Grip

If I were only able to grasp your hand, I would never let go.
If I could caress your cheek, then finally you'd know.
That no matter what, I'd always be here.
Loving you hopefully while you shedded a tear.
But then when I lost my grip, all would fall.
And I couldn't be loved after all.

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4. Chapter 3

It was my untold fairytale, Harry coming as often as he could, despite his busy schedule due to his occupation.

But it wasn't enough.

I was growing weaker, the doctor saying that I had only two days left. Two days left on the earth that I had hated for what it had done to me and my family but now had grown to love.

And all because of Harry.

Sweet, innocent Harry who shouldn't of got caught up in this; oblivious to the fact that I was on my death bed. Oblivious because of me. I told him I was getting better. I told him he didn't have to worry about me, that I would be fine. I told him not to visit for two days. But that wasn't going to be long enough.

I had a connection with Harry; an unbroken link - something that was to remain eternally. But now I was going to die, and he would be none the wiser until it was too late.

I've known him for years, the directioner fandom forcing that upon me. But he had only known me for a week - not even that! Six days as I folded my paper cranes.

He deserved to know; he deserved an apology; he deserved a goodbye.

It was then with a heavy heart, weighing me down surely to China, that I pressed the small red button beside me, which only reminded me of my position - how I needed help. I requested an urgent visit from Harry through the nurses. It was better he knew.

Sighing, I picked up the paper and began to fold my cranes. This particular piece of paper was a brilliant emerald green, bright orange vines twisting themselves around the small blue patterns. Then I began to fold, creasing each defined line as my paper grew into a chick before a great gallant bird.

Two more to go.

My next piece of paper was a dull maroon that still held as much life due to the sugar violet lilies that lined it's skin. It flexed it's willing corners before it was folded under the makers hand. Mine.

Only one more to go and Harry walked in.

He looked panicked - confused at being asked to return to my bed, even though I told him not too. It saddened me to see the oh too unambiguous worry lines that creased his forehead, much like my paper. He stared at me, wanting answers. Wanting to know. Wanting to say 'it'll be alright.'

All I granted him was a measly, "I'm sorry."

That only frightened him more, the lines becoming more visible as time went on.

"Say something, Soph. Please; tell me."

"I, I..." I stopped, lost for words again - unsure on what I was to do, to say. There was nothing but the blatant truth left. "I'm going to die, Harry."

"What? Sophia, no, we can fix this - I promise I - "

"The doctor says I have two days, Harry. This is it, it actually is the end."

"No, Sophia!" He replied, his volume increasing, "It can't be - I won't let it!"

"But, Harry, I - "

"No!" He cried out in desperation, a strangled cry. It was enough to reduce me to tears once again. "No, Sophia, you're not going to die. I'm going to do all I can to save you - everything has changed since I met you, everything is somehow brighter! I'm not going to let you die, Sophia, because I love you."

And then as our eyes met and our hands grasped each others in a tight grip, I whispered, "Until we meet again, Harry. Until we meet again."

Then I closed my eyes as I saw him fall, sobbing and my cranes laid still watching.

And I only had one to go.

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