Weeks passed.
The doctors started preparing us for the worst.
On day thirty they mentioned long-term care.
On day thirty-five they said some coma patients never wake up.
I broke down in the hallway.
Ronan sat beside me without saying a word.
After a while I whispered, “I can’t lose him.”
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
On day forty-five he brought a small box.
Inside was a model motorcycle kit.
“For when he wakes up,” Ronan said.
“We’ll build it together.”
Two mornings later, I walked into the hospital room early.
Ronan was already there reading.
Then something small caught my eye.
Malik’s finger twitched.
“Malik!” I rushed to the bed.
His eyes fluttered.
Machines started beeping.
Nurses ran in.
Then slowly… my son opened his eyes.
He looked around the room, confused.
Then his gaze landed on Ronan.
“You,” Malik whispered.
“You’re the man who saved me.”
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