The afternoon light slipped through the blinds, painting thin golden stripes across the hospital room.
They stretched across the white walls, the tiled floor, and Micheal's blanket, stopping just short of his face. His head still throbbed—a dull, constant ache that pulsed behind his eyes—but the steady beep of the heart monitor beside him gave him something solid to cling to. A rhythm. Proof that he was still here.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
The door opened softly.
Micheal turned his head just in time to see Teema step inside. She carried a small bag of snacks in one hand, a sketchbook tucked securely under her arm. She stopped at the foot of the bed when she saw him.
Really saw him.
Her eyes widened, just for a moment, before softening into something warmer. Something gentler.
"Hey," she whispered, as if raising her voice might break him.
She crossed the room and set the snack bag on the table. "I thought you might need real food… and maybe a distraction from—" She gestured vaguely at the sterile walls, the machines, the smell of antiseptic. "All this."
Micheal managed a weak grin. "You're a lifesaver. I was starting to think the only thing keeping me awake was the sound of my own thoughts."
Teema pulled a chair closer and sat down, resting the sketchbook on her lap. "Then it's a good thing I came prepared." She tapped the cover. "I brought my doodling therapy."
She flipped it open.
The pages were filled with quick, messy sketches—tiny characters trapped in ridiculous situations, a cat wearing a superhero cape, exaggerated stick figures running from imaginary monsters.
Micheal chuckled, the sound rough but genuine. "Looks like you've been busy."
"Drawing helps when my brain won't shut up," she said lightly.
His gaze drifted to one sketch near the corner of the page. A boy stood holding a balloon. The balloon floated upward, slipping from his fingers, leaving a trail of tiny stars behind it.
"What's this one?" Micheal asked quietly.
Teema's smile softened. "That's you," she said. "The guy who's always trying to keep everything from floating away."
She traced the balloon's string with her finger. "I thought maybe you needed a reminder that it's okay to let go sometimes."
Micheal swallowed.
The conversation drifted after that—from jokes to school gossip to quieter topics that lingered a little too long. Teema talked about student-council meetings, about teachers who assigned impossible workloads, about how the hallways felt emptier without Micheal's sarcasm echoing through them.
She didn't mention the worried looks people gave her when she asked about him.
She didn't need to.
When the sky outside deepened into amber, a nurse came in to check his vitals. She smiled at Teema, then at Micheal. "Looks like you've got good company here. Try to get some rest."
Teema gathered her things, slipping the sketchbook back into her bag. "I should head home. Mom's expecting me, and I still have that English essay to finish."
She hesitated.
Then she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Micheal's forehead.
"Get better," she whispered. "I'll be back tomorrow. With more terrible puns."
Micheal watched her leave, the door closing with a soft click.
The room felt quieter—but not empty.
He closed his eyes, planning to let sleep pull him under, Teema's promise echoing gently in his chest.
Then—
The door burst open.
"BRO!"
Micheal flinched.
A boisterous-looking guy strode in like the hospital was just another hangout spot. Small eyes, dark-as-night hair, and an energy that clashed violently with the calm of the room.
Samson.
He wasn't extremely handsome, but he had confidence, and confidence did a lot of the work for him.
"How are you holding up?" Samson said loudly as he dropped into the chair Teema had been sitting in minutes earlier.
Micheal propped himself up with the pillows. "Much better than having to listen to your terrible poems."
Samson grinned and opened his backpack, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Funny you should say that. I've got a new one."
"Please don't," Micheal said with exaggerated horror.
Samson laughed and dropped the backpack to the floor. "Relax. I'll spare you. For now."
He leaned back. "So what really happened? You disappeared. No school. No calls. I thought you got kidnapped."
"You watch too many movies," Micheal muttered.
"Hey, I was concerned," Samson shot back. "After school, Teema told me she called Liz and found out you were in the hospital. So here I am."
Micheal looked away. "It's a long story. Let's not talk about it. Tell me about school."
Samson studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Avoidance mode activated."
He cracked his knuckles. "Mrs. Adams was… well. Mrs. Adams."
Micheal snorted.
"Oh—and Samuel and Junior from Class Three got into a fight," Samson continued. "Junior tried to date Stephanie after Samuel warned him to stay away. Stephanie said yes anyway. Samuel found out."
"And?" Micheal asked.
"During P.E., as soon as Mr. Pete left, Samuel tackled Junior."
"So Samuel beat him up?"
"Surprisingly, no. Junior flipped him over and started pummeling him. By the time Mr. Pete came back, Samuel's face looked like it got hit by a truck."
Micheal laughed. "That's brutal."
"Justice is unpredictable," Samson said solemnly.
They laughed together, the sound filling the room.
Then Samson hesitated.
"Oh," he added. "There's something else."
Micheal glanced at him. "What?"
Samson leaned forward. "We've got a new transfer student."
Micheal raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Daniel Fairburn."
The name landed strangely.
"Who?" Micheal asked.
"That's the thing," Samson said. "Nobody really knows him yet."
He continued, lowering his voice. "He transferred in yesterday. Senior year. No explanation. Teachers were acting weird about it."
"Define weird."
"Too polite. Too careful," Samson said. "Like they're walking on glass."
Micheal frowned. "What's he like?"
Samson shrugged. "Quiet. Doesn't talk much. Sits at the back. Tall. Dark hair. Looks like he's seen things."
"Sounds dramatic," Micheal said.
"Trust me," Samson replied. "There's something off about him."
"Off how?"
"Well," Samson said slowly, "he already knows your name."
Micheal stiffened. "What?"
"I mentioned you," Samson said. "Just casually. And he looked at me like he already knew who you were."
"That doesn't make sense."
"None of it does," Samson said. "He asked why you weren't in school."
Micheal's chest tightened. "What did you say?"
"That you were sick," Samson replied. "Which is technically true."
Silence stretched between them.
Samson sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. But I figured you should know."
Micheal frowned slightly. It all felt a bit weird that a new transfer student knew his name and was suddenly interested in his absence from school.
"Oh by the way Mrs Adams assigned him to Teema to help him settle in",Samson said offhandedly
Micheal sat up sharply. " Wait what".
" She didn't tell you", Samson said with a look of surprise on his face.
"No she didn't".
"Maybe she forgot, well I've gotta go, see you tomorrow. Get well soon", Samson said and stood up to leave.
"Alright, see you",Micheal said absentmindedly as he kept thinking about everything Samson told him.