Someday, She 'll wake up

It’s always cold here.

Not freezing.

Just… unnaturally still.

Like the air decided to stop trying.

The nurse at the front desk didn’t ask anything.

She never does anymore.

Just nodded, pressed a button, and let me pass.

Room 309.

Third floor.

Same corner.

Same ticking sound of the IV drip.

And same girl I’d give anything to wake up.

---

She’s there.

As always.

Hair tied up gently.

Skin pale but peaceful.

Eyes closed like she’s dreaming of a world that’s kinder than this one.

> “Hey, munchkin,” I say softly, pulling the chair close to her bedside.

> “Missed your birthday last week. Again. I kept the cake small this time—remember that shop near school you liked?”

“I got the chocolate one. You always hated vanilla. Weird little rebel.”

I smile, even if she can’t hear me.

Or maybe she does.

No one knows how comas work completely.

But I like to think she’s listening.

---

> “School’s still dumb,” I mutter, leaning back.

“Rhea’s still annoying—but, like, in a helpful way.”

“I think she knows something. About… them. I messed up.”

“But I didn’t yell this time.”

I pause.

My voice drops.

> “I wish you could talk. Just once. Even if it’s to call me a drama queen again.”

Her chest rises slowly. Steady.

Like time itself has slowed to match her rhythm.

---

My hand moves automatically—

Reaches into my hoodie pocket.

The page I tore from the diary.

> “She smiled at me right before it happened. I told her I’d buy her that stupid chocolate roll tomorrow.”

“I lied. There was no tomorrow.”

I fold it tighter.

Push it into the edge of her pillow. Like a prayer folded into cotton.

> “You should hate me,” I whisper.

“I was right there. And I couldn’t protect you.”

She doesn’t answer.

Of course, she doesn’t.

---

I stare at the machines.

Beeping, blinking, breathing for her.

People call her a “vegetative case.”

A “miracle patient.”

But to me, she’s just my little sister, who used to draw stars on my arms when I couldn’t sleep.

Who once cried because a cartoon dog got lost and no one helped him.

> “You always believed in happy endings,” I whisper.

“But I don’t know if we get one.”

A drop falls on her hand.

I don’t know if it’s sweat. Or a tear.

Maybe both.

---

I stay for hours.

Tell her everything and nothing.

Then, just before I leave, I say the same thing I’ve said every visit for two years.

> “Wake up soon, okay?”

“Just… wake up. Even if it’s just to punch me once and roll your eyes.”

And I wait.

Just in case.

For that one blink.

That one twitch.

That miracle the world forgot to give us.

---

But nothing comes.

And so I leave.

Back through the white hallways.

Back into a world that doesn’t know she still exists.

Back into a life where I smile just enough that no one asks what broke.

---

Outside, the sun is setting.

And I can almost hear her voice in my head—

> “Idiot. Why’d you cry? I’m not done with you yet.”

I smile faintly.

Someday…

She’ll wake up.

And when she does—

They’ll all pay.