No.
This can't be real.
They're trying to prank me.
Right?
The words repeated in my head, desperate, pleading.
They can't be serious.
Ken is real.
My boyfriend is real.
I was in the park with him.
We laughed.
We held hands.
He smiled at me. He… he—
I shook my head violently, trying to shake away the nausea rising in my stomach.
"No. Don't. Don't make me insane. Don't do this. Don't tell me he's not real," I whispered, voice trembling, loud enough to echo in the sterile room.
They all looked at me, my parents, my manager, my PA, faces tight with concern and sorrow.
"Ysabelle…" my mother said softly, moving closer, placing her hands on my shoulders. "It's okay. We're here. Everything is going to be okay."
"Everything? Everything?!" I shouted, voice cracking. "You're telling me he's… he's not real? That I'm crazy? That I'm imagining this?"
My father stepped forward, voice low and trembling. "We're not lying to you. We promise. You were in a coma for three months. That's all. You've been waking up just now."
I stared at him, mind refusing to process. "No. Ken is real. My boyfriend. My… my—"
I could see tears prick at my mother's eyes.
She stepped closer and hugged me tightly.
My father joined, and suddenly I was enveloped in warmth, the kind that reminded me of everything I'd lost and everything I'd loved.
I sobbed uncontrollably, resting my head against her shoulder.
I remember everything.
Every laugh.
Every joke.
Every hand he held.
Every smile.
Every… moment.
I cried harder.
Their silence didn't bother me.
They held me while I unraveled.
I could feel the weight of months gone by, the emptiness, the fear, the longing, the world that didn't make sense, melting away in the embrace of the only people who had ever truly loved me, even if they didn't understand the life I'd just left behind.
Tears streamed down their faces too.
We cried together.
Quiet, messy, human sobs that wrapped us in a fragile kind of healing.
I clung to them, breathing in their presence, but even in the warmth, a question lingered like a shadow at the edge of my mind:
Ken…?
The name repeated in my head.
Ken. Ken. Ken…
And then the next thought hit me like a jolt.
Ken? What's his last name?
I closed my eyes, squeezing their arms tighter, feeling the ache of something real, something that existed in a world just out of reach, a world I had touched, laughed in, loved in… and yet, somehow, couldn't fully hold.
I whispered it into the air, almost afraid to hear the answer:
"Ken… what's your last name?"
The room was silent.
No one answered.
I opened my eyes and realized… no one here could.
And that was the moment I understood, somewhere, somewhere beyond this hospital, he existed.
Somewhere beyond what they could see.
Somewhere beyond the rules of this world.
Somewhere I had to find him.
—
I left the hospital room slowly, letting the echoes of crying fade behind me.
My parents and manager remained clustered near the bed, still murmuring reassurances that barely penetrated the fog in my head.
I stepped into the corridor, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling my lungs, and for the first time in months, the silence of the hospital felt suffocating.
I walked aimlessly, clutching my cardigan tightly around me, mind replaying every memory of Ken, the swing set, the Frisbee in the air, the way sunlight had danced across his hair.
He was there.
He exists.
I tried to rationalize it.
Maybe this is some cruel prank.
Maybe they're testing me.
Maybe… maybe I've lost it, and he's gone forever in my mind.
No.
I shook my head.
No.
Ken is real. My boyfriend.
My Ken.
My… my everything.
I stopped at the small hospital garden, the one place I could breathe outside the suffocating white walls.
The breeze carried the faint scent of flowers, and for a brief moment, it reminded me of the park.
I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me.
I could hear him laughing. I could feel his hand brushing mine.
I could feel the warmth of his presence, steady and alive.
And then the thought hit me like a knife: I have no idea who he is here.
No last name.
No contact.
Nothing.
Nothing but a memory that doesn't belong in this world.
I sank onto the stone bench, knees pulled to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself.
My mind raced with questions I had no answers to.
How do I find him?
Where does he exist?
I clenched my fists.
I have to find him.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
I can't… I can't let this end here.
Hours passed, though I didn't notice.
The sun lowered in the sky, painting the garden in muted gold and crimson.
Shadows stretched long and thin, mirroring the unease that had taken root in my chest.
Every person who passed by, every nurse or visitor, I scanned, hoping, wishing… but none of them were him.
I whispered his name into the fading light:
"Ken…"
The wind carried my voice, but no answer came.
I stood, finally, determination settling in the pit of my stomach.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't imagination.
Ken was real, he had to be.
And somewhere out there, he waited.
I brushed away tears, straightened my shoulders, and made a silent vow.
I will find him.
No matter what.
No matter where this world ends and the other begins.
I will find him.
This world… it wasn't quite mine.
Not entirely.
Something was off.
But I didn't care.
All that mattered was Ken.
And one thought pulsed in my mind, stubborn and unyielding:
Ken… what's your last name?
It was the only thread I had, the only clue that might lead me back to him.
I took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and started walking.
Every step was heavy with determination, every heartbeat a drum of longing. Somewhere beyond these walls, beyond the rules of this world, Ken existed.
And I would find him.
No one could stop me.
Not reality.
Not memory.
Not time.
I whispered his name once more, this time with a strength I didn't know I had:
"Ken…"
The wind carried it, and for a fleeting second, I thought I heard a familiar laugh, light and warm, brushing against my ears like sunlight.
I smiled through my tears.
Somewhere, he was waiting.
And I would find him.