It was a strange sight — this young boy, seemingly out of place, standing beside a hospital bed in Room 317. Emily, Richard’s daughter, lay motionless, her features serene yet distant, as if she were dreaming a dream she couldn’t escape from. Richard, burdened by hope and despair, watched the boy with a heart that beat a little faster than it had in days.
The boy closed his eyes, his fingers just grazing Emily’s skin, and began to hum — a soft, haunting melody that filled the room with an inexplicable warmth. It was not a tune Richard recognized, yet it felt familiar, like a lullaby from the edge of memory. The rhythm ebbed and flowed, weaving a fragile thread of connection between the boy and Emily.
