Specks

She saw him, always,

outside the ward,

standing still

a figure like time,

waiting for no one,

but seen by her.

 

Her body burned,

stripped to silence by the drip,

but she walked past him,

fragile and certain,

saving her strength

just to look.

 

At home,

her father drowned her songs,

said, Medicine is life.

But the cracked mirror in her room

knew otherwise.

It bore his name,

scratched into its skin

by a heart that whispered

to its own shadow.

 

One day,

she told the air,

"I will go alone."

Her father nodded.

The distance to the hospital

was short.

But the weight of her hope

that was heavier.

 

She walked out,

her steps trembling

but steady,

her eyes searching.

Not seeing him felt like absence

in her chest.

 

And then, she saw him,

but not as before.

A woman stood beside him,

two children clinging

to the hem of her dress.

The woman laughed;

his arms wrapped around her,

a warm circle,

a home she would never know.

 

Her lungs broke first.

Her knees followed.

The world bent inward

until it was dark again.

 

When she woke,

he was there,

still,

beside her bed.

 

"Who is she? "

The words stumbled out.

 

"My sister, " he said,

with a smile

that cut through her fear.

"Her kids."

 

The knot inside her loosened.

Without thinking,

she said,

"I like you."

 

His face tilted, curious.

"Why? "

 

"Because, " she said,

"I see you watching me.

Every time.

Don't pretend you don't."

 

"Does watching mean love? " he asked.

 

"I don't know, " she said.

"But I like you."

 

"Do you think I like you too? "

His voice,

soft but sharp,

like a needle.

 

"Yes."

 

His laugh was brief.

"No."

 

A pause—then,

"Should I try? "

 

"No need, "

she said,

and turned away.

 

When she turned back,

he was gone.

 

She looked to the window,

but the night stared back,

the faint light

turning her reflection

into a stranger.

Only specks floated

across her vision,

ghosts in her sight.

 

"Oh, these specks again, "

she muttered,

as though they were to blame.

 

And then,

there he was,

at the glass,

his voice sliding through.

"You talk to me

even when I'm not there.

Keep talking.

Maybe I'll learn to listen."

 

She laughed,

but quietly,

her breath catching.

 

Later,

she stood before the mirror,

tracing her name beside his.

The glass still cracked,

her body still worn,

but she spoke,

and the specks danced,

as though they finally understood.