Chapter 207

At first, Cynthia thought she was imagining things. But as she ran closer, she realized it was a person lying face down on the shore. She didn't know if he was alive or dead.

She dashed toward the figure, but slowed as she drew near. The figure was all too familiar.

Her heart pounded. She prayed it wasn't Jonathan, but the figure looked exactly like him. She'd rather believe it was a hallucination brought on by missing him so much. People washed up by the waves rarely survived; she didn't want to find him like this.

She got closer, stopping about ten meters away. She was almost certain: it was Jonathan, part of his body still in the water. She couldn't understand why he was there. "Did he fall into the sea?" she wondered. "But why? And worst of all, is he still alive?"

Fear gripped her, but only for a moment. Cynthia forced herself forward and flipped him over. His pale, lifeless face sent a chill through her.

Jonathan's skin was ice-cold. Desperately, she placed a trembling finger under his nose, searching for a breath. Nothing. No sign of life.

The world seemed to collapse. She slapped his face, calling his name. "Jonathan, wake up! Please, wake up!" Grasping at straws, she began CPR, pressing on his chest, pinching his nose, and breathing into his lungs. She knew the odds were slim; if more than ten minutes had passed since he stopped breathing, survival was unlikely.

"Wake up, Jonathan, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably as she continued chest compressions. She'd never felt such fear. Terror and helplessness filled her mind.

As minutes ticked by, fear devoured her hope. Her hands cramped from the exertion. The grim reality set in: death had claimed him. Jonathan wasn't coming back.

Finally, she broke. She collapsed onto his chest, sobbing and clinging to him. "Jonathan, wake up… please, just wake up," she whispered, her head on his chest. "If you do, I'll promise you anything."

She felt the weight of life's emptiness. If he was gone, what meaning was there?

"Really? You can promise me anything?"

The voice was so faint, it could have been her imagination. Cynthia froze, forgetting to cry. She quickly lifted her head.

Jonathan's eyes were open; a hint of color returned to his pale face. He looked fragile, his voice a murmur, but he managed to say, "Then marry me. Will you?"

Tears streamed down Cynthia's face as she collapsed onto the sand, crying like a child. She hadn't cried so freely in years. Even if the earth split open, she wouldn't have cared.

Even drained of strength, Jonathan struggled to sit up, comforting her. "All right, all right, please don't cry. The ocean didn't take me, but I might drown in your tears if you keep this up."

Cynthia threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. They clung to each other.

By evening, they calmed down. Cynthia asked, "So… what happened?"

Jonathan explained everything. After she'd disappeared into the ocean, he'd been flying a helicopter through the storm, searching for her. The typhoon had pulled him into the ocean; he'd drifted for what felt like forever. He vaguely remembered someone rescuing him, spending days asleep on a yacht, being fed. But when he woke, he was alone on the shore. The whole experience felt unreal, like a dream.

Cynthia listened, astounded. She'd glimpsed strange flickering lights while drifting in the sea. She wondered if their reunion was more than chance. Whatever the reason, meeting again, alive, was a miracle.

She led him to her bamboo cabin. He gaped at the two-story structure with an attic. "You… built this?"

Cynthia nodded. "Had to keep busy on this island, or I would have gone crazy."

Jonathan was amazed. "Who taught you these skills?"

Cynthia shrugged, smiling. "An old, stubborn soul."

Jonathan felt that Cynthia's past was a mystery, but it intrigued him.

Inside, Jonathan lay on the cool bamboo floor. He patted the spot beside him, and Cynthia settled down. He turned, wrapping his arms around her.

Drifting on the open sea, the time had felt endless, every second agony as he failed to find her. Flying the helicopter had become a desperate, hopeless act. He'd prepared himself to find her lifeless body. He wasn't sure if his crash was from the typhoon or despair.

He remembered a vision of five-year-old Cynthia waving to him from a tree, pigtails and lollipop in her mouth. It was one of his last memories before the world went black.

Now, feeling her warmth, real and alive, Jonathan wept.