Richard stared.
"Simone?"
Nothing.
Then her eyelids moved.
Richard forgot to breathe.
For several seconds, he did nothing.
No calling.
No shouting.
He simply watched a person who had been absent from the visible world for weeks begin trying to return.
Then Richard stood so quickly that the chair nearly fell over.
"Lily!"
His voice thundered through the corridor.
"Nurse!"
Lily came running.
Within minutes, the room filled.
Physicians.
Nurses.
Equipment.
Questions.
Richard found himself standing outside with the poetry book still in his hand.
He watched through the glass while professionals examined Simone.
He was suddenly afraid.
Not of losing her exactly.
He barely knew her.
At least that was what he told himself.
But for twenty-eight evenings he had put pieces of his life into that room.
Now something was happening inside it that he could not help.
Hours later, Lily found him in the cafeteria.
He was drinking terrible coffee.
"She's responding."
Richard looked up.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Lily smiled.
"Really."
The doctors used the word remarkable.
Carefully.
They did not call it miraculous.
Doctors were cautious with words like that.
Simone's neurological response was stronger than predicted.
Early cognitive testing suggested substantial awareness.
An attending physician stood outside her room afterward, arms crossed.
"Seven weeks," she whispered.
Lily looked through the glass.
The four-dollar lights still glowed on the ledge.
Olivia's drawing remained taped beside the monitor.
Lily said nothing.
Two days later, Richard returned.
He had almost talked himself out of it.
Simone was awake now.
The relationship had changed.
She was no longer an unconscious stranger who could not object to him sitting there.
Richard stood outside room 410 for almost a minute.
Then he knocked lightly.
No response.
He entered.
Simone's eyes were closed.
She looked different awake even while sleeping.
More present.
More human.
Richard sat in the familiar chair.
The left leg still wobbled.
He automatically braced it with his shoe.
"Hello."
Simone's eyes opened.
Richard stopped.
Blue eyes focused on him.
Sharp.
Intelligent.
Alive.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Simone's lips moved.
Her voice came out rough.
"You kept singing."
Richard froze.
Simone swallowed.
"Every night."
He stared at her.
"You heard me?"
"I heard enough."
Her words were slow.
Careful.
But unmistakable.
Richard leaned forward.
"I didn't know."
"I did."
Silence settled.
Not the old silence.
This one felt full.