Chapter 78

For once, a night without dreams.

Perhaps it was due to her long-standing sleep deprivation, or perhaps because of last night's uninhibited pleasures, but Georgiana slept in the next morning, only vaguely sensing Michael kissing her cheek as he left.

Georgiana didn't wake until eleven, hazily coming to consciousness. With her eyes still closed, she frowned slightly, feeling a tender soreness below. She lingered for a moment, not fully alert, slowly stretching her limbs and burrowing into the comforter. His scent was everywhere on the bed.

She gradually opened her eyes. Through the gap in the curtains, daylight streamed brightly.

She stared absently for a while, then unconsciously nuzzled her cheek against the covers, her lips curving into a slight smile.

Supporting herself on her aching waist, she sat up. On the nightstand, a note rested under his hearing aid. It was Michael's handwriting: "There's bread, eggs, and warm milk in the kitchen."

She shuffled to the kitchen in her fluffy rabbit slippers, moving slowly. For the past six months, her appetite had been poor—she often skipped breakfast, which had led to a bout of gastritis. The feeling of having someone prepare breakfast for her warmed Georgiana's heart.

After finishing her meal, Georgiana washed the dishes, then did some light cleaning around the apartment. She laundered the sheets and bedding, made everything neat, and then gathered her things to leave.

A key hung from the doorknob—left for her. Georgiana took it and placed it in her bag.

Georgiana visited Dr. Peterson at the hospital. Her condition had improved somewhat recently; her body and mind had adapted well since the last reduction in medication, so the doctor decreased her dosage again.

"However," the doctor cautioned, "even though there's improvement, you still need to be vigilant. Don't put pressure on yourself when facing troubles in life, and don't let your condition fluctuate and worsen again."

"I understand," Georgiana said. "I'll be careful and contact you if needed."

When the doctor learned she had resigned, he remarked, "See? I told you before that you needed some time off."

Georgiana replied, "I'm used to staying busy. It's only been a short while since I resigned, and I'm already feeling anxious from boredom."

"Then you should find something to do. Being idle all day makes it easy to overthink and develop negative emotions."

"Don't worry," Georgiana assured him. "I never planned to rest indefinitely."

She had been mentally preparing herself for quite some time and felt ready to start conceptualizing her "Syria Diary." Additionally, she planned to take on some freelance work—both to support herself financially and to practice for her future return as an independent journalist.

In the afternoon, on her way home, Georgiana stopped at Walmart to buy several fish, intending to prepare a pan-fried fish fillet for Michael.

She was beginning to feel like the lady of the house.

In good spirits, she collected the garbage around the apartment and threw away all the antidepressant packaging, carefully hiding the boxes.

There was no need to tell him about her improving condition—it would only cause unnecessary worry.

After disposing of the trash downstairs, she made herself a cup of lemon tea and opened her laptop to check emails. Among them were commissioning requests from domestic and foreign media outlets, as well as pleas to expose and reveal various hot-button issues.

Georgiana understood her strengths clearly, and even more so her weaknesses. She wasn't suited for the swirling vortex of public opinion, nor for advocating or leading causes. She only needed to do what she did best—simple documentation and presentation.

One invitation in her inbox caught her attention, from the National Military Channel. Due to the positive reception of the news documentary footage Georgiana had shot for the peacekeeping forces last year, they were now producing a documentary series on notable military figures and thought of Georgiana. They hoped she would be interested in participating in their proposal competition.

It was a selection process—chosen journalists would join their planning and directing team to help document and film twelve distinguished military personalities. The attachment included profile information on the subjects. The submission deadline was in ten days.

Georgiana was very interested and immediately replied that she would send a proposal soon.

After responding to the email, she stretched energetically, planning to start working on her proposal right away. As she extended her legs, her foot hit something.

A large cardboard box sat beneath the desk, quite heavy. Georgiana pulled it out and saw it was filled with papers covered in dense circuit diagrams and various physics and chemistry formulas. She flipped through them casually—there must have been thousands of pages.

Georgiana suddenly recalled the photos she had seen at Michael's family home, remembering his focused, determined expression as he defused various simulated bombs in his military uniform.

If his hearing never fully recovered, she couldn't imagine what that would mean for him.

Lost in thought, she suddenly heard the door opening. She pushed the box back and ran to greet him: "Michael!"

But upon seeing him, her face flushed red. Michael closed the door behind him and turned with a smile. "Been home all day?"

"I went out and came back already." He looked up and noticed the bedsheets hanging on the balcony, a thin layer gently swaying in the sunlight, warm like everything that had happened last night.

He glanced at her, momentarily speechless, both of their faces showing slight embarrassment. Her face reddened further as she hastily focused on his hands. He was carrying several large plastic bags.

"I bought you some food," he said, changing his shoes before entering and placing the bags on the dining table.

Georgiana peeked inside—cherries, strawberries, oranges—all the fruits she had chosen during their visit to his home, all her favorites.

Georgiana suddenly slapped her forehead. "I bought fish for you! Let me make you some pan-fried fillets!"

Michael smiled and said "Sounds good" as he went to the bathroom to wash his hands. His phone remained on the table, still unlocked.

Georgiana glanced at it—a news video from Syria was playing. The caption said that fighting in Damascus had caused hundreds of civilian casualties.

When they had reunited in Damascus last year, it had still been a safe haven; but it too had quickly fallen into war.

"The situation in Syria doesn't seem to be improving?" Georgiana asked.

"The opposition forces are faltering, but the extremist organizations aren't," Michael's voice came from the bathroom. "Now, other countries are only helping to fight the opposition, not directly confronting the extremist groups."

After all, that would be inviting trouble. No one wanted to bring terrorist attacks to their own soil.

Georgiana had already begun working on the fish fillets, with Michael helping in the kitchen.

As she worked, she asked, "Did you go to your unit today?"

"Yes."

"Is everything arranged?"

"Classes start tomorrow."

"Will you be rejoining your unit completely? Can you come home?"

"I can. I'm only an assistant instructor now, not training with the squad." Michael wiped his hands with a towel.

Georgiana smiled. "You're not wearing your hearing aid today."

"The doctor says it will gradually improve," Georgiana asked further. "Do you still have tinnitus?"

He exhaled deeply. "That remains to be seen."

The job wasn't easy. Colonel Henry not only required him to prepare teaching materials and resources for classes but also assigned him additional high-difficulty simulated explosion and bomb disposal tasks.

Michael understood that Henry was giving him private lessons, so he was particularly diligent in his studies, working alongside Henry to solve several extremely challenging explosion designs and bomb disposal scenarios.

Since returning to his unit, his mental state had improved significantly, and his physical fitness hadn't declined. At night, he could even do push-ups at home with Georgiana lying on his back.

At first, Georgiana was hesitant to climb on, worried she might "crush" him.

Michael found this amusing. Positioned in a plank, he looked up at her. "Haven't you experienced my stamina?"

Georgiana's face instantly turned crimson. She glared at him, then without another word walked over and lay on his back, deliberately pressing down hard. But he supported her as easily as if she were a child, steadily doing push-ups. She held onto him, feeling the strength of his muscles, rising and falling with his movements, giggling uncontrollably.

Her breath tickled his ear, prompting him to say, "Keep laughing and I'll have to pin you underneath me instead."

She held on tighter. "Then I won't laugh."

And he continued with his push-ups.