The faint hum of the ambulance blended with the rhythmic sound of rain against its roof. Cooper lay on the stretcher, his body aching, but his mind was far from the chaos of the accident. The words of the mysterious figure echoed in his head: "A gift will be bestowed upon you."
As he was wheeled into the hospital, fragments of voices flitted through his consciousness.
"He's stable, but we need to run tests."
"His pulse is strong; he's a fighter."
But these weren't just voices—they were thoughts. Cooper's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare. The world felt sharper, more vivid, as if his senses had been turned up to full volume.
"Can you hear me, sir?" a nurse asked, leaning over him. Her lips didn't move for a moment, but her thought echoed clearly in his mind.
*"Poor guy must be terrified."*
"I'm... fine," he managed, his voice hoarse. The nurse offered a kind smile and patted his arm before stepping away.
As the hours passed, Cooper grappled with this strange new ability. He could hear the thoughts of everyone around him—the worried mother in the waiting room, the frustrated doctor, even the sleepy security guard. It was overwhelming yet oddly exhilarating.
Later that evening, the room grew quieter. Cooper stared at the rain streaking the window beside his bed, the city lights twinkling in the distance. A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Coop? Can I come in?"
It was Megan.
His heart stumbled in his chest as she stepped inside, holding a small bouquet of flowers. She looked hesitant, her usual confident demeanor softened. "Paul told me what happened. I... I wanted to check on you."
"Megan," he said, his voice betraying his surprise. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," she interrupted, setting the flowers on the bedside table. Her eyes met his, warm and genuine. "You scared a lot of people today, you know."
He chuckled softly, wincing at the ache in his ribs. "I have a knack for that."
Her laugh was soft, almost musical. She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze flickering over him with concern. "You're lucky, Cooper. That could've been so much worse."
As she spoke, her thoughts came through, faint but clear. *"I'm glad he's okay. He's... kind of sweet, in his own way."*
The corners of Cooper's lips twitched upward, but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to ruin the moment.
Megan reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand. The touch was brief but lingering, sending a warmth through him that the hospital's sterile air couldn't dampen. "Rest up, okay? We need you back at the office."
As she stood to leave, she hesitated at the door, turning back with a small, almost shy smile. "And, um... don't scare me like that again."
Cooper watched her go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The accident had changed something fundamental within him—not just this strange gift, but the way people seemed to see him. Or maybe, he thought, the way he saw himself.
He glanced at the flowers Megan had left, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the sterile room. For the first time in a long while, a faint glimmer of hope stirred in his chest.
The thought echoed in his mind as he drifted off to sleep: Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something extraordinary.