The days start to pass quickly. I have to take in account the time I will lose flying east, because I will lose an entire day instead of just a half one. Isla ensures me my mother is still ignorant and hasn't even been in touch, which doesn't surprise me. My dad however appeared to has left a message on my voicemail and when I replay it, I hurriedly text back that he really doesn't have to come by, that we manage perfectly together and probably won't be at home often enough. I hope my text doesn't divulge my American location.

If Sorley even notices the change in my mood, after my chat with his grandmother, he doesn't mention it. We don't really have any place to go, but I don't care. I came here to see him and meet his grandma, not the entire neighbourhood. There's always another chance for that, if I make it home without my parents noticing and I'm not grounded for the rest of my life.

We sunbathe, watch films, I try out his fitness equipment – I have absolutely no condition – and we read. Sometimes on paper, sometimes in paper.

Not until I thoughtlessly take the third book from a particular series, I notice I've found a new interest. Medical novels. Most have realistic endings, some negative, which I put back on the shelf rather quick. Yet there are a few where real fiction entered the story.

While Sorley is busy with his daily routine of exercises, I lie on his bed reading. The door is open, so I don't vanish inside the book. He didn't want me with him in the room, because I distract him. So does he, by the way, and this is actually quite interesting.

When he comes back and makes a turn to hit the shower, I ask: "Have you read this one?"

"I've read them all", he answers without looking.

"All of them?" Wow. I turn my attention back to the book and say: "In this one they have all these futuristic devices that can do all sorts of stuff."

"If only we had them here, right. Can you hand me a towel?"

I put the book aside and jump up a little clumsy, to get him a towel from his closet. "You'll get lazy", I tease.

"Aye." Sorley heaves a dramatic sigh. "I won't be able to do anything any more. How shall I cope when you go back home?"

He starts to laugh, but my mood drops like a brick in a puddle.

"Only two days left", I mutter and sit down with my hands in my lap.

"Hey, hey, don't be glum. We still have two whole days. That's more than I ever dared to imagine."

"And after that ..."

He rolls his wheelchair over to me and takes my chin between his thumb and index finger. "After that we'll have every day we want, in a thousand different worlds."

"But it won't be real." My words are barely audible.

"It'll have to do, until we find a better way. But we shouldn't worry about that now, or else we'll waste precious time." He pushes himself backwards. "I'm taking a shower and then we'll enjoy every moment, aye?"

Bravely I give him my best imitation of a happy smile and almost convinced, he smiles back. I put the book back on the shelf, linger a bit in front of the door to the bathroom, but then I decide I won't invade that privacy. We're not there yet.

---

Every night we pick a room in the house of the main character whose story we borrow. We kiss, cuddle – Sorley doesn't go as far as he went the first time and I'm glad, but at the same time sad – and we fall asleep in each others arms. Him on his back, I'm making sure of that, and me draped over him.

And then, on the last day, when I seriously debate sneaking into his room that night, I ruin everything by suggesting something that's a great idea in my mind.

After lunch, when Sorley is doing his fitness stuff, I take the book that mixes science with fiction of the shelf again. Because the door is shut this time, I let myself get dragged onto the spaceship that I read about and take a closer look at the special devices. The main character and the doctor enter and this time I join in the conversation. I'm not sure how much time I have before Sorley finishes. When I don't get the answers this time, I'll borrow the book from him. Through our gift I can give it right back. Or wouldn't it be possible to take a book inside a book?

Don't get distracted now.

Captivated I watch how the main character: a young ensign, who seems to suffer from many afflictions, or he's just a hypochondriac, I don't know yet, gets examined with a device that looks like a Star Trek tricorder.

"You're fine, ensign, I suggest you return to your post and don't bother me so often."

"But, I really felt something, Can't you use a different device? That one?" The ensign points at some random item that's on a trolley next to me and as if I'm the assistant, I take it to the doctor straight away.

"Thank you. This is a neurologic scanner. I do think there is something between your ears, but this devise can't detect that."

The ensign doesn't get discouraged. "And what about that one?"

I trot obligingly back and forth and this time hand the doctor something that looks like a razor, without the knives.

"Thank you. That is the nerve repair unit."

That's the one I've been waiting for and before the ensign can say something, I ask: "What kind of damage can it repair?"

Trying not to bite my lip, I wait for the doctor either to ignore or reply to my question. It all depends on how extensive the author described the thing. It's probably boring to read about on paper, but in this case it's: the more details, the better.

Much to my relief, the author took his medical research very seriously. The doctor puts on his best lecturing face and begins to tell: "In our central nervous system, there are special glial cells. They support the nerve cells, enabling them to relay information from our senses to our brains and from our brains to our muscles."

It sounds as if he's reading a book. I burst out laughing by my own though and smother the sound with my hand, not to interrupt him.

"One important quality of these glial cells is their roll in the repair of nerve damage." There, that's what I wanted to hear. He talks some more about tunnels that can regrow – that's where he looses me – and a whole lot more about a whole bunch of stuff that sounds like abracadabra to me. They are probably pure fiction in our world, but I don't care. If it works, it works. It doesn't matter how. I'm bouncing on my heels from contained enthusiasm.

My hand is about to grab the desired unit from the doctors hands, when a flash pulls me back into the real world. The door to the fitness slash book room, opens and a sweaty Sorley rides into his bedroom.

"Sorley, you have to go into this book. They have this nerve repair unit and it can repair about every nerve. Imagine that it works in this world? And I think it will, because all the other things we took, are real as well, so why won't this be. I can't believe you haven't tried it before. If it works, you'll be able to walk ag-"

The door to the bathroom slams shut behind Sorley and with wide open eyes I leave my jaw hanging. What was that all about?

I carefully step of the bed, walk to the door and raise my hand. However before I can knock, I hear the shower turn on and so I walk back to the bed. I don't understand it. Did he already try it and it didn't work? But then he could have said something, right?

The more I think about it, the less I understand. Trying not to get upset, and also not to get my lip bleeding, I wait until the door opens up again. It takes a lot longer than usual. Till long after the sound of the shower stopped.

When he finally does come out and purposely doesn't look at me, I can't contain myself any longer.

"What is going on? Did I say something wrong? I was only suggesting something? You could at least say it's stupid. I don't understand it."

"No, you wouldn't."

That doesn't sound like the Sorley I know at all. My eyes bulge and with a snap I clench my jaw.

"What do you mean by that?" I am trying not to shout, but on the inside I am shaking him by the shoulders.

It takes a full minute, but then he looks up, straight into my eyes. A shiver runs down my spine. His gaze is so detached.

"I thought you were different. I thought this", he points down to his legs with a fierce gesture, "didn't bother you. I should have known better."

Tears are fighting their way through my defence line to my cheek and in a pitiful motion I raise my hands. "What do you mean? It doesn't bother me. Haven't I shown you these last days it doesn't?"

"Then why are you all of a sudden obsessively searching for a miracle cure?"

Dumbfounded I open my eyes wide. There is desperation in his exclamation and I feel terrible, but I just don't get it.

"W-What do you mean? What kind of miracle cure?"

"This!" He rides over to me, pulls the book from my hands and throws it against a wall. Startled I leap in the air.

"Do you think I don't know my gran still has hope? Why do you think I keep playing all those games the doctors come up with? But I know the truth. I will never walk again. Do you understand that? There is nothing anybody can do and the sooner everyone accepts that, the sooner I can go on with what's left of my life."

He falls silent, throws me a frantic glance and then says exasperated: "I hoped ... I was hoping you ..." He turns away from me and mumbles: "I can understand you don't want to spend the rest of your life tied to this wheelchair. Nobody wants that, I don't either. When you go home tomorrow, you can go on with your carefree life. You can forget all about me."

He turns his wheelchair and leaves the room, leaving me with the most shocked expression that has ever been on my face. At least, that's what it feels like, I can't check, because I don't have a mirror at hand. Forget him? Is he totally out of his-

My feet are running for the door, before I can decide to stand up. "Sorley?"

The house isn't that big, he can't hide, unless he locks himself inside a room, but then I'll just talk through the door. Or I yell, I feel a lot like screaming, right now.

"Sorley!"

Probably because he knows he can't run away from me, I find him quickly, behind the guest room.

"Sorley Patrick Connor", I yell, just like his grandma did, once I'm in front of him. "I have absolutely no idea what's the matter with you, but if you think I can just go home tomorrow and never think about you again, you are sorely mistaken. What on earth have I done to deserve this?"

By now I am too angry to cry. A tiny portion of guilt flashes over Sorley's face, but then the emotion gets cut of again.

"Sooner or later, no exceptions, everybody I've had to deal with since the accident, comes with a brilliant solution. Something nóne of the doctors that have examined me by now, could have póssibly thought of before. And áll of them: social workers, housekeepers, fitness instructors, rehabilitation counsellors, all of them, tell me they know there isn't really any hope for recovery, but if I will just try this one thing ... Then everything will be alright. We'll all life happily ever after."

He's breathing so heavy and by now speaks so loud, I wonder what's keeping his grandma. Until I realise she's not here this morning, but at a meeting with some neighbours, drinking coffee. That's good. This would only upset her unnecessarily.

I open my mouth, but Sorley's not finished with his tirade yet.

"And you know, in the beginning I wanted to believe them. I would tell the idea to the doctor and he would shake his head with this compassionate expression, telling me how it wouldn't work. And that wouldn't either or that. And when your hope get smashed so many times, one day you will lose it completely, let me tell you that."

He eyes me one second and softens his voice. "And then I meet you. You get to know me without my handicap and for the first time in my life I have someone I can talk to without seeing how that person is secretly trying to come up with a solution to my problem. Because, oh, that poor Sorley, can't actually have a full life if he can't walk."

Then he says no more. And he doesn't need to say anything else, because I can read in his eyes how much it hurts him to know I'm not this perfect girl he thought I was. That I have been trying to find a solution for the fact that he can't walk any more. But does that make me such a terrible person? Does that mean I think he's so sad and can't have a full life? My guilt gets repressed by the answer I give myself right away.

"No." Apparently I say it out loud, because his head raises an inch. "No, I don't think that at all and I expected you to know that by now. I've had nothing to do with all those people you just mentioned and I am nothing like them, because, unlike them, I do care about you."

I want him to look at me, but instead his shoulders rise.

"Maybe the fact that you can't walk is a problem to them and were they trying to solve it because that's how they are, but that's not how I am. You are not a problem, neither is the fact that you can't walk and that I have found something – that doesn't even remotely comes anything near anything anybody could have ever imagined – doesn't in the least mean I think you are so incredibly sad."

Furiously I stamp away from him, into the guest room, slamming the door behind me. Before me is my suitcase. Open. With all this stuff spread around it, because I wanted to look my best today. Right now I feel ridiculous that it took me half an hour this morning to decide whether to wear this yellow dress of the flowery one with the spaghetti straps. What a moron I am, to think he cares about that. And an even bigger moron for thinking we could be boyfriend and girlfriend. Straight through all the impossibilities.

I begin to toss stuff in my suitcase. Without folding them neatly or worrying about wrinkles. I leave tomorrow anyway. There will be no one to be immaculate for any more.

Briefly I pause, holding the book he has two of in my hands. I can keep it, so we'll always have an easy way of seeing each other. Sniffing, sounding not nearly as unconcerned as I'd like, I place it resolutely on the night stand. I will never see him again. What would I need the book for?

---

I stay in my room until grandma Meghan opens my door ajar and gently calls inside: "Zara, child, are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here." My voice sounds pitiful, because the better part of the last few hours, I've spent crying on the bed.

"May I come in?"

"Sure."

She closes the door behind her and when she looks at me, her compassion brings out new tears.

"Oh, dear girl. You've had a fight, haven't you? I found Sorley in the living room, looking through a box of old pictures. He never looks at those. Is it because you have to go home again? Is it the distance?"

For a moment I don't understand what she's talking about, but then I get it. She thinks he, or I, broke up because of the distance. Well, for someone who knows nothing about our absurd gift, it must seem insurmountable. Would that be the reason she gave me that warning, the other day? But that was about his handicap, not about the distance. Oh well, what does it matter now. Sorley made up his mind for the both of us that we're not even going to try. A new tear falls on my leg and without answering the question, I rub it away.

She doesn't need an answer and sits next to me on the bed. Then she puts an arm around me and because no mother figure even hugged me like this before, I begin to sob again.

Meghan comforts and hugs me until the tears stop and then she firmly says: "Very good. Brave girl. What ever you two decide for the future, meet it with you head held high. Now, I have a dish in the over, that is about ready. Are you coming?"

I nod, not able to disappoint grandma Meghan, yet I dread the moment I have to face Sorley again. I wash my face with ice cold water to get rid of the red and then I flatten my dress and stand up. Maybe he won't even be there.

He is, but he eats his dinner with bended head. A few times grandma Meghan starts a conversation, but even though we obligingly reply to her questions, we don't speak to each other and after doing the dishes, we each go our separate ways.

---

Late at night, I knock on the front door, just before it's too late for it to be reasonable. Sorley's grandma is in the living room and looks up surprised when I enter.

"Hello, I'm sorry to bother you this late. I saw the light was still on. I ... I just wanted to let you know I called a taxi very early in the morning and you don't have to get up to wave goodbye. But I wanted to say thank you, because you've taken such good care of me and I'm gonna miss you."

She stands up with a resigned smile and opens her arms, for me to hide in her embrace. I manage to reign in my tears this time.

"Are you going to say goodbye to my stubborn grandson?"

I don't reply, but when she squeezes my face between her hands and looks at me with a stern expression, I weakly nod. Alright, I will say goodbye. Maybe not in the manner she means it, but a goodbye it will be.