Chapter 124: Dream

Lucca's pov

I was pushed out of the operating room after what felt like an eternity. As soon as I emerged, someone grasped my hand.

Vincent walked beside my hospital bed, and I could see the stubble on his jawline through my hazy vision.

The surgery had taken an incredibly long time, and I had fallen asleep long before reaching the hospital room.

Vincent's warm hand stayed with me as I drifted off to sleep.

"There was a dangerous moment during the surgery. I felt like she was almost at death's door at one point, and her eyes might have glimpsed the afterlife," tired healthcare workers discussed in the lounge.

Dr. Herlov's voice was both exhausted and exhilarated. He paced back and forth, hunched over, unable to stop moving.

"I can't understand why she held on in the end. It's nothing short of a miracle. I won't be able to replicate this level of success in any future surgery."

Gloria's eyes were teary as she tightly held the doctor's hand.

"This is everyone's result after such a long effort.

If there's a miracle, it's a miracle we've all collectively created."

Dr. Herlov shook his head and nodded, appearing confused but exceedingly excited. "I hope I can keep working until the day I perform surgery on another patient."

"Another patient" referred to Alice. She was too young, and the surgery risk was incredibly high.

The Institute believed it would be best to wait until she grew a bit older before considering it.

"Of course, you will," Gloria said joyfully, almost on the verge of tears.

Back in the hospital room, I slipped in and out of fitful sleep, often waking in pain – not the pain of my heart but the pain from the incision.

The anesthesia's effects were minimal, and I could hardly bear the agony.

The last time I experienced this kind of pain was during a cesarean section.

Vincent had been by my side for what felt like an unprecedented two months, including the time we spent traveling.

He hadn't made his "work" the primary focus during this period.

"Do you want to take a look at this?" Vincent handed a notebook to me.

I glanced at it briefly, a strange sense of absurdity welling up within me.

"My bucket list?" I asked, puzzled. "Why do you want me to look at this..."

Vincent explained patiently, "Once you're almost fully recovered, we'll start checking off the things on it that we haven't done yet."

His fingers traced the spine of the book, and there was a hint of anxiety in his silence. I sensed he was worried about my post-surgery recovery.

"I... had a dream," I said, taking the notebook from Vincent's hand.

My fingertips hesitated, and I anxiously tapped my fingernail against his. He didn't keep long nails; each finger was clean, slender, and gracefully poised.

Vincent's restless hand paused instantly.

"During the surgery? What was the dream?" he asked.

I couldn't quite articulate the dream. I furrowed my brow, staring at the words "bucket list" on the cover, which I had written myself.

Vincent slowly lifted his fingertips, interlocking them with mine. He watched my expression carefully, ready to let go at the slightest sign of discomfort.

But all I displayed was confusion, with no other discernible emotion.

"Is it a good thing or a bad thing?" Vincent patiently inquired.

I must have looked incredibly pale.

Even after the cesarean section, I hadn't felt this lost and disoriented. Back then, I had experienced much more intense pain.

Slowly, I regained my senses. "I don't know. I dreamt that the amendment was overturned."

I took my "bucket list" from Vincent. The words had caused him to stiffen slightly.

I paid no attention to his reaction as I flipped to the page that read, "Go to an amusement park with Alice." This item hadn't been crossed off, indicating it had never been fulfilled.

"Do you want to go?" Vincent noticed my focused gaze.

"No," I replied softly, "I won't insist."

I would go when the opportunity arose. Starting from the first page, I looked through the things I hadn't done yet.

After coming so close to death in such a vivid and prolonged way, my perspective on these "wishes" had changed significantly.

"Make lots of friends... it's not necessary," I crossed this out. "I should make true friends who truly understand me."

Learn to play a musical instrument. It wasn't necessary, and I wasn't particularly interested in music.

Stick to regular exercise. While it was a good habit, having a healthy heart didn't necessarily make me love it.

Write an autobiography. I had even less desire to do this one.

I deleted some and added others.

"Overturn that damned amendment."

"Help my 'students' get into college smoothly."

"Become a scientist like Gloria and help more underrepresented groups that aren't currently receiving attention."

Vincent watched as I wrote.

Vincent noticed a slight frown when he saw, "Overturn that damned amendment."

Then, he read the next sentence and realized that I might have been secretly teaching the black-haired children to read.

It was only natural for me to admire Gloria; she had been a pivotal influence on my decision to pursue a medical career.

What else did I want to do? Vincent had never harbored thoughts like these, wanting to understand someone's soul. I hadn't either.

I saw my soul for what felt like the first time. I remembered a long-forgotten, genuine "desire."

"I want to study hard and enter a field where merit, not race or background, determines one's standing, and I want to meet many like-minded people."

I recalled that, at the very beginning, before all the upheaval, before college, before giving birth to Alice, before meeting Vincent, when I was still a child, that's what I had wanted.

It could be said that it was my original intention.

I was glad to remember this after surviving a life-threatening experience.

"Can I make it happen?" I closed the notebook and asked, closing my eyes. I answered myself, "I can."

Vincent nodded in agreement when I couldn't see him.

Despite his reluctance to admit it, he truly hoped my dreams would come true.

"What did you dream about on the operating table?" he asked curiously.

"I dreamed that you proposed to me," I glanced at him, pulled up the blanket to cover myself, and continued, "I realized it was fake, so I woke up. In a way, you saved my life."

Vincent's expression didn't look too pleased. I couldn't tell if it was just a misconception, but my way of speaking seemed to be getting closer to his – there was a strange, almost mocking undertone.

Why hadn't he noticed that he could be so annoying when he spoke?

"Lucca?" Vincent raised his hand to my forehead.

I seemed to be falling asleep already, my breathing very steady.

Vincent leaned closer, being careful not to let his cold hair touch me. He whispered softly in my ear, "It will come true."

All your wishes, they will all come true.