I came to slowly, awareness seeping back bit by bit. The first thing I noticed was the pain. Everything hurt, but my throat felt particularly raw, as if I'd swallowed broken glass. I tried to swallow and immediately regretted it, wincing at the sharp ache.

For a moment, I wondered if I was dead. Surely, being dead wouldn't hurt this much? I forced my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. No, definitely not dead. Just in hospital, which some might argue was worse.

As my vision cleared, I took in my surroundings. The room was small and sterile, filled with the soft beeping of machines. I was hooked up to several of them, wires and tubes snaking from my body. The sight made me feel queasy, so I looked away.

I was about to drift off again when I heard voices coming from the corner of the room. Soft murmurs at first, but as I focused, they became clearer. I cracked my eyes open just enough to see without giving myself away.

Nathan and Dad were there, huddled near the window. They both looked awful. Nathan's eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying for ages. His usually neat hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions like he'd been running his hands through it non-stop.

Dad... oh, Dad. He looked old. Really old, not just the kind of old I'd always thought of him as. His shoulders were slumped, his face lined with worry.

He looked as dead as I felt.

They hadn't noticed I was awake. Part of me wanted to let them know, to reassure them I was okay.

Well, as okay as I could be, given the circumstances.

But something held me back. Maybe it was the serious looks on their faces, or the way they were talking in hushed tones. Whatever it was, I stayed still and listened.

"I can't stop thinking about that night," Nathan was saying, his voice rough. "When I got your call, John... I thought... I thought she'd died."

Dad put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "I know, son. It was touch and go for a while there."

Nathan shook his head, running a hand through his hair again. "I've never been so scared in my life. Seeing her like that, all pale and still... it made me realise how short life is, you know? How anything could happen at any moment."

I felt a pang in my chest that had nothing to do with my illness. Poor Nathan. I hated that I'd put him through that, put all of them through it. But it wasn't like I'd had much choice in the matter. Cancer doesn't exactly ask for permission before it ruins your life.

"She's a fighter, our Beth," Dad said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Always has been."

Nathan nodded, a small smile flickering across his face. "Yeah, she is." He paused, taking a deep breath. "John, I mean, Mr Reid, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's with the formality?"

"It's about Beth. And me. And... our future."

I held my breath, suddenly very aware that I probably shouldn't be hearing this conversation, so I closed my eyes.

It's not like I could exactly announce my presence now, could I? So I lay there, still as a statue, my heart pounding.

Nathan took another deep breath. "I love Beth. More than I've ever loved anyone. And I know we don't have... we don't have much time left." His voice cracked on the last word, and I felt tears pricking at my own eyes. "But I want to make the most of every second we have. I want to show her how much she means to me, how much I'll always love her."

Dad was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "What are you saying, Nathan?"

"I'm saying... I want to marry her. I know we're young, and I know our time together will be short, but I don't care. I want to be her husband, even if it's only for a few months. I want to give her that, to show her and the world how much I love her." Nathan's voice grew stronger as he spoke, more certain. "So I guess what I'm asking is... can I have your blessing to ask Beth to marry me?"

I almost gasped out loud. Marriage? Nathan wanted to marry me? Part of me wanted to jump up and shout "Yes!" right then and there. But another part of me, a smaller, more insidious part, whispered that it wasn't fair. That I couldn't do that to him, tie him to me when I was just going to leave him so soon.

Dad was quiet for a long time. So long that I was tempted to open my eyes again, to see what was happening. But just as I was about to, he spoke.

"Nathan," he said, "I couldn't ask for a better man for my daughter. You have my blessing, and my thanks for loving her so well."

I heard a choked sound that might have been a sob or a laugh from Nathan. "Thank you, Mr Reid. I promise I'll do right by her."

"I know you will, son. I know you will. Also, you don't need to be so formal, John is fine."

There was a moment of silence, and I imagined them hugging. I wanted to see it, to be part of it, but I knew I couldn't. These words weren't meant for me to hear, this moment wasn't meant for me to see. So I kept my eyes closed, my breathing steady.

It wasn't hard to pretend to be asleep. I was exhausted, bone-deep tired in a way I'd never experienced before. The kind of tired that seeps into your very soul. So I let myself drift, let the sounds of the hospital and the quiet murmurs of Dad and Nathan fade away.

As I hovered on the edge of sleep, I thought about what I'd heard. Nathan wanted to marry me. Me, with my broken body and my expiration date. Me, who couldn't promise him more than a few months of married life. Me, who would leave him a widower before he was even nineteen.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. I was seventeen years old. I should be planning my future, not counting down my remaining days. I should be thinking about building a life with Nathan, not worrying about leaving him behind.

But life isn't fair, is it? If it were, I wouldn't be lying in this hospital bed. I wouldn't have cancer eating away at me from the inside. I wouldn't have to watch my family suffer, wouldn't have to see the pain in Nathan's eyes every time he looked at me.

Part of me wanted to say no. To push Nathan away, to make him leave before he got hurt even more. It would be kinder in the long run, wouldn't it? To let him go now, to give him a chance to move on and find someone who could give him a full life, not just a few months of borrowed time.

But I knew I wouldn't. Because I was selfish, and because I loved him too much to let him go. And because, deep down, I knew he would never accept it. Nathan wasn't the kind of person to walk away when things got tough. He'd proven that time and time again since my diagnosis.

I remembered the day I found out. The doctor's solemn face, the words that didn't make sense at first. "Stage 4... terminal... six months, maybe a year with treatment." I'd felt like I was underwater, everything muffled and distant.

I'd pushed him away then, for a whole week. The worst week of my life.

I ignored his calls, his texts, the knocks on my door. I thought I was being noble, sparing him the pain of watching me die. But really, I was just scared. Terrified of letting him see me weak, of being a burden, of him realising what he was in for and leaving anyway.

But Nathan... he didn't give up.

After a week, we finally saw each other. He looked awful - dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess.

I started crying the moment I saw him, great heaving sobs that shook my whole body. And Nathan, bless him, he just wrapped his arms around me and held on tight.

And then we screamed. We screamed until our throats were raw, until we couldn't scream anymore.

From that day on, Nathan was there for everything. He came to most of my appointments, held my hand through the endless tests and scans. He even skipped lectures to sit with me during chemo, and to go on adventures.

I felt guilty about him missing college, tried to tell him to go. "Your education is important," I'd say. And he'd just look at me with those warm hazel eyes of his and say, "You're more important."

It wasn't easy. There were nights when I'd wake up terrified, convinced that this was it, that I wouldn't see another morning. But Nathan was always there on the other end of the phone, steady as a rock, holding me through the pain and the fear.

I don't know how he did it. How he managed to be so strong, so constant, when I felt like I was falling apart. But I'm grateful for it. More grateful than I could ever express.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And now he wanted to marry me. To tie himself to me permanently, knowing full well that "till death do us part" was coming sooner rather than later for us.

It was mad. Completely, utterly mad. And yet... and yet I wanted it. Wanted it so badly I could taste it. To be Nathan's wife, to have that connection, that commitment. To know that, no matter how short our time might be, we'd made the most of it.

I thought about what it might be like. A small wedding, probably. No time or energy for anything big. Just our closest family and friends. Maybe in our back garden, or perhaps the beach.

I imagined wearing a simple white dress, with some lace and a nice veil. Nathan in a suit, looking handsome and nervous. Mum crying, Dad trying not to. Meri as my flower girl, looking grown-up and beautiful.

It would be bittersweet, of course. Everything was bittersweet these days. But it would also be beautiful. A moment of pure happiness in the midst of all this pain and fear. A memory for Nathan to hold onto when I was gone.

Because I would be gone. Soon. That was the reality I lived with every day. Six months, the doctors had said. Six months if I was lucky. And I'd already used up two of those.

Four months. Four months to live a lifetime. To love Nathan, to be his wife. To make memories that would have to last him a lifetime. It wasn't enough. It could never be enough. But it was all we had.

I felt tears slipping down my cheeks and was glad my eyes were closed. I didn't want Nathan or Dad to see, to know I'd heard. This moment, this decision, it wasn't mine yet. It was Nathan's gift to give, and I would wait for him to offer it.

So I lay there, letting the tears fall silently, letting the enormity of it all wash over me. Love and fear and gratitude and anger all mixed up together, a cocktail of emotions too complex to untangle.

I must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing I knew, I was waking up for real. The room was darker, the only light coming from the monitors beside my bed. Nathan was asleep in the chair next to me, his hand resting on the bed near mine. Dad was gone, probably gone home to get some rest.

I looked at Nathan, really looked at him. He looked younger in his sleep, the worry lines smoothed away. His hair was a mess, his clothes rumpled. He'd probably been here for days, refusing to leave my side. My heart swelled with love for him, this wonderful, stubborn man who loved me despite everything.

I wanted to wake him, to tell him I'd heard, to say yes before he even asked. But I didn't. Because he deserved to do this his way, to have his moment. And because, selfishly, I wanted to hear him ask. Wanted to see the love in his eyes when he did.

So instead, I just watched him sleep. Memorised the curve of his cheek, the sweep of his eyelashes, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed. I stored it all away, another memory to add to my collection. Another moment to cherish in the time I had left.

And as I drifted off again, exhaustion pulling me under, I made a promise to myself. To live every day I had left to the fullest. To love Nathan with everything I had, whether as his girlfriend or his fiancée or his wife. To make sure he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, how much he meant to me.

Because in the end, that's all any of us can do, isn't it? Love fiercely, live fully, and hope that when we're gone, we've left something beautiful behind. And with Nathan by my side, I knew I would.