Every Night, I See You

But she doesn't stir. She looks as if she's simply asleep—peaceful, untouched by the world's chaos—yet the machines around her betray the truth.

"I came to tell you... that I've decided to withdraw from the master's program," Harry says softly, his voice cracking. "But... I didn't expect to be saying it like this."

His lips press into a thin line. Tears spill down his cheeks, unrestrained.

It's only been a few months since they met. But in those fleeting months, through countless conversations and study sessions, they formed something real. A quiet, unspoken friendship that ran deeper than most people realized.

To see her like this—so fragile, so still—it hurts more than he knows how to admit.

"Wake up, Grace," he pleads. "You have dreams. So many dreams. You shouldn't be lying here like this…"

Outside, beneath the snowy sky.

Julian steps out through the hospital's sliding doors, the cold biting instantly at his face and fingers. The night is silent except for the crunch of his boots against the snow. Across the narrow street, the lights of a small convenience store glow like a beacon.

He pushes the door open. The warmth hits him immediately.

"Hello," the clerk calls from behind the counter.

"Hi," Julian replies with a nod, walking straight to the hot drinks machine.

He selects two coffees—one for himself, one for Harry.

After paying, he heads back into the night. The air feels sharper now, the wind whispering along the street. The snow falls more steadily, the flakes dancing under the streetlamps.

Julian walks in silence, the coffees warm in his gloved hands.

Back inside the hospital, he takes the elevator to the eighth floor. The ride is quiet. The hum of the machinery and the faint, distant sounds of the hospital fill the silence.

He steps off, walks slowly to Room 805.

Grace's room.

Just as he reaches for the doorknob, he stops.

From inside, he hears it.

Crying.

Harry's crying.

Julian freezes, his hand hovering in midair before slowly pulling away from the knob. He doesn't enter.

He just stands there, listening.

Harry is crying from the deepest part of his soul—head bowed, shoulders trembling with grief. His cries are not loud, but they carry the unmistakable weight of pain, of helplessness, of memory.

Julian closes his eyes, holding the coffee cups tightly in his hands as if they might anchor him. He lets the moment be. Letting Harry cry. Letting the silence hold them both in its quiet mercy.

"Mom, Mom!!!"

Twelve-year-old Harry screamed, his voice cracking with panic as he sat trapped in the wreckage of their overturned car. The world was sideways—glass shards scattered like fallen stars, metal groaning in the wind. The scent of gasoline and blood filled his nose.

From the crumpled back seat, Harry fought against his seatbelt, his small body trembling. Blood dripped from gashes on his elbows and knees, but he didn't care. All he could see was his mother, slumped over the steering wheel. Her face was turned to the side, smeared with blood. Her head—her beautiful head—was bleeding.

"Mom, please… wake up! Mom!!!"

He reached out, shaking her shoulder with all the strength his little arms could muster. She didn't stir. Her body remained limp.

Tears blurred his vision as sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. The world around him faded into muffled silence, save for the thundering of his own heartbeat.

Then—darkness.

The next thing he remembered was the harsh whiteness of a hospital room. Machines beeped beside her bed. His mother lay still, pale, and distant beneath the sheets. Doctors moved around her in a blur, speaking words too big and too cold.

And then came the sound he would never forget.

A long, flat beep.

The monitor showed no rhythm. No more heartbeat.

Just a line.

"Mom!!!"

Harry cried out, his voice raw, echoing in the sterile room. His father stood beside him, stiff and silent, his eyes glistening but refusing to break.

The world had changed forever.

Harry glances back at Grace, unconscious on the hospital bed, her face pale beneath the thin sheet, machines softly beeping around her. Tears brim in his eyes.

He's already lived this once.

The blood. The silence. The coma.

And the flatline that tore his world apart.

He can't bear to watch it happen again—not to someone he cares about. Not to Grace.

Just then, the door creaks open.

Startled, Harry quickly wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve and turns around, forcing a small smile. Julian steps in, his expression calm but gentle. He notices the shimmer on Harry's lashes but says nothing.

"I brought hot drinks for you," Julian says softly, lifting a convenience store bag.

"Thanks," Harry replies, reaching for the drink. His voice is a bit hoarse.

Julian hands him a can of hot cocoa. Harry opens it right away, steam rising comfortingly into the cold hospital room. Julian walks over to the chair by the far wall, sits down quietly, and opens his own can of coffee.

A brief silence settles between them—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

"You're really close with Grace, aren't you?" Julian asks in a low voice.

Harry gives a small grin and nods. He takes a sip before answering.

"Yeah. We only met at the start of the term, but… I liked her right away. Not romantically at first—well, maybe a little—but mostly, I was drawn to her kindness, her energy. We just clicked as friends." He pauses. "Grace has so much going on in her life. I just wanted to be someone she could lean on."

Julian nods thoughtfully, eyes lowered.

"I'm sure you've been a good friend to her."

Harry looks at Julian, his expression soft and sincere.

"I did like her for a while," he admits. "We got along so well, and I was lonely… I think I wanted her to like me back. But over time, I realized the feelings I have for her aren't romantic. They're something deeper. I care about her like family. Like… someone I want to protect."

A quiet smile flickers at the edge of Julian's lips.

"I think she felt that," he says gently. "I know she appreciated it."

A chill breeze drifts in through the cracked window, but between the two men, there's a growing warmth—an unspoken understanding.

Harry meets Julian's gaze.

"So, Professor Julian…" he begins cautiously, "I can see you're… someone special to Grace."

Julian's smile remains unchanged.

Harry hesitates, then asks, "Are you two… dating?"

Julian nods slowly.

"Yes, we are," he says, meeting Harry's eyes with quiet honesty. "It's only been a short while, but… yes."

Harry holds his gaze, then slowly nods, a knowing look dawning on his face.

"I see," he murmurs. "This must be… so hard for you."

Julian doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. The silence speaks for him.

He's experienced this before.

With Hannah.

The flashing ambulance lights.

The cold hospital corridors.

The sense that time itself held its breath.

He's spent years trying to forget that night. To push it into some unreachable corner of his mind. But Hannah… she's etched into his heart too deeply. There's no forgetting. Every detail, every sound, every heartbeat still lives in him.

And now, here he is again.

Staring at Grace—unconscious, fragile, silent.

But Grace isn't just his student.

She is Hannah.

The same soul. The same presence.

And now, the same hospital bed.

The weight of that truth nearly crushes him. 

How could this happen again? Why her? Why now?

But he believes deep inside that this also has a reason. A good reason that he just won't know right now.

As if sensing the storm inside him, Julian turns to Harry, his eyes filled with something more than sympathy—something ancient and steady.

"Harry," Julian says, his voice firm yet full of gentleness, "I know this is hard. For both of us. For all of us. But I believe—no, I know—that she's going to wake up."

Harry's eyes falter. His breath catches. There's something in Julian's voice—something unshakable—that steadies his wavering heart.

"How are you… so sure?" he whispers.

Julian holds his gaze, then smiles. Not out of politeness or comfort, but from something rooted in deep conviction.

"Because," he says, "there are things in this world that don't make sense. Things that go beyond reason and science. And it's not our strength that carries us through them—but the strength of the One in Heaven. He reigns over all of this. And He never leaves us alone. That's how I met Grace…"

He pauses, his voice softening. 

"Or more truthfully… that's how I found her again."

Harry swallows hard. He doesn't understand it all—but he feels it. Something inside him responds, quietly and profoundly.

Julian turns to Grace's bed, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.

"And I know," he says, "that Grace is going to wake up. When the time is right."

Harry stares at him. Then turns back to Grace.

A warmth flickers in his chest.

A quiet, stubborn spark of belief.

He nods slowly. 

Then smiles.

"Yes," Harry says softly. "For sure."