The fluorescent lights above flickered weakly, casting a dull, cold glow across the cramped hospital room. Rain's eyelids fluttered open, the familiar pang of thirst clawing at her throat. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was parched, as if all the moisture had been siphoned out of her. Her gaze shifted toward the small bedside table where a half-empty bottle of water stood, just out of reach.
A sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. Her body felt heavier than usual, pinned down by an invisible weight. Sickle cell crises did that—they drained her strength, leaving her feeling like a hollow shell. Every breath was a reminder of the fragile thread tethering her to life.
Rain turned her head slowly to the side, wincing at the dull ache in her neck. There, in the corner of the room, her mother, Mary, sat slumped in an uncomfortable chair. The older woman's head tilted awkwardly to one side, her dark skin glowing faintly in the sterile light. She hugged her Bible tightly to her chest, her fingers curled protectively around its worn cover. A silver cross necklace dangled from her neck, catching the dim light as if it held its own quiet radiance.
Rain's heart clenched.
Her mother's hair, once jet black, now carried streaks of gray, evidence of years spent battling not only the trials of life but also the relentless burden of Rain's illness. Mary had always been a pillar of strength, holding their small world together with fierce determination. But the deep lines etched into her face told a story of sleepless nights, countless prayers, and sacrifices Rain could never repay.
"I'm sorry, Mama," Rain whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.
Mary stirred slightly but didn't wake. Rain's gaze lingered on her mother's peaceful expression, so different from the stern, watchful eyes she was used to. She knew Mary had fallen asleep while reading, likely praying over Rain's condition as she often did. Rain appreciated the love, the unwavering devotion. But beneath that gratitude lay an ache—a deep, unspoken regret.
Her mother had built a fortress around her, a protective cage meant to shield Rain from the world's harshness. Friends, potential romances, even casual outings—Mary had shut it all out, afraid that anyone or anything might hurt her already fragile daughter.
Rain knew it came from love, but it also felt like a life unlived.
"I could've done more," Rain thought, her eyes stinging with tears she didn't have the energy to shed. "I could've lived... if you'd just let me."
She didn't blame her mother. Not entirely. How could she? Mary had done everything out of love, but love hadn't taught the 23 years old Rain how to be free.
The water bottle caught her attention again, mocking her helplessness. It was so close, yet might as well have been miles away. She glanced back at her mother, not wanting to disturb her rest. Mary had done enough, shouldered enough.
Gathering what little strength she had, Rain shifted her body, her muscles protesting with sharp, stabbing pain. Her hand reached out, trembling, the distance to the bottle feeling insurmountable. A frustrated sob bubbled in her chest, but she swallowed it down. She was used to this—used to needing help for even the simplest tasks.
The thought twisted her gut.
As she struggled, a voice cut through the stillness.
"You need some help there, miss?"
Rain froze, startled by the unexpected presence. Her eyes darted toward the source of the voice: an older man standing just inside the doorway. His uniform marked him as a janitor, his gray hair tucked beneath a faded cap. He held a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, his weathered face creased with a kind smile.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, setting the mop aside and stepping closer. "Saw you reaching for that bottle and thought I'd lend a hand."
Rain hesitated, unsure whether to accept. She glanced at her mother, still fast asleep, and then back at the man. Something about him felt... safe. Familiar, even, though she was certain they'd never met.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice hoarse.
The man moved with surprising ease for someone his age. He retrieved the bottle and handed it to her, his hands rough but gentle. Rain accepted it with a grateful nod, twisting off the cap and taking slow, measured sips. The cool water soothed her throat, easing one small discomfort in a sea of many.
"You look like you've got a lot on your mind," the man said, pulling up a nearby stool. He didn't sit, though; he leaned against it casually, his eyes studying her with a mix of curiosity and empathy.
Rain chuckled softly, the sound dry and brittle. "That obvious?"
The man shrugged. "It's a gift, noticing when people are carrying more than they should. You remind me of my granddaughter—same look in the eyes. Like you're thinking about all the things you didn't get to do."
Rain's chest tightened. She looked away, staring at the bottle in her hands.
"Yeah," she admitted after a moment. "There's a lot I didn't get to do."
The man nodded, as if he understood without her needing to explain. "Life can be funny like that. Sometimes it doesn't give us what we want, but it gives us what we need."
Rain frowned, unsure what he meant. She opened her mouth to ask, but he continued before she could.
"You've got a strong heart, even if your body doesn't always cooperate. I can see it. And strong hearts... they leave their mark, no matter how short the time."
Rain's throat tightened. She wanted to believe him, but it was hard. What mark had she left? She'd spent most of her life in this hospital or others like it, too weak to chase dreams or forge connections.
"I don't know about that," she said softly.
The man tilted his head, his smile never wavering. "You'll see," he said, his voice tinged with a quiet certainty that sent a shiver down her spine.
Rain wasn't sure how to respond. The man glanced toward her mother, his expression softening.
"She loves you a lot, you know," he said. "That kind of love—it's rare."
"I know," Rain whispered. "I just wish she'd let me live my life. I know she meant well, but... I missed out on so much because she was scared for me."
The man nodded thoughtfully. "Parents don't always get it right, but they try. Sometimes love looks like holding on too tight. Sometimes it looks like letting go."
Rain swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her.
"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The man's smile grew, warm and enigmatic. "Because you deserve to know. And because you've got something special coming your way. A gift."
Rain blinked, confused. "A gift?"
He nodded. "Not the kind you can hold, but one that'll change everything."
Before she could ask him to explain, the man stood and picked up his mop. "Get some rest, Rain. You'll need your strength."
He gave her one last look, his eyes twinkling like he knew a secret she didn't, and then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Rain stared after him, her mind spinning. Who was he? And how had he known her name?
Exhaustion pulled at her, heavier than before. She sank back into the pillows, the water bottle still clutched in her hand. Despite her confusion, a strange sense of calm washed over her, like a warm blanket on a cold night.
As her eyes drifted shut, she thought she heard her mother whispering a prayer in her sleep, her voice soft and steady.
"Lord, watch over my baby girl. Give her peace. Give her joy. Give her love."
The words followed Rain into her dreams, where a world of light and love awaited her.
The dream enveloped Rain in a warm glow, a stark contrast to the cold sterility of the hospital room she'd just left in the waking world. She stepped out of a patient room and into a hallway that hummed with life. It was strange—she felt no pain here, no weight dragging her down. Instead, there was an unfamiliar lightness, a sense of peace.
The hospital in her dream was unlike the one she knew. The walls were painted in soft, cheerful colors, and the air didn't carry the acrid tang of antiseptics but rather a faint, comforting floral scent. The reception area bustled with activity: nurses wheeled carts, doctors exchanged notes, and patients waited patiently with their loved ones. It was a scene of quiet harmony, filled with purpose and care.
Rain's attention wandered until it landed on something—or someone—that froze her in place.
At the far end of the reception area, a tall, handsome doctor was kneeling in front of a little girl. His white coat hung loosely on his broad shoulders, and his blue eyes sparkled like clear skies on a summer day. The girl, no more than six, had tear-streaked cheeks and clutched her arm, which was wrapped in a bright pink cast. Despite her obvious discomfort, she giggled as the doctor handed her a small plush toy—a brown bear with a bow.
"There you go, sweetheart," the doctor said, his voice deep and soothing. "This little guy's name is Mr. Teddy. He's very brave, just like you. He told me he's excited to go home with you and help you get better."
The girl's giggle grew louder. "He talks to you?"
"Of course!" the doctor replied, his smile infectious. "He told me you're his favorite patient of the day."
Rain felt her breath catch in her throat. There was something about this man—his warmth, his kindness, the way he seemed to light up the entire room. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him.
The little girl's mother approached, gratitude etched into every line of her face. "Thank you, Dr. Grant. She was so scared, but you've made her feel so much better."
Dr. Grant—so that was his name—rose to his full height and smiled at the mother. "That's what I'm here for. If she has any trouble with her cast, just bring her back, and we'll take care of it."
Rain's heart thudded in her chest as she watched him. He wasn't just beautiful—he exuded a goodness that seemed to shine through his every action. She felt an inexplicable pull toward him, as if some invisible thread connected them.
Without thinking, she began to follow him, weaving through the bustling reception area as he moved with practiced ease. He stopped to chat with a nurse, then checked on another patient in the corner, all the while maintaining the same gentle demeanor that had captivated Rain.
His movements were graceful, purposeful, yet unhurried. Rain couldn't help but notice the way his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, or the way his voice carried a steady reassurance that seemed to put everyone around him at ease.
For what felt like hours, Rain shadowed him, observing every small interaction, every act of care. She saw him bandage a child's scraped knee, share a laugh with an elderly patient, and even give a nurse a quick pep talk during a moment of stress. Each gesture deepened the spell he'd cast over her.
It wasn't just that he was handsome—though he was undoubtedly the most attractive man she'd ever seen—it was the way he embodied everything she'd always dreamed of in another person: compassion, strength, and a love for life that radiated from within.
Rain's heart ached with longing, though she couldn't explain why. She didn't know this man, and yet it felt as though she'd been searching for him her entire life.
As she followed him through the hospital, she felt a sense of clarity she hadn't experienced in years. Here, in this dream, there were no limitations, no illness, no pain. She was simply Rain—alive, free, and captivated by the man who seemed to embody everything beautiful in the world.
But dreams, like life, are fleeting.
A sudden sharp pain ripped through her chest, and the hospital around her blurred. Rain stumbled, clutching at her side, gasping for air. The warmth of the dream faded, replaced by the cold grip of reality.
"No, not now," she thought desperately, her vision swimming.
She was back in her hospital bed, her body wracked with the familiar agony of a sickle cell crisis. The pain was overwhelming, radiating through her limbs and into her very soul. She struggled to breathe, her chest rising and falling in frantic, shallow bursts.
Her mother stirred in the chair beside her, her Bible slipping from her grasp as she jolted awake.
"Rain!" Mary's voice was panicked, her hands reaching out to her daughter. "Baby, hold on! Just hold on!"
Tears streamed down Rain's face, both from the unbearable pain and the realization that her time was running out. Her body had reached its limit. She could feel it—death was no longer a distant specter but a presence in the room, waiting patiently to take her hand.
Despite the chaos around her, her thoughts drifted back to the dream. She saw his face—Dr. Grant's kind eyes and gentle smile. The image brought her a strange comfort, even as her life slipped away.
"I didn't get to live," Rain thought bitterly, her tears mixing with the sweat on her cheeks. "But at least... at least I saw something beautiful before the end."
Her mother's frantic prayers filled the room, but Rain barely heard them. The world around her dimmed, the edges of her vision darkening. Each breath was a struggle, and the pain began to dull, replaced by an eerie calm.
As she took her final, labored breath, a single tear slid down her cheek.
"I wish I'd met you," she whispered in her mind, the memory of Dr. Grant's face the last thing she clung to as her body surrendered.
And then there was nothing.
The room was silent, save for Mary's anguished cries. But Rain's soul drifted into a serene stillness, her last moments filled with the bittersweet memory of a man she'd never truly known—a dream of love, hope, and freedom that would linger in her heart, even as she left the world behind.