she is roused awake by the incessant chirping of the recalcitrant bunch of birds that never seem to know when to quit, that took up residence by the tree right outside her window, that painted the baby blue skies green and yellow and black and whatever other colours their feathers were painted with. she lifts a hand up to her face to shield her face from the glaring sunshine of two in the afternoon, only peeking through her fingers to allow her eyes to adjust to the light.

out of the corner of her eye, she sees her. her ears catch onto more than just the chirping birds, finally noticing a familiar voice humming in a soft and low tone. it was that song again, she thinks, as she rolls over in her bed to address the supposed intruder sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room.

the girl is hunched over a little, eyes fixated on nothing but the incomplete paper ornament in her hands, her slender fingers working its way around the pink square, giving it folds and creases that will eventually, for the umpteenth time, breathe life into the crane she so loved and cherished.

when she finally catches the girl’s attention, the paper crane has come to life and taken up its own residence on the table that housed a few million, trillion more of those little paper birds.

“momoring, you’re up!”

she doesn’t have to smile for the paper crane girl to know that she is smiling, at least on the inside. it has become routine, as her eyes met hers and she became the first thing she saw every time she woke up and opened her eyes, and they did away with the daily greetings and pleasantries after a while. it feels nice, not needing words to communicate with another being like this. it feels really nice.

“you slept like a log, momoring. you missed breakfast and lunch, so I had your share for you. today’s stew was unbelievably good!”

at least, the part on not needing words applies more to her. she had become a woman of few words after whatever happened had happened. (not like she knew if she was a woman of many words before that, anyway.) paper crane girl is fond of words, fond of expressing herself as much as she could, from endless sentences to physical touches.

sometimes, momo finds a need to strike a balance with the girl. call it being civil, call it courtesy, call it whatever you want; it just feels nice to create a kind of harmony with the girl that they could call their own.

after all, in a place like this, it’s not every day you get to meet and have someone to call your own. or as close as ‘your own’ could ever be.

“glad you had your fill, sana.”

paper crane girl – sana – gives her an electric smile and everything feels right again. she rolls over in bed, back to her original fetal position, and buries her head deep into her pillow as she decides to lull herself back into dreamland.

when she wakes up again in the late evening, sana is still there, breathing life into yet another paper crane, humming that same tune over and over, in that armchair she eventually came to call her own.

they make eye contact, she gives that smile of hers, and everything feels right, as it always does.

(at least with her it does.)

=

the cold cushioned chairs in the doctor’s office always feels foreign to the touch. nobody ever likes being seated in one, because in those quiet moments before the doctor delivers a diagnosis, that silence is deafening and the uncomfortable chairs never make it any better.

for momo, that silence became less deafening over time. she likes to think that in some morbid way, she has truly become deaf after so many encounters with that annoying but familiar silence, like an old friend she just couldn’t rid herself of.

and yet, she is never ever deaf enough to miss the way the doctor says ‘we’ll have to keep you here for a while more.’

just for observation’s sake, she finishes the sentence in her head, watching the doctor’s dry lips move, the deafness finally returning as she becomes more and more accustomed to the news.

she stops listening after the first ten or so times, then she stops caring altogether after the next fifty.

if there still exists a home for her beyond the ghastly white walls of this hospital, she probably couldn’t find it within herself to get used to calling it her own again.

besides, there are perks to living in a hospital. she never ever has to cook for herself, even if the food here tastes bland and a little like death itself. she never has to clean her room or wash her clothes, or make the bed or lock the doors.

plus, over here she at least had someone she could call her own. she at least could wake up to the same sight every morning; sana, sitting in that armchair, folding her precious paper cranes, humming that song that even she now knows by heart.

when the doctor’s lips stop moving, she figures he’s done humming a song of his own, done with breaking the bad news to her that she honestly didn’t feel that bad to receive. she thanks him, void of any kind of gratitude, and slips out of the office the same way she had entered.

right by the door, waiting on the other side, is sana. it’s always her.

“you’re done?”

with life in her eyes and light in her smile; the same paper crane girl who was impossible not to know. momo nods, a little smile ghosting over her lips, the ends curling up by just the slightest bit.

“let’s go, then!”

“where?”

“anywhere,” and sana takes her hand in hers and they glide down the hallway together, falling into the same step barely a second into the run.

the doctors can observe her as long as they want; there is no telling when she could ever get those wretched memories back; when she could ever reclaim her identity as the girl she once was.

she figures it’s not that bad, to lose herself like this, in the company of someone like sana.

=

she thinks to herself that this must be what high school felt like.

she is almost ready to leave the cubicle in the restroom when she hears two voices make their entrance, high-pitched and jarring to her ears.

she hears them talk and doesn’t register nor care for their words as she lets the toilet flush.

it’s only after the flush quietens when she hears her own name come up in the conversation.

the owners of the high-pitched voices zip their mouths shut the moment momo emerges from the cubicle, hastily shutting the faucet and scurrying out of the restroom at lightning speed.

momo washes her hands, slowly lathers them up with soap, and suddenly she recalls their words and realises she might probably be a little fazed.

(just a little.)

=

“they said I’m only here out of heartbreak.”

“now that’s just silly.”

sana lays out all her paper cranes over the polished oak floor in momo’s ward, counting them mindlessly one by one as momo sits in another corner, back against the wall.

“right,” momo replies, suddenly sounding unsure of herself. sana hears it, so she throws a paper crane in momo’s direction that the latter deftly catches.

“you know it’s silly, don’t you? people don’t end up here out of heartbreak.” she goes back to counting her beloved paper cranes, circling a bunch up after she’s done sorting them out by a pattern only she knows for sure. “besides, you’re momo. your heart is too precious to have been broken by anybody before.”

(she sounds so sincere with those words that momo lets herself believe that sana would do anything to keep her heart safe, and she feels protected in that moment. she lets herself feel that way, just once.)

“if anything,” sana circles up another group of paper cranes, a little playful grin tugging at her lips, “I probably know more about heartbreak than you do.”

“that’s not fair. I wouldn’t even be able to remember if I’ve had my heart broken before.”

“now who says that’s a bad thing?”

momo plays around with the paper crane she had caught earlier, before flying it in sana’s direction. it lands by one of sana’s feet and the latter picks it up as if it is a real bird that got hurt.

“what could you possibly know about broken hearts?”

sana puts the paper crane in a corner, all on its own, as if solitude could nurse the hurt away.

“more than you do, probably.”

=

momo sips on the avocado milkshake sana had snuck out of her own ward just one mealtime ago. she lets the cool, green delight wash down the bland aftertaste of the hospital food she’s grown accustomed to, that tasted and felt a lot like death, before she feels guilty for enjoying it.

it’s an unspoken rule that better treats are offered to those who deserved them more, and that, too, is an unspoken rule of how one should view those whose ends are near.

the drink tastes worse than death when the thought hits her.

and yet, despite the gravity of it all, sana is still a happier person than she could ever fathom herself to be.

“how is it? is it good?”

with hopeful eyes and a megawatt smile, sana is perched by the edge of momo’s bed, having woken her up from one of her usual dreamland trips with the enticing treat of a milkshake. momo doesn’t make to reply, only handing the milkshake back to her with a slight tremor in her hands that she hopes the other girl doesn’t notice.

sana pouts, her lower lip jutting out by the slightest of inches, as she grabs hold of the milkshake momo had returned her. “that bad?”

momo shakes her head, willing herself to forget the way her skin tingled whe