A month later, the boy, who had been in a coma since the accident, finally woke up. The doctors and nurses were stunned. He had been in such a dire condition that they weren’t sure he’d survive. But somehow, he did.
Three days had passed since I last used the wheelchair, and each day, I grew stronger. I began to walk again, though Doctor Mark reminded me to take it slow and not push myself too hard. His words echoed in my mind with every step I took, reminding me to be kind to my body as it healed. It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and I felt a gentle pull toward the hospital’s garden playground.
It was an enchanting place—lush with flowers and tall trees, almost like a secret garden hidden in the heart of the hospital. I often found solace on the bench there, watching the children play.
The laughter of the kids was like music to my ears, their joy infectious. Just seeing their carefree smiles made me feel lighter, as though all the burdens I carried vanished for a while.
Watching them, I could almost forget the trauma, the accident, the pain that lingered in the corners of my mind. It was as if the world stood still for a moment, offering me peace. I felt incredibly grateful that my memory remained intact, that I hadn’t lost it even in the chaos of that horrific accident.
As I sat there, a soft breeze rustling the leaves, my gaze wandered to a figure sitting in a wheelchair. He was watching me intently, his eyes studying me from a distance. There was something about the way he looked that piqued my curiosity. He had been talking to a bodyguard, but when someone approached them, the two of them stood and left.
The next morning, I woke with a start, drenched in sweat from a nightmare that clung to me like a shadow. It was still early—five o'clock—and the rest of the world was asleep. I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling, so I decided to step outside, seeking the cool embrace of the morning air. The playground was deserted, the silence wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. I sat on the bench, letting my eyes wander up to the sky, waiting for the first rays of sunlight to break through. There was something soothing about the stillness—the calm before the sun's light. It felt like the universe was giving me a moment to heal, to breathe.
I took out my phone, scrolling through photos of my mom, each picture a memory I held dear. I didn’t notice the tears until they fell, blurring the screen. I quickly wiped them away, glancing up at the sky, where the first golden streaks of sunlight began to paint the horizon. I smiled softly, knowing I was still here, still fighting.
“I’m okay,” I whispered to myself before heading inside to wash my hair. It had been too long since I’d taken the time for myself.
"Miss Lingzhi... are you alright?" A voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned to see Nurse Lea, her warm smile greeting me.
"Yes, I’m fine, Nurse Lea," I said, offering a small but genuine smile.
"Would you like some help? Maybe I can assist with something."
“Could you?” I asked shyly, grateful for her kindness.
She smiled and helped me wash and dry my hair, her hands gentle and sure. When she was done, I thanked her, and she excused herself to check on the other patients.
