Liam sat in the hospital waiting room, his hands clenched tightly together, nails digging into his palms, but he didn't feel the pain. Not that pain. That was easy to ignore compared to the crushing weight pressing down on his chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe.
The sterile smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of cheap coffee from the vending machine in the corner. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a cold, pale glow across the empty rows of plastic chairs. Aside from the low hum of the lights and the distant beeping of machines down the hall, the only sound was the steady ticking of the wall clock, each second dragging longer than the last.
It had been hours since the ambulance had arrived with Emma. Hours since the paramedics had rushed her inside, leaving Liam with only a blood-stained memory of her limp body on the stretcher. Hours of silence, of waiting. Hours of imagining the worst.
He had replayed the scene over and over in his mind until it blurred into something surreal, Emma's laughter moments before the crash, the screech of tires, the blinding headlights, the deafening impact. Then nothing but chaos.
His phone lay untouched beside him on the seat, a dozen missed calls and messages piling up, but he couldn't bring himself to look. There was nothing anyone could say that would make this easier.
The door to the waiting room creaked open.
A man in scrubs entered, middle-aged, tired eyes behind thin-framed glasses, a clipboard in one hand. His face carried the solemn weight of someone who had delivered far too much bad news in one lifetime.
Doctor: Are you here for Emma Walker?
Liam sprang to his feet, heart lurching in his chest.
Liam: Yes! Yes, I am. How is she? Is she okay? Please... tell me she's okay.
The doctor exhaled slowly, glancing down at the chart before lifting his eyes to meet Liam's. There was a pause, brief but long enough to tighten the knot in Liam's stomach.
Doctor: She's alive... but it's serious. The impact from the truck caused severe head trauma. She's in a coma. Right now, we're not sure when—or if—she'll wake up.
The words hit Liam like a punch to the gut. She's alive... but. That single word cracked everything.
His vision blurred.
The blood drained from his face. The floor beneath him seemed to tilt and vanish as his knees buckled. He collapsed back into the stiff plastic chair, his limbs numb, his thoughts scattering like broken glass. He stared ahead, not seeing anything at all.
Coma.
The word echoed in his mind like a scream in a canyon, bouncing back at him over and over. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run into the room and beg her to wake up. But all he could do was sit there, frozen, as the cold reality settled around him.
Emma, the girl with the warmest smile, the loudest laugh, the one who made the world brighter just by being in it—was now lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and no one could say if she'd ever come back.
And Liam… Liam had never felt so helpless in his life.
*****
A week later…
Liam visited the hospital every single day. It didn't matter if it was raining, snowing, or if he hadn't slept the night before, he showed up.
He would sit beside Emma's bed, sometimes for hours at a time, barely moving, just watching her face. He memorized every detail, the curve of her eyelashes, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way the light from the window would catch the ends of her hair. If he focused hard enough, it was almost like nothing had changed. She looked peaceful. Almost serene. Like she had simply drifted off for a nap and would wake up any minute with a yawn and a teasing smile.
But Liam knew better.
The doctors had tried to sound hopeful at first, but over time, their words had grown colder, more clinical. They began to use terms like "low brain activity" and "non-responsive." Then came the one that shattered him most—"vegetative state."
To them, Emma was now a body that breathed and existed, but no longer lived. To Liam, she was still Emma, the girl who made every day brighter, who believed in him when no one else did, who once told him, "We're a two-part song, Liam. One piece doesn't work without the other."
He clutched her hand gently, his fingers brushing the back of hers as if he could warm her back to life.
Liam: (softly, voice cracking) You promised me the second part… remember?
His voice trembled, raw and filled with desperation. His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel her, to make sure she was real and not a dream.
Liam: I… I didn't play at the winter event. I couldn't. I ran. I froze up, and I thought… I thought maybe if I found you, you'd remind me to be brave again. You always knew what to say. You were supposed to be there, Emma. You were supposed to smile at me from the crowd and remind me that I'm not alone.
His words hit the still air like stones thrown into a silent pond, rippling into nothing.
Liam: (barely above a whisper) But I failed. I couldn't keep going without you.
Tears brimmed in his eyes, spilling over as he stared at her expressionless face. The hospital room, cold and sterile, felt like a prison. The machines beeped rhythmically, each one a cruel reminder that she was here, but unreachable. Present, but absent.
Liam: (whispering, nearly breaking) Please… please wake up. I need you. You promised you'd be there for me.
But there was no answer. No twitch of a finger, no flutter of her eyes.
Just the quiet hum of machinery and the weight of silence pressing down on him like a stormcloud that refused to lift.
That was the day Liam changed.
He didn't say goodbye. He just stood, walked out of the hospital, and something inside him went quiet.
He stopped playing piano. The music that once flowed from his fingers now felt hollow and every key reminded him of her voice, her laughter, the song they never got to finish.
He vanished from his social world. Deleted every photo, every video, every trace of who he used to be. His phone gathered dust. Messages piled up unanswered. Friends knocked, called, waited. But Liam didn't want to be found.
The world lost its color.
Everywhere he went, he saw ghosts of their memories—
The bench at the park where they used to watch the sun set.
The music store where she'd hum along with the piano demos.
The coffee shop where she'd order something loaded with whipped cream and syrup, only to pout and say, "Still not sweet enough."
And every time he saw those places, it felt like a knife twisting deeper.
Liam: (to himself, in a cracked whisper) Why her? Why not me? It should've been me…
That question haunted him more than anything else. It played on repeat in his mind, never giving him peace. He thought back to that night, the panic, the way he had run off, the way she had come looking for him.
If he hadn't left… If he had just stayed… If she hadn't been trying to find him… She wouldn't have been crossing that street and she wouldn't have been hit.
His guilt became a shadow that clung to him, whispering that he was to blame. The weight grew heavier with each passing day, until it became unbearable.
And when the silence inside him grew louder than any scream, the darkness finally took over. The same darkness that pushed him to step in front of that truck weeks later.
****
Liam's body jerked violently, his lungs suddenly gasping for air as if he were being dragged out of deep, dark waters. But instead of drowning, it was the jarring rush of life that filled his chest. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the harsh, sterile white light of a hospital room. The brightness stabbed at his vision like needles, forcing him to groan and turn his head slightly.
His head pounded. Every heartbeat was a throb behind his eyes. His body felt foreign, distant, like it had been through a war he barely remembered. His limbs ached as though they had carried the weight of a thousand regrets. A sharp, pulsing pain radiated through his chest.
Liam: What… happened…?
His voice came out dry and cracked, barely more than a whisper. He blinked again, the blur of shapes around him beginning to take form: the pale blue curtain pulled halfway, the IV tube connected to his wrist, the slow beep of the heart monitor beside him. And then, to his left, he saw a figure.
Seated beside his bed… was John.
Their eyes met. John looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. His face was bruised and battered, a white bandage stretched awkwardly over his nose. Despite the mess he was in, there was a glimmer of relief in his expression.
Liam: You?
John gave a small, tired nod and wiped a hand over his face, careful not to disturb the bandage too much.
John: Yeah… it's me. You're awake. Good to see that, man.
Liam's mind was still swimming in confusion. The past few hours… or had it been days?... flashed through his mind in a whirlwind of broken images.
The icy river, the crushing cold and the darkness. He remembered the weight of despair, the moment he thought it would all finally end. But something… someone had stopped him.
Liam: I… I tried to…
John interrupted gently, his voice steady but soft.
John: Yeah. I know. You almost… You almost didn't make it. You're lucky I knew how to swim, or you'd be in serious trouble. But you're here now. You're alive. And that's what matters.
Liam swallowed hard, his throat dry. The weight of everything he had tried to leave behind now came crashing down on him all at once. He turned his head slightly to look at John again, and that's when he noticed it, something behind John's calm tone. A flicker of guilt in his eyes.
Liam: You… you followed me. You chased me, didn't you?
John's face softened, and a small, sincere smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
John: Of course I did. You think I'd just let you throw your life away like that? Not after what I saw you searching up in class.
Liam: So you did see it…
John: Yeah.
Silence lingered between them for a few moments. The kind that was heavy but not unwelcome. John turned his eyes toward the hospital mirror, adjusting slightly to examine the state of his nose. Meanwhile, Liam stared at the ceiling.
Liam: Sorry about your nose.
John: (shrugging) Ah, no worries. It's only a minor break. Hurts like hell, but the doctor said 2-4 weeks and I should be back to my usual handsome self. You just owe me dinner, that's all.
Liam: Huh?
John: You heard me. And while you're at it, you owe me an explanation too. Why did you try to end yourself?
At the word "____" Liam's expression darkened. His eyes became distant again, haunted. The pain from last December slowly rose to the surface like an old wound being reopened. John saw the look and softened his stance.
John: Or… I mean… you don't have to talk about it. Not now. Not today, even.
Liam: (shaky breath) No. I'll talk… I'll talk.
And he did.
Liam began recounting everything, from the day he met Emma, to how her laughter once brought color to his otherwise dull world, to the fateful night of December 24th when everything went horribly wrong. The night that ended with her in a coma… the night that shattered him.
Tears streamed down Liam's cheeks as he spoke, his voice breaking again and again. And John… John said nothing. He sat quietly, listening. Every word felt like a gut punch, but John didn't flinch. He just listened. And as he did, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu crawling up his spine.
Liam: I… I didn't think I could do it anymore. After what happened, I just…
John reached over and placed a hand on Liam's shoulder. His grip was firm, warm, reassuring.
John: And so you thought ending it all would be easier?
Liam: Yeah… I'm not proud of it. In fact, the second I started drowning, I regretted it. I panicked. I was terrified. I… I'm so worthless, man.
John leaned back, closing his eyes for a second. That déjà vu became clearer. He could still remember that night Kana had told him her own story. Her own pain. Her own attempt. How she had been abandoned by her family and left to rot in a hospital bed with no one by her side. And somehow… that memory gave him an idea.
John: To be honest, I can't tell you that I understand what you're going through. And I definitely don't know the right words to say. Hell, I probably suck at this kind of thing.
Liam: Oh…
John: But… I think I know someone who can say those right words. Someone who's been where you are.
Liam: What do you mean?
John turned to the desk beside the bed, grabbed a pen, and scribbled something on a small notepad. He tore the page out and handed it to Liam, who struggled to sit up and take it.
Liam: Uh… I'm not on Twibbler anymore.
John: Then get back on. I'm serious, Liam. You owe me that much after I jumped into a damn freezing river to save your sorry ass.
Liam: (muttering) Is he just going to keep adding to that list…?
John: And about your phone, it was soaked. I pulled it out of your pocket and dropped it in a bowl of rice. It should be working again by tomorrow.
Liam: That actually works?
John: Yeah, man. Saved my life more times than I care to admit.
Suddenly, Liam frowned.
Liam: Wait… what about my backpack?
John: (awkwardly scratching his head) Oh. Yeah… when I swam out to save you, I had to let it go. It was too heavy.
Liam: (cartoonishly shocked) So it's at the bottom of the river?!
John: (trying not to laugh) Yup… a fitting sacrifice for your survival, don't you think?
A short silence followed, awkward but strangely comfortable. Then John stood, stretching his sore back.
John: Well… I gotta head out.
Liam: Oh, okay…
John: But don't forget to text me. I'm serious, I want to help.
Liam nodded slowly.
Liam: Yeah… okay.
Then something else occurred to him.
Liam: Hey…
John: What's up?
Liam looked down, unable to meet John's gaze.
Liam: Please don't tell anyone. Especially my mom. Please…
John was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled faintly.
John: You don't have to worry. I told them you fell off the bridge by accident. Said I lost my balance trying to grab you and ended up breaking my nose in the process.
Liam: They believed that?
John: Yeah. But I didn't tell them the truth because… well, I don't think it's my place. That's your story to tell. When you're ready.
Liam stared at him, stunned. Then, quietly:
Liam: Thank you. For everything. Really…
John: (waving it off) Yeah, yeah, enough with the flattery. Just get back on Twibbler and text me.
Liam: Sure…
John smirked despite his busted face and gave Liam a quick wave as he headed toward the door.
John: See you around.
Liam: (quietly) Yeah… see ya…
And just like that, John walked into the hallway. He moved slowly, painkillers at the forefront of his mind. But as he looked around the cold, quiet hospital, his thoughts wandered back to Kana. The girl who had told him what it was like to live like this… confined to hospital walls, surrounded by loneliness and silence.
John: (to himself) So this is what she must be used to…