her a chance to do such? 

It all must be an act.

I remember everything—the way she stood her ground against Marianne. I hadn’t been asleep. I heard it. I had heard every word.

Somehow, it made me feel some sense of pride and peace at that point when she was bashing Marianne. 

I shift slightly, trying not to wake her, but as fate would have it, she stirs. Her lashes flutter before her eyes open, hazy with sleep.

RACHEL'S POV

A rustling sound pulls me from the depths of sleep. My eyes snap open, disoriented for a moment until I realize where I am. I turn my head to what has woken me up. Noah? He is awake.

I straighten immediately, blinking away the remnants of sleep.   

    “Noah, you’re up,” I say, my voice still heavy with drowsiness. “How are you feeling?”I rub my face.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes, though still faintly clouded with exhaustion, settle on me.“Better,” he finally mutters.

     "Do you need anything?” I ask him as I stand up. 

    "A drink,” he says, and I reach for a glass of water on the nightstand. I press the glass into his hands, watching as he takes slow, measured sips. His fingers brush against mine, and I ignore the warmth that shoots through me.

     “Do you want to eat something light?” I offer. “It might help with your strength.”

He shakes his head. “It’s almost morning. I’ll wait for breakfast.”

I frown. “With how you barely eat, you’ll end up giving yourself an ulcer.”

He doesn’t respond. Typical of him. I exhale sharply, unable to suppress the frustration bubbling up inside me. “You could have died, Noah,” I blurt out, my voice harsher than intended. “You were burning up, barely conscious, and yet you didn’t call out for help. What if I hadn’t come in?”

Still, he says nothing.

A heavy silence stretches between us. He holds my gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. There’s something there—something unspoken—but he doesn’t let it slip past what I believe is his carefully guarded walls.

I shake my head, standing up and adjusting the blanket around him. “Do you need anything else?” I ask, softer this time.

     “No.”

Another pause. His eyes remain locked onto mine, searching, maybe contemplating something. The air grows thick as I hold his gaze for a while. My heart hammers in my chest as I take the silence as my cue to leave.

   “Alright then,” I say, stepping back. “Goodnight, Noah. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I turn toward the door, but just as my fingers graze the handle, his voice stops me in my tracks.

    “Rachel.”

My breath catches. What does he have to say? I slowly turn to look at him.

   “Thank you.”

A simple phrase, yet it carries a weight that lodges itself deep in my chest. I force a smile, though my heart is racing. “You are welcome. Get some rest,” I whisper before slipping out.

As soon as I step into my room, I press my back against the door, exhaling a long, shaky breath. The tight grip I had on my composure loosens, and I sink onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had a nightmare earlier. I don't think he remembers. He had screamed someone's name. Even in his fevered state, he had reached for me for support while crying.

What kind of pain is he hiding?

I turn onto my side, my mind spinning with questions. Whatever it is, I want to know. And for the first time since this entire marriage started, I realize something terrifying—

I am feeling the urge to want to be there for him. Maybe Emily is right, maybe there is something more to him.

.

.

.

.

I wake up the next morning feeling a bit better. After quickly freshening up, I decide to check on Noah. I didn't want to leave him, but the way he was looking at me and the uncomfortable silence between us was kind of unbearable, so I just had to leave.

As I reach his door, I wonder if he will have a problem with me entering his room now that he is sober. 

   "Just give it a trial," I whisper to myself.

So I knock.

   "Come in."

When I step into his room, I find him sitting up, staring out of the large window.

    “Hey,” I say softly. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He glances at me but doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Better.”

I step closer, watching him carefully. “Do you want breakfast? Marco is here already. I can bring it up for you.”

    “No need.” His voice is quiet, yet firm.

I cross my arms. “You need to eat.”

No response.

I sigh, dropping onto the chair beside his bed. 

   "You are making yourself a little too comfortable in my presence." He comments but I decide to ignore what he has said.

 “You scared me, you know.”

He finally looks at me, something shifting in his expression. “Scared you? What did I do?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “You did nothing wrong. It's just that last night, you were burning up, mumbling things in your sleep. And then you called out for me. It was kind of like you were having a nightmare.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

I lean forward. “If I may ask, what were you dreaming about?”

His fingers clench around the blanket. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does matter, Noah. You were really crying so...”

A long silence stretches between us. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “Why is it your problem?! Can't you just let it go? Do you want to keep saying it for the whole world to know that I had a nightmare?”

My heart clenches. “Noah, I—”

  “Rachel,” he interrupts, his voice suddenly firm again. “Drop it!”He orders, and I bite my lip. His cold self is back again.

 He isn’t ready to talk, but the fact that he admitted anything at all means something.

I nod slowly. “Fine. I am sorry. But just so you know, I’m here. If you ever… want to talk.”

His gaze lingers on me for a moment before he looks away. “I'm not interested in talking about my problems. Please, excuse me,"

   "Alright, I will have Marco come to you then," I say to him and he just simply closes his eyes. I walk out.

Noah may keep his walls up, but last night, for the first time, I saw a crack. And I intend to keep chiseling away at it until he lets me in.