For a moment, she just sat there, listening to the steady beep of the monitor. It sounded so cold… so distant.
Then she reached into her pocket.
Inside, she had a handful of wet earth—dark, soft, still carrying the smell of rain. She had scooped it up outside without really thinking, the way she used to when she was younger, when the world felt simpler.
Slowly, carefully, she rubbed the mud onto her fingers.
Then onto her face.
Across her cheeks. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose.
“Don’t be mad,” she murmured, glancing at him as if he might answer. “My grandma used to say the earth remembers us… even when people forget.”
Her small hand hovered for a second.
Then she gently touched his.
It was cold. Still.
But she didn’t pull away.
“You’re not gone,” she whispered. “You just forgot how to come back.”
At that exact moment, the door burst open.
“HEY! What are you doing?!”
A nurse stood frozen in the doorway, horror spreading across her face.
Within seconds, chaos followed.
Security rushed in. Voices rose. Lila jumped back, terrified, her hands trembling as they grabbed her.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—” she cried, tears mixing with the mud on her face.