A dull droning echoed in my skull, accompanied by a distant, monotonous beeping that ate into my consciousness like a persistent insect. Slowly, laboriously, I fought my way back from the deep blackness into the light. A gray veil initially covered my eyes, gradually clearing to reveal flickering lights that caused a stabbing pain behind my eyelids. Hospital. The smell of disinfectant burned in my nose, a sad reminder of the brutal cut that had divided my life into two parts: before the bang and after.

  My body felt as if it were filled with concrete, every bone seeming to ache individually. A tiny attempt to lift my hand ended in a cry from my chest. So I lay motionless, my eyes open only a crack, trying to decipher the strange surroundings.

  A soft rustle, the creak of a chair. Someone was there. The vague hope that it might be Shigeo or Emiko gave way to another, quieter expectation.

  I forced my head to turn a tiny bit. At the window, bathed in the warm, golden light of the late afternoon, sat a silhouette. Long, dark hair shimmered like liquid ebony, falling gently over narrow shoulders. The light traced a delicate profile, a thoughtful forehead, a straight nose. An unexpected, almost surreal beauty in this clinical dreariness. Her voice. Even in my hazy state, I recognized it immediately. The quiet melody that had been a comforting echo in the dark weeks of my coma. Kasumi. The one who had spoken to me every evening, whose words had broken the silence.

  An involuntary shiver ran down my spine. She was… breathtaking. Much more than my vague imaginings based on her voice had let on. I had pictured a plainer image, perhaps shyer. But this aura of quiet grace that surrounded her was overwhelming. It felt as though a delicate veil of mystery enveloped her.

  A dry cough tickled my throat. I tried to clear my throat, a pathetic, scratching sound. Kasumi flinched, her head snapping around. Her dark eyes widened, a moment of disbelieving astonishment giving way to visible relief. "Nobuyuki…? You're awake!" Her voice sounded rough, thick with unspoken words. She stood up, hesitated for a moment, then came closer cautiously, her eyes fixed on my face as if she couldn't believe what she saw.

  I tried to nod, a minimal movement that was immediately punished by a throbbing pain in my neck. "You… you were there," I whispered again, my voice brittle like old paper. Kasumi nodded, her lips slightly parted. "Yes. Every evening." Her eyes seemed to glisten with moisture. In that brief moment, a silent connection seemed to exist between us, an unspoken understanding that strangely overshadowed the circumstances of our first conscious meeting.

  The door opened, and the familiar faces of my parents appeared in the frame. The tension of the past weeks gave way to visible relief, but also a deep weariness in their features. Mother Naomi rushed to my bedside, her hands gently clasping mine. Father Takahiro entered somewhat more hesitantly, his usually stern expression softened by an uncharacteristic gentleness. "My boy…!" my mother whispered, her voice trembling. "We were so worried." "Hello… Mom… Dad," I breathed, the effort alone costing me strength. Their attention was now entirely on me, the joy of reunion momentarily pushing everything else aside. Kasumi stepped back unobtrusively, her figure almost disappearing in the dimness of the room.

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  After the initial excitement had subsided and my parents had assured themselves that I was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances, my mother noticed Kasumi again. "Kasumi-san, isn't it? We really appreciate your visits. Thank you very much." Her voice was formal, but there was a palpable gratitude in it. Kasumi nodded, her gaze flicking briefly towards me. "It was… the least I could do." A strange phrasing that hung in the air.

  An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room, the unspoken truth like a heavy shadow between us. Kasumi seemed to sense the tension. "I should go now," she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine for a brief, intense moment. "Get well soon, Nobuyuki-kun." She turned to my parents, bowed slightly, and then left the room. I watched her go as the door clicked softly shut.

  A strange mixture of relief and an indefinable sense of loss spread through me. This beautiful girl, whose voice had meant so much to me in my darkness… why had sie visited me every evening? And why did her departure feel so… final? The questions swirled in my tired head as my parents began to talk quietly to each other, their voices now more composed. But inside me, the image of Kasumi still echoed, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, an enigmatic beauty in the silence of my awakening.

  Hardly had the door closed behind Kasumi when the nurse returned with a friendly smile, followed by an older doctor with a reassuring expression. "Well, look who's finally awake! Welcome back, Nobuyuki-kun," the doctor said in a gentle voice, approaching the bed. He examined my eyes again with his small flashlight, checked my pulse, and asked me some simple questions about how I was feeling. My answers were quiet, laboriously formed, but I felt the relief of my parents, who attentively followed my every syllable.

  It's over, I thought vaguely. The coma is over. I'm back here. But the world felt strange, muffled and painful at the same time. The memories of the past weeks were fragmented, like pieces of a dark dream. Only Kasumi's voice had remained clear, a quiet echo in the silence of my unconsciousness. And now her face… so different, so much more intense than I had ever imagined.

  "You're looking good, Nobuyuki-kun," the doctor finally said. "We'll examine you thoroughly now, but it looks like you're past the critical stage. It will take time and patience, but you will recover." His words had a calming effect on my parents, whose tension visibly eased. My mother took my hand and squeezed it gently. Father nodded silently at the doctor, his eyes still slightly red.

  While the doctor and nurse began further examinations, testing my mobility and checking various devices, my thoughts kept drifting back to Kasumi. Why those daily visits? What had prompted her? Was it pure charity? Guilt? Or something else I didn't yet understand? Her fleeting remark – "It was… the least I could do" – echoed in my head. What had she meant by that?

  I was tired, exhausted from the effort of waking up and the pain that coursed through my body. The voices of the doctors and my parents blurred into a soft murmur. But beneath this surface, a quiet curiosity about Kasumi simmered, a desire to learn more about this enigmatic girl who had been so present in my darkness. I have to see her again, I thought, before fatigue threatened to overwhelm me again. I have to find out who she really is.

  The examinations dragged on. Questions, instructions, careful movements. Every touch reminded me of the fragility of my body, of the luck of simply being here. But amidst this physical discomfort, a new thought germinated, a quiet drive: I was back in life. And Kasumi was a part of this return, an unsolved mystery in my newly awakened reality