Page 144 of Gabriel
Amara
We left Albania and made a detour to Sweden, a pit stop born out of hope—or maybe stubbornness. There was an eye specialist—one of the best, supposedly—at Karolinska University Hospital.
“I have never seen this happen before,” the doctor said again, thoroughly flabbergasted at Gabriel’s condition while the two of us held hands with bated breath, hoping for a miracle. “The injury healed nicely, and there is no reason he shouldn’t be able to see.”
I sighed. “But obviously he cannot see.”
Silence followed, his eyes narrowed on the piece of paper in his hand, examining Gabriel’s medical history and lab results.
“The only thing I can say is that we need to give it time,” the kind doctor finally said. “Stress plays a role in our healing, and it could be related to this.”
Guilt shot through me, and as if he could sense it, Gabriel tightened his grip on my hand.
“Not your fault,” he rasped quietly.
It was hard not to feel that way. I contributed to his stress and now I couldn’t fix it, and this helplessness was devastating.
“The only advice I can share is to give it time,” the doctor concluded. “Let your body heal, and work on lowering your stress.”
His words fed the hope.
Gabriel spoke up first. “Thank you, Doctor.”
The two shook hands, and then we made our way outside. The breeze was cooler here, but the sights were beautiful.
The city was romantic and picturesque.
The first time I’d come to Sweden, I was with Elira, and we rushed through all the sights restlessly to see the next best thing. Stockholm had passed by in a blur.
Gabriel and I walked the cobbled streets, his hand in mine, the city unfolding before us like a centuries-old watercolor painting brought to life.
The autumn air was crisp, kissing our cheeks and smelling faintly of woodsmoke and rain. The sun was soft and painted everything in golden tones: the rooftops, the glassy surface of the waterways, the ancient buildings with their crooked charm.
Old Stockholm—Gamla Stan—was magic.
Yet, the magic was slightly muted as I processed the doctor’s words and battled guilt. It seemed there was no concrete advice on how to fix this, and it left me feeling helpless. Gabriel was handling this whole situation like a champ, but I knew he struggled with the idea of spending the rest of his life in darkness, and selfishly, I wanted to fix it for me. More so, because I contributed to this predicament.
“I don’t want you blaming yourself, Amara,” Gabriel murmured, my steps mirroring his and guiding him across the street.
“It’s hard not to,” I rasped. “You’re so wonderful and deserve all the best. I fucked that up.” We approached the curb, and I added, “Curb two feet ahead.”
With caution, he stepped onto the sidewalk, and then he paused, turning to face me, his eyes unseeing on my face.
“I got the best,preciosa,” he said slowly. “I got you.”
My throat tightened at his words.
“Hardly a lottery win for you,” I croaked. “I got the better deal here, and it feels unfair.”
He chuckled. “No wonder I fell in love with you. You’re one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met.”
My chest trembled at his words.
“I love you too, Gabriel.” My voice choked as I added, “You’re myprecioso.”
He smiled. “I fucking love that.”
“It’s terrifying,” I admitted.
