The doctor let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Support can come in many forms—physical therapy, emotional stability. But for now, it''s very important that he hears familiar voices."
Annie''s heart quickened. "So, talking to him helps?"
"More than you know," the doctor said, nodding. "People often respond to voices they recognize, even when they''re unresponsive. It creates a bridge.
Annie leaned into Robert, her hand clenching his a little tighter as the warmth seeped from his skin. The monitor beeped on beside her, a steady cadence she clung to like a lifeline.
"What do I say?" She muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Her mind swirled with memories: laughter across dinner, the quiet times reading side by side.
"Speak from the heart," the doctor said in a soft tone, now turning to leave the room. "Just remember—time is of the essence."
When she was finally alone, Annie took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. She leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Robert," she began, the weight of her words heavy on each syllable. "It''s me—Annie. I know this sounds strange… bustrange... strange... t I came from the past to find you." She hesitated; she was quite unsure if these words would fit into this context.
"Do you remember our old walks by the river? The way you used to laugh when I tripped over my own feet?" A soft smile crossed her lips at the memory.
Robert didn''t move, but Annie clung to hope as if it were a tangible thing.
"I''m here because I love you," she continued, the urgency now laced through her voice. "You''re not alone. You''re fighting this. and I''m going to help you wake up."
The only sound in the room was the rhythmic beeping of machines monitoring Robert''s vital signs. Annie studied his face—the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lashes lay on his cheeks—and she watched for the slightest flicker of recognition, the slightest movement that might indicate he could hear her.
The tugging of time while minutes dragged passed like molasses oozing from a tipped jar, as the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily upon her every word seemed crucial.
"Just come back to me," she begged softly and brushed back several tufts of hair that had strayed across his forehead.
Then once more, in the quiet that followed, there was the screeching creak of a door as an armful-of-things-bearing nurse stepped inside again.
"Everything okay in here?" she asked cheerily with a tinge of professionalism.
Annie nodded absently but kept her gaze fixed on Robert''s face. Something caught her eye, though—aitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he had heard her after all.
"Robert?" She leaned closer, her heart pounding against her chest as anticipation surged within her once more.
Annie held her breath, watching for any sign of life from Robert. The twitch at the corner of his mouth faded, leaving her feeling adrift in uncertainty. She leaned closer, eyes locked onto his face, searching for any flicker that might signal he had heard her.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Come on, Robert,” she whispered, urgency creeping into her voice. “You’ve got to wake up.”
The nurse glanced at the monitors, then back at Annie with a gentle smile. “Sometimes it takes time for them to respond. Just keep talking to him. You’re doing great.”
Annie nodded but felt the weight of despair settle in again. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she recounted their shared moments—lazy Sundays spent watching movies, impromptu road trips, and even silly arguments over what toppings to order on pizza.
"Remember how we got lost on the way to that concert? You said we''d make it eventually." She laughed then, the chuckle muffled against the cacophony of beeping machinery.
As if he had been listening, Robert''s eyelids quivered momentarily—a fraction of an inch, a shift of weight—but for all that, monumental. Annie''s heart skipped a beat; her hope flared to life, a spark in the darkness.
"Robert?" she repeated, her voice firm this time. "I''m right here."
She moved closer—the nurse leaned into his bed—so close that he felt her observation over the change in breathing as his and a light indentation between the eyebrows.
"Continue talking," she asked softly.
"Do you remember that song we always played, and he''d always start dancing around the living room?" Annie pressed on excitedly through the weaving of words. "Still now, if I close my eyes, I still can hear it.
Robert''s lips parted as if he might say something. Annie leaned in closer, enthralled by the possibility of his breaking through the fog that enveloped him.
"Just squeeze my hand if you can hear me," she whispered.
Nothing happened at first. Then, slow and tentative, a finger twitched against hers. The touch sent a jolt of electricity racing along Annie''s arm.
The nurse gasped softly, watching intently as more movement followed—his fingers curled around hers with an almost imperceptible strength.
"There you go," Annie breathed out, joy threading through her voice despite the tight knot of anxiety in her stomach. "That''s it! Just keep going!"
Robert''s eyes remained closed, but Annie sensed something shifting within him—a determination sparking beneath layers of silence and uncertainty.
The nurse exchanged a look with Annie, pride glimmering in her eyes, as if they both knew they were part of a small miracle unfolding before their eyes.
Annie leaned closer, her heart pounding in her chest. Robert''s fingers curled around hers—a delicate yet undeniable sign of life. She felt a warmth spread as hope surged through her.
"Keep holding on," she whispered, as if her words could anchor him to this moment.
The nurse stepped back, giving Annie space to relate to Robert. She watched the monitors to make sure everything stayed stable while observing Annie''s every move. The hospital room was buzzing—energy pulsed through it, with machines softly humming in the background—a symphony of beeps and whirls that filled the air.
"Robert," Annie said, continuing to squeeze his hand gently. "It''s time to come back to us. I need you to wake up."
With each word she spoke, memories flooded her mind: their first date at that tiny café where they spilled coffee everywhere; late-night talks that stretched into dawn; dreams shared beneath a blanket of stars. Each recollection pushed away the dark cloud of despair hovering above them.
She looked back at the still form of Robert and then back into Annie''s determined face. "He''s responding well," the nurse whispered. "Keep talking to him."
Annie just nodded but didn''t let her gaze leave from Robert, who seemed in battle to work himself through layers and layers of confusion and silence.
"Remember our favorite hiking spot?" she asked, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach. "You used to complain about my packing skills, but you always ate every snack I brought."
A flicker of movement caught her eye—Robert''s eyelids twitched again, this time more pronounced.
Come on, Robert! You loved those peanut butter sandwiches," she coaxed with a soft laugh, willing him to open his eyes and join her in the world again.
His brow furrowed as if struggling against invisible chains. A muscle in his jaw tensed for a moment before relaxing again.
Annie watched intently for any sign of recognition—a spark in his gaze or an upward tilt of his lips—but nothing materialized just yet.
“Please,” she whispered again, desperation creeping into her tone. “I’m right here with you.”
The nurse exchanged glances with Annie, sensing the tension in the air as Robert seemed to grapple with something unseen. It was a battle not just against his illness but against an invisible barrier keeping him locked away from them both.
“I know it’s hard,” Annie continued softly. “But you’re stronger than this.”
With each heartbeat drumming in her ears, Annie prayed, literally crossing her fingers, that Robert would fight his way back again to her side.