“I smelled rain,” he said quietly. “The earth… wet soil… my father’s hands… the farm where I grew up… before everything changed.”
His eyes filled with something distant, something fragile.
“It felt like… someone was calling me back.”
The hospital searched for the girl.
At first, they couldn’t find her. She had disappeared back into the invisible spaces she came from.
But Jonathan insisted.
“Find her,” he said. “Please.”
And eventually, they did.
When Lila was brought back, she stood at the doorway, head lowered, hands clasped tightly together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
Jonathan looked at her for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he lifted his hand—still weak, still trembling—and reached out toward her.
“You didn’t cause trouble,” he said softly.
His voice carried something deeper than gratitude.
“You reminded me I was still here.”
Lila looked up, confused.
“Everyone else treated me like I was already gone,” he continued. “Like I was just… a body. But you talked to me like I still belonged.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I just thought you were lonely,” she said quietly.
Jonathan smiled—a small, fragile smile, but real.
“I was,” he said.