I'd been there a week when the consultant called us into her room. Gently she explained that I was paralysed from the waist down. It broke my heart when Will asked if I wanted to leave him. Although our lives are now on a totally different track, I don't have the slightest doubt that we'll be together for ever. Finally I found him in a room, surrounded by doctors and nurses. I had to take a taxi across town to another hospital and plead for blood, which I carried back in a plastic pouch. My mother and Will's father flew out to support me and, finally, after almost two weeks, Will was well enough to be flown home.
How could he possibly imagine I'd love him any less because he can't walk? To me he's the same Will - good humoured, charming and fun loving. A passerby called an ambulance and I saw Will taken away on a stretcher. He was bright yellow from the shock of his injuries, covered in blood and completely delirious. But it was just the beginning of his long path to recovery.
Will Pike and girlfriend Kelly Doyle were dressing for dinner at the famous Taj Hotel in Mumbai in November 2008 when terrorists stormed the building.
Fearing for their lives, the couple, both freelance film-makers from London, decided to flee - with devastating consequences. I've got a fantastic girlfriend I'll be with for ever, wonderful friends, a terrific family and a great career.
But, while I'm determined to make the most of my 30s, my life is totally different to what I expected.
We crept around the room, desperately looking for a hiding place. We were together and that gave us the most enormous comfort. I flew home on a stretcher in the economy class section of an Air India passenger plane, surrounded by stunned holidaymakers. Surgeons at London's University College Hospital had to start painstakingly rebuilding my shattered body. I knew she'd feel it her duty to stick by me, so I begged her to leave and get on with her life. Every day brings new challenges which we deal with together. Tessa Jowell, the minister in charge of helping terrorist victims, has told us she'd like to change things.
At least we stood a fighting chance of getting out safely and - if the very worst happened - we would die together. My left wrist was so badly damaged, they feared I might never be able to move it again. I finally left hospital in July - almost eight months after the attack. Being confined to a wheelchair and unable to walk are just the tip of the ice berg. But so far nothing has happened despite all our lobbying.
Within minutes of that first gunshot, Will worked out what was happening and what we should do. I was petrified and I knew he must be, too, but somehow he maintained this incredible air of calm which kept me going. I watched his face drop and I just wanted to hug him and make it alright.
As the hours dragged on we became more and more frightened. We went out into the snow-covered car park and bawled our eyes out.If anyone asks, we explain that Will was caught up in a terrorist incident abroad. We try not to talk about it, although I have very vivid dreams some nights when I wake up petrified. But I feel very angry that Will has been forgotten. He suffers every single day for something that was not his fault. We originally met at work and had been living together for just ten months when we went to India. We got such joy from each tiny milestone - like the first time he sat up unaided. Watching him eat his first Big Mac was so trivial but utterly magical. I just hoped he would totally recover, although as the weeks passed I began to worry.After dating for almost two years we knew each other well but not inside out. I still couldn't see Will and I didn't know whether I should jump, too. Discovering he would never walk again was a killer blow.We heard explosions and realised fire was ripping through the building. Watching him teetering on the edge, I was petrified for him. Then seconds later I saw it unfurl and Will was crashing to the ground. He was moved into a room with other spinal patients, mostly young men like him who'd been injured in car accidents.