Chapter 13-"The girl and her Dreams"

The morning light filtered gently through the white hospital curtains. Himari was awake this time, sitting up in bed with her hair loosely tied back. Akaru sat in the chair beside her, arms crossed, eyes heavy with worry.
"You look like you haven’t slept," she teased, her voice still a little hoarse.
"You coughed up blood in the middle of town," he deadpanned. "Excuse me if I wasn’t in the mood for a nap."
She gave him a sheepish look, then glanced down at the oxygen tube running to her nose. “...I ruined the day, didn’t I?”
"You didn’t ruin anything," he said softly. "Just… scared me a little, is all."
A nurse knocked and entered with a gentle smile. "She’s cleared for a short walk around the hospital garden. But don’t overdo it, okay?"
Minutes later, Akaru found himself pushing a lightweight wheelchair down a quiet path wrapped in flowers and trimmed hedges. The hospital garden was peaceful — birds chirped in the distance, and the soft rustle of leaves made the world feel far away.
Himari wore her usual hand luggage across her lap.
He glanced at it. "You always carry that thing. What's in it?"
She hesitated. "Memories. And dreams I haven’t let go of yet."
"...Wanna elaborate on that?" he asked with a crooked smile.
She was quiet for a moment. Then:"When I was little, I used to come to this hill with my parents. Planes would fly overhead, and I’d wave at them until they disappeared."
"That airport near the hill…?"
She nodded. "I fell in love with the sky back then. I always thought… 'One day, I’ll be up there too, flying above everything.'"
She paused, gripping the armrest of her chair tightly.
"But then… this." Her eyes motioned to her body. "The doctors told me my condition meant I wouldn’t pass the physical. That I’d never be a pilot."
Silence settled between them.
"So why still carry the luggage?" Akaru finally asked.
"Because giving up on the dream completely… would mean giving up on the part of me that still believes I’ll fly somehow. Maybe not like a pilot. But..." She smiled faintly. "In some way. Some form. One day."
Akaru crouched beside her, looking up into her face.
"Then I’ll make sure you reach that sky," he said. "Even if I have to build you wings myself."
Her eyes widened. For a moment, she looked like she might cry.
But instead, she laughed — not a weak laugh, but a real one, bright and warm.
"And here I thought you weren’t the cheesy type."
He smirked. "You bring it out of me."


Later, they sat under a wisteria tree, the late morning sun dancing through the petals.
She opened her luggage and pulled out a small, folded paper airplane.
"I always keep this in here too," she said. "My dad made it before he passed. Said, ‘As long as you have this, you’ll never be grounded.’"
Akaru took it gently, unfolded it, and saw writing on the wing."Fly high, little bird."
He looked at her."You’re not grounded. Not yet."
And for a moment, the garden felt like the sky again.