It took me months to feel normal again.
Or something that looked like it.
Normal meant waking up early even when I didn't want to. Going to school. Sitting through classes. Laughing when everyone else laughed, even if it didn't quite reach me. It meant stepping back into a life that never paused, even when I did.
At first, people were careful around me.
"Hey… you okay now?""You look thinner.""That must've been rough."
I'd just nod.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Because it was easier than trying to explain something I didn't fully understand myself.
Some days were almost normal.
Homework. Noise. Small conversations in the hallway that pulled me out of my head for a while.
But other days, I'd catch myself staring out the classroom window, completely still.
Waiting.
For something that never came.
A voice that used to feel so close.
Do you think clouds get tired of floating?
And every time—
nothing.
Just silence.
That afternoon felt ordinary.
Almost painfully so.
The final bell rang, and the classroom broke into noise—chairs scraping, bags zipping, voices spilling over each other as everyone left at once.
"See you tomorrow!"
"Yeah," I said automatically.
But I didn't move right away.
I never did anymore.
Hallways felt different now. Too loud. Too full. Like I needed a moment before stepping into them.
So I waited until most people were gone.
The locker room was nearly empty when I arrived.
Just distant footsteps. The dull echo of metal. The quiet in-between sounds of school ending.
I opened my locker, reached for my shoes—
and stopped.
Someone was there.
At the far end of the room.
A girl stood near the benches, half-turned away, like she was trying to disappear into the space around her.
My chest tightened.
No.
That wasn't possible.
For a second, I thought about leaving. Just turning around and pretending I hadn't seen anything.
But my feet didn't move.
Instead, I walked forward.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Each step heavier than it should have been.
This isn't real, I told myself. It can't be.
But then she shifted.
Just slightly.
And turned.
I stopped breathing.
It was her.
Lila.
Same face. Same eyes. That quiet expression that always made the world feel like it had turned down its volume.
My heartbeat slammed against my ribs.
That's impossible.
The nurse's voice came back like a wound reopening.
She didn't make it.
So why was she standing here?
"Lila?" I said, barely audible.
She looked at me.
Not surprised.
Not anything at all, really.
Just… present.
For a moment, something flickered in her expression.
Not recognition.
Just curiosity.
I stepped forward again, faster this time.
"Lila, it's me. Eli. From the hospital. Room 212. The window, the hallway—you used to—"
"Hi," she said.
Simple. Calm. Like she was greeting someone she had just met.
And that was what hurt.
Because there was nothing behind it.
No warmth. No memory.
Just a simple response.
I let out a small, broken laugh that didn't feel like mine.
She tilted her head slightly.
"I'm sorry?"
My stomach dropped.
"You remember, right?" I said quickly. "The hospital. Room 212. You used to sit by the window and talk about clouds and—"
Her face didn't change.
"I think you have the wrong person," she said gently.
Silence.
It spread between us, thick and heavy.
I searched her face like there had to be something there—some small crack, some sign that this was a joke, a mistake, anything.
But there was nothing.
"I've never been hospitalized," she added.
Calm. Certain.
Like she was correcting me.
Not denying me.
My throat tightened.
"No," I said, too fast. "That's not possible. You were there every day. Room 212. You said no one visited you, you—"
"I'm sorry," she interrupted softly.
Not cold.
Not angry.
Just sure.
"I really don't know you."
And somehow, that was worse than denial.
Because she wasn't pretending.
She meant it.
I stood there for a long moment, unsure what to do with my hands, my breathing, my thoughts.
Then I forced a small nod.
"…Yeah," I muttered. "I must've been mistaken."
It didn't feel like a lie I was telling her.
It felt like one I was telling myself.
She gave me a small, polite smile.
The kind you give a stranger you'll never see again.
"Okay," she said.
Then she picked up her bag and walked past me.
Close enough that I could've reached out.
But I didn't.
I just stood there.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Watching her leave like something inside me was quietly falling apart.
That night, I sat on my bed without turning on the light.
I kept replaying it.
Her face.
Her voice.
That single word.
Hi.
I waited for my memory to fix itself. For something to shift. For the version of reality I knew to come back into place.
But it didn't.
Because if she wasn't Lila…
then who had been sitting beside me in that hospital room?
Who had talked to me when everything else felt empty?
And if she was Lila…
then why was I the only one left who remembered?
I lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling.
A different ceiling.
A different room.
But the same feeling stayed.
Empty.
And this time, it didn't feel like I had lost someone.
It felt like I had been the only one who ever had them at all.