Minutes after the detectives left, another knock sounded at the door. A nurse stepped in, balancing a tray of food in her hands. She approached Daniel hesitantly, her polite smile faltering as her eyes briefly met his.
"Here's your lunch," she said softly, placing the tray on the table beside his bed. She hesitated before adding, "Try to eat, alright? You need your strength."
The smile she attempted to wear had a brittle edge, and as soon as the tray was set down, she left in hurried steps, leaving only the faint scent of antiseptic and lingering discomfort behind her.
"Let me know if you need anything." She said just before the door clicked softly behind her, the faint echo of her retreating footsteps lingering in Daniel's ears.
Daniel's gaze lingered on the door for a moment before he turned to the food. On the plate sat a portion of boiled vegetables, steamed chicken, and a bowl of soup, all arranged with care. It was the kind of meal designed for recovery—bland yet nourishing, the standard fare for hospital patients.
He stared at the meal, unblinking.
Daniel knew exactly why the nurse had reacted that way. He had become infamous among the hospital staff. His refusal—or rather, his inability—to keep food down had made him a subject of whispered discussions among the nurses.
They had tried everything—soups, fruits, broths, and now this. Every time, the result was the same: in and out.
"Disgusting."
"Gross."
"Why does it taste so vile?"
Those were the involuntary mutterings that often followed his episodes, words he barely realized he had spoken aloud. The reaction had made him infamous among the staff. Some pitied him, some avoided him entirely, and a few had grown frustrated with his inexplicable condition.
The doctors were deeply concerned. His eating disorder was a far graver issue than even his physical difficulties. A lack of nourishment could spell disaster for someone in recovery, and yet, despite his constant vomiting, his body showed no signs of malnourishment.
One doctor had outright asked if he'd been secretly eating, only to look even more baffled when the nurses confirmed otherwise.
They didn't understand.
And neither did Daniel.
The food looked fine. It even smelled fine—at first. But the moment he tasted it, the flavors turned rancid, an unbearable combination of rot and bitterness that clung to his mouth and throat, making him retch violently every time.
Why does everything taste like this? he wondered.
Daniel turned his head away from the plate, ignoring the gnawing hunger in his stomach.
He'd stopped trying two days ago. Hunger only seemed to strike when food was nearby, as if his body registered it by sight or smell rather than need.
Even that sensation felt foreign, wrong.
A knock broke his thoughts again, and the same nurse peeked inside. Her eyes flicked briefly to the untouched plate, her expression faltering before she turned to him.
"You have visitors," she said, her tone a little brighter. "Your friends are here."
She left, and seconds later, a boisterous voice filled the air.
"Yo, Danny! You look alive!"
Ethan strolled in, his grey-white hair as unruly as ever. He wore a loose red hoodie over black jeans, the outfit casual but characteristically lively. His grin was wide and carefree, though a hint of awkwardness flickered in his eyes as he looked at his friend.
Behind him came Maxuel, clad in a simple white t-shirt under a navy blue jacket and jeans. His two-toned hair, auburn streaked with white, seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to yell in the hospital?" Maxuel hissed, though his voice lacked any real bite.
Daniel found himself smiling faintly. Their presence was a balm to his turbulent mind, a welcome distraction from his troubling thoughts.
"Hey, Max. Ethan," he greeted, his voice subdued but genuine.
Before he could say more, another figure entered the room.
Daniel's breath hitched as his gaze locked onto her.
She wore a fitted white blouse tucked into high-waisted denim shorts that showed off her toned thighs and shapely legs. A pair of black ankle boots added a touch of edge to her ensemble. Over it all, she wore a light lavender cardigan, its soft hue accentuating her striking features.
Her movements were graceful, almost fluid, and the outfit accentuated her already striking figure. But it wasn't her body that froze Daniel—it was her face.
Framed by a fishtail-embellished ponytail of long, natural purple hair, her face was stunning. Her emerald green eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, their upward slant lending her an almost otherworldly allure. Her smooth beige complexion glowed under the lights, and her slightly upturned lips, tinged with a natural rosiness, completed her celestial beauty.
Daniel's lungs refused to cooperate. He sat rigid, staring at her as though she were a vision.
The room fell silent, descending into a strange kind of tension that thickened with each second that passed, yet Daniel eyes, unblinking, remained on the girl.
Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "R–right, it's probably been years, but you should remember my sister, right?"
Daniel blinked, his gaze breaking away from the girl for the first time. "Your… sister?"
"Yeah," Maxuel chimed in, stepping forward. "You remember Kira, don't you? We used to be close before your—"
Maxuel abruptly cut himself off, realization of what he was about to say dawning on his face. Partial amnesia, Daniel thought absently, finishing the sentence in his mind.
But he didn't respond, he didn't seem to notice. His attention had snapped back to Kira, his mind reeling. His focus remained on her face, the vivid details drawing him in. His heart thudded against his ribs as a single, bewildering thought consumed him.
Her face.
He could see her face.
Not the indistinct blur that had haunted him all his life, not the faceless shadows that populated his world. Her features were vivid, sharp, and unmistakable.
How?
Kira shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze, her lips parting as though to speak but no words coming out.
Finally, it was Daniel's voice, quiet and trembling, that broke the silence.
"I… I can see you," he whispered, his words barely audible.