Dad came from behind and wrapped his arms around me gently as I sat hunched on the hard hospital stool.

  His chest pressed lightly against my back, and his palm found the top of my head, patting it the way he used to when I was little, like that would somehow shield me from the weight of the world.

  “He’ll be okay,” Dad said softly, his voice low and careful, like he didn’t want to startle me.

“Nothing serious happened. The doctor said he’s stable. A concussion… a few stitches. But no internal injuries.”

  Stable. The word barely made a dent in the panic swirling inside me.

  “You stay here with him,” Dad added, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll handle the medical formalities.”

  I just nodded, unable to speak, afraid my voice would crack wide open.

  Dad gave me a final pat and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distant clatter of hospital corridors.

  And then, it was just me.

  Me and Alax.

  I slowly turned toward the bed, my eyes falling on the pale figure lying there, wires taped to his chest, a drip in his arm, his head wrapped in clean white gauze.

  It was like seeing someone I knew inside a body I didn’t recognize.

  A few hours ago, he was teasing me over coffee, laughing mid-bite, confessing things with a nervous twitch in his fingers.

  Now, he looked so still.

  Too still.

  I stood up, each step toward the bed feeling heavier than the last.

  I stopped at the edge, my hand trembling as I reached out to gently brush the hair off his forehead.

  His skin was cold, not icy, but cold enough to remind me this wasn’t a dream.

  Leaning forward, I pressed my lips gently to his forehead.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  A tear slid from the corner of my eye, landing silently on the bridge of his nose.

  I quickly wiped it away with my fingers, not wanting to leave even a trace of my panic on him.

  That’s when I saw it,

  A long, angry scratch running from the corner of his cheekbone toward his ear. The skin around it was bruised, darkening with every minute.

  Evening came. The hallway lights dimmed. My father and his team had long gone, but he left a few guards with me.

  I stayed.  

 Hours passed. Four, maybe more. I didn’t check.

  Then, finally,

  “Mom…”

  His voice, soft and broken, made my heart leap.

  I leaned close. “You’re awake.”

  He blinked slowly. “Are you okay?”

  Tears filled my eyes again. “Me? Are you crazy? You’re the one who almost died!”

  He gave a painful little laugh. “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not. Your face is bandaged. Your arm’s in a cast. You,”

  “Still handsome, though?” he asked, grinning weakly.

  I stared at him, stunned. “Are you… crazy?”

  He nodded slowly. “Hmm.”

  I helped him sit up, adjusting the bed with a gentle hand. Once he was settled, I took his hand again, carefully.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say that.”

  He slipped his fingers to my cheek, wiping away a tear.

  “You’re okay… and that’s enough for me.”

  He pulled me into a one-armed hug. I sank into it, careful not to hurt him.

  He patted my head gently, and I cried quietly into his shoulder.

  Then he whispered, “Ouch…”

  I jumped back. “Did I hurt you?”

  He smirked. “Maybe.”

  “You liar.”

  But I smiled. For the first time that day, I smiled.

“Did you cry a lot?” he asked, his voice soft, eyes filled with worry as they searched my face.

  My hand was still wrapped around his. I gave a small shrug.

  “Not that much… just a few tears,” I said, very clearly lying.

  He studied me for a second. “Your eyes are swollen.”

  I touched under my eyes quickly. “They’re not,” I mumbled.

  “They’re red too,” he added with a small, teasing smile.

  “Okay, fine,” I sighed. “Yeah, I cried. I was worried. I thought… I thought I lost you.”

  The words barely made it out before fresh tears spilled down my cheeks again.

  He lifted his hand and gently placed it on my shoulder.  

 “Please don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m not feeling great about being the reason behind your puffy face.”

  “I won’t cry,” I said… while still crying.

  He smiled. “Liar.”

My comfort note

Dear comfort note,

I am not feeling good.

Alax was hurt badly, and even though it’s been three days since the accident, the guilt hasn’t left me. It’s sitting heavy in my chest, like a weight I can’t drop.

We both lost our phones in the crash. For a while, I didn’t even know how to reach his parents. And to be honest, I was scared. Terrified. How was I supposed to tell them? What words could possibly explain what happened?

But somehow, I dialed his dad’s number. I don’t even remember what I said, just that I kept apologizing over and over. He didn’t say much. Just walked into the hospital quietly, patted my head gently, and told me not to worry. But how could I not?

Seeing Alax with those bruises… it killed me.

I visited the hospital every day. I didn’t miss a single one. I skipped college. I’ve been staying at my father’s house, but he’s barely ever home. I haven’t seen Nora, David, or even Aunt. Not since the accident.

I don’t want to see anyone.

I don’t want to talk.

If anything more serious had happened to him… I don’t think I would’ve ever forgiven myself. Not in this lifetime.

Not ever.