Pain. I couldn’t feel it but I knew it was there. The dull throbbing kind that vibrated throughout my body, my limps felt numb and sedated. A noise beeped in a steady rhythm, slow and continuous. There were three needles on the right side of my arm, four on my left. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I knew, just as I was aware of the multiple bandages from my head to my feet. It was bad. I felt bad. Confided.

A voice broke through the haze every now and then, mumbling things I couldn’t understand. Someone gripped my hand like a vice and wouldn’t let go. I wished I could shake them off; I wanted to leave the pain, the confinement that held me onto the soft mattress. I wanted to leave it all. Frustration swelled up in me, resentment built because the voice would not relent, the hand kept holding on. Hands off, damn it. Leave me alone. These were the things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t utter them – my tongue felt thick and clumsy. It happened rarely, but I recognized my name being called a few times. I wanted to yell out, “what! What do you want from me?” But I couldn’t. I wanted to cry away my anger, wanted to hurl things in my rage. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t feel anything other than the numbing sensation the permeated through every pores of my body.






Light poured from the tree tops, filtered through the canopies above to bask my skin in its warmth. I smiled, glad to be free. I took in everything: the heat against my body, the smell of grass beneath my feet, the sound of the rushing river. I needed to cross that river. Testing the water, I dipped one foot in and smiled in satisfaction. It felt deliciously cool; one step, then another, another until I was submerged halfway. I grinned, feeling foolish. Voices buzzed around me, I frowned, and my haven broke into pieces at the sound of someone crying.

Then it happened. I saw him. He wasn’t in front of me nor was he displayed before me. I just saw him, like a memory, crisp and clear in my mind. He was sitting next to someone in a hospital bed. I couldn’t see the person because he was so bandaged up, there were IV drips connected to his body. Tubes surrounded him like snakes; one went down his throat and two smaller ones up his nostrils. A machine echoed his heart rate, which was fading dangerously. The person sitting on the chair held the patient’s hand in his, head bowed. His small frame shook, sobs mutedly resounded the hospital room. 

Kibum. Kibum was crying. Because of me. I was the patient.

I turned around and made my way out of the river, each step felt heavier than the last. I couldn’t cross over. I shouldn’t. I had to fight every ounce of my body just to return to the edge of the river. I stood on the bay, shivering against the cold. A sharp pain laced through me, doubled me over, out of breath. Sweat beaded on my forehead, I tried to focus on my breathing but I couldn’t. I dipped my toes in the water again and felt the pain subsided. I felt the lure of the river once more. But I couldn’t. I promised him I wouldn’t.

Inch by inch, I crawled away from the cool water, from the expansive canopy. But where to go? Kibum’s voice filtered through my 
awareness. I could hear him now. He was begging me to stay with him. He was calling me stupid and clumsy. I frowned, I didn't appreciate the name-calling. I had to go back, had to tell him that I was on my death-bed and he shouldn’t be such a jerk about it. Slowly I made my way in the direction of his voice. 








“Kibum?”

His head lifted up, surprised, “Jinki? Jinki, you’re awake? You okay? Are you hurting? Of course you are hurting.” Wasn’t that just like him to say ten things as a response to my one?

“I…have to tell you something.” Was that my voice? It sounded raw and weak to my own ears. I took a moment to take in my surrounding. The heart monitor sounded strong, my bandages were still securely wrapped around me, but I no longer needed tubes to help me breathe. I was making progress, I realized. 

“What? What is it?”

I had to tell him about my experience: about the river, about the lure of crossing over to the other side. I had to tell him about what it was like to almost die; the utter and complete free feeling that I had felt. I had to tell him about how I only came back because of him, because I promised him that I wouldn’t die before the world faded to black. I had to tell him about how he was the last person I saw before I entered my coma, how he was the only one I saw before I almost died, and how he was the only person I saw when I came back to the living. I had to tell him so many things. But I had time now, time I didn’t have before. I could tell him those things later; I was tired now, I couldn’t voice all those thoughts aloud.

For now, I had to tell him what really mattered.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Kibum said, his voice watery.

Did I say it? Had he heard me? Was I dreaming this? It didn’t matter. I smiled anyways.

“Get some rest now,” Kibum sniffled. “And then come back to me.”

Always, I thought before I drifted back to sleep. Always and always. 
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I couldn't write anything else until I got this out my system. This is actually inspired by a real story. My friend told me about her mom's near death experience (that her mom told her). She said that she was choking on something and then she saw herself standing in front of a river. She saw her family in that moment, and she knew she had to cross the river. But for some reason, something held her back. So she didn't cross (she didn't die). So I thought that was awesome. Thank you for reading <3