She found herself talking to him, telling him stories about her day, about the world outside his window. You should see the cafeteria food, Grant. It’s tragic.
Even for a billionaire, I doubt you’d survive it. Silence. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.
Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice. Silence. Silence.
Or maybe you’re actually listening. The heart monitor beeped steadily, as if answering her. And maybe, just maybe, he was.
Anna hummed softly as she dipped a clean washcloth into the warm water. The sterile quiet of Grant’s private hospital suite was something she had grown used to over the weeks. The steady beep of the heart monitor, the faint hum of the IV drip.
It was all part of the background now. She leaned over the bed, carefully wiping Grant’s face, her fingers gentle but precise. You know, she said, her voice light.
I read somewhere that people in commas can still hear things. So, technically, you’re the worst listener I’ve ever met. No response, of course.
She sighed, shaking her head. It’s okay. I’m used to talking to myself now.
She moved to clean the curve of his jaw when, a slight movement, her breath caught. Had she imagined it? She froze, staring at his hand. Nothing.
The fingers lay motionless against the crisp white sheets. Anna let out a small laugh, shaking her head. Great, now I’m hallucinating.
Maybe I’m the one who needs a hospital bed. But the unease lingered, and over the next few days, it happened again. The second time she was adjusting his pillow.
She wasn’t looking when she felt it. The faintest pressure against her wrist. Her head snapped down.
Grant’s hand had shifted. Only by a fraction of an inch, but enough to make her stomach flip. Grant, she whispered, hardly realizing she had said his name.
Silence. The same rhythmic beep, beep, beep of the monitor. She placed her hand over his, feeling his warmth, his stillness, his potential movement.
Nothing. Was she imagining things? Or was something changing? Anna couldn’t shake the feeling, so she reported it to Dr. Harris. He moved? The doctor arched a skeptical brow.
I think so, Anna admitted. At first I thought I imagined it, but it keeps happening. His fingers twitch.
His hand shifts slightly. It’s small, but it’s there. Dr. Harris leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.
We’ll run tests, he finally said. But don’t get your hopes up too high, Anna. It could just be reflexive muscle spasms.
Anna nodded, but deep down, she didn’t believe that. She felt something happening. And when the test results came back, she wasn’t surprised.
There’s increased brain activity, Dr. Harris told her. His neurological responses are stronger than before. Her heart leaped.
So he’s waking up. Dr. Harris hesitated. Not necessarily.
It could mean anything. But it’s a good sign. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.
But it was enough. Huh. That night, as she sat beside his bed, Anna found herself talking to Grant more than usual.
I don’t know if you can hear me, but something tells me you can, she murmured. She glanced at his face, at his strong features, still unmoving. But for the first time, she felt like she wasn’t alone in the room.
So she talked. She told him about her day, about the patients who frustrated her, about the rude doctor on the third floor who always stole her coffee. She told him about her childhood, about the small town she grew up in, about how she always dreamed of being a nurse.
And as she spoke, she didn’t realize that deep in the silence of his coma, Grant was listening. The morning sun filtered through the hospital room’s large windows, casting a warm glow on Grant Carter’s motionless form. The beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence, steady and rhythmic, just like it had been for the past year.
Anna stood beside the bed, rolling up her sleeves. This was just another day. Another routine bath.
Another round of talking to someone who might never answer her. She dipped a warm cloth into the basin, rung it out, and began gently wiping Grant’s chest, her movements precise and careful. You know, Grant, she murmured, smiling faintly, I was thinking about getting a dog.
I need someone to listen to me who won’t just lie there and ignore me all day. Silence. She sighed.
Okay, rude, I was just making conversation. She reached for his arm, running the cloth over his skin, her fingers brushing against his wrist. And then, his fingers tightened around her wrist.
Anna froze. A sharp breath lodged in her throat as she stared at his hand. The pressure wasn’t much gentle, weak, hesitant, but it was there.
Oh, my God. Her heart pounded violently, her pulse ringing in her ears. She wanted to believe it was just another reflex.
Just another meaningless twitch. But it wasn’t. Because then, Grant’s eyes snapped open.
For a moment, Anna couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She had spent months staring at those closed eyelids, watching for any sign of movement, any flicker of life. And now, now, those deep ocean blue eyes were looking right at her.
They were confused, unfocused, vulnerable, but alive. Grant’s dry lips parted. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it was real.
Company. La’ai? Anna’s entire body tensed. Her knees almost buckled, her breath caught between disbelief and sheer panic.
He spoke. He woke up. The impossible had just happened.