Chanyeol blows the rose petals until they flutter like butterfly wings, he then plucks each red velvet drop and settles himself in a pool of rose. Rather than just a white bed which seems sickly, it now has speckles of red that somehow brings a shimmering glint in his eyes. He raises it above his head and towards the light above, examining the last few petals and the green stems which are bound together with a pink ribbon. Sunlight materialises from a gap in the curtains and glimmers over him, Chanyeol gradually turns towards the green outdoors, careful not to let any petals slip.

  “I feel like I’m outside again. Surrounded by flowers and sun on the tip of my nose.” He brings his eyes to mine and while his sparkle with hope, mine are as dull and emotionless as ever. “How did you get the roses? They’re very pretty.” He softly caresses a few petals, the silkiness of their touch comforting him.

  My mind recalled to the boy from yesterday who strangely decided to pay this patient a short visit. Was it pity which drew him here? Or maybe it could have been some warped and selfish way to make him feel better that he’s not the one suffering from cancer. “Some guy came and left the roses for you, said he felt sorry for you and blah blah blah,” I roll my eyes and open up a newspaper, reading the headlines and articles on the front page. Chanyeol exits from his bed and trots over, prying the paper from my view until all there I see is the innocence of his eyes.

  “Someone came and visited me?” His eyes twinkle and he gets a spring in his step and before I know it, he’s skipping from one end of the room to the other. “When will they come back?” The door grazes against the floor as Chanyeol pulls it open to peer outside, his eyes wandering, but from that slight gap, the male is nowhere in sight.

  “Chanyeol, I don’t think he will,” from afar, I can tell his eyes darken by just a tiny bit. With defeat, he closes the door again and sighs, dragging his unwilling legs back to his rose-covered mattress.

  He slumps back, resting his head on the wooden backboard, “They never do, do they? Our parents only visited once and then they thought business was more important.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheeks as he mentions him so casually, but I’m the one who lied to him and he still thinks they’re alive. “Did he say he would?”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “Then I put my trust in him and I will believe he’ll return,” his eyes fix on the door and a waterfall of hope washes over him. Alternating between the door and the clock, he exhales deep sighs and he just can’t realise that the promise was broken long ago. There’s not going to be a visitor. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day either. Never.

  I stride over to him and rest a hand on his shoulder, “It’s been a while. I don’t think anyone’s going to show up.” With one final glimpse at the door, he accepts that and snuggles in his blanket, this time not caring if petals have fallen. The sound of his heart breaking rings in my ears, but I know, no matter what I do, I can’t remove the disappointment on his shoulders. “Yeollie…” he doesn’t look up, he shuts his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he mumbles, voice husky and he refuses to make eye contact. The door slams behind him and the world stills, but the silence is disturbed as soon as his first sob escapes. Minutes pass and the crying has only gotten louder, but when the sound of an unlocking door is heard, he exits with a smile on his face and settles back into the bed.

  You don’t need to pretend,  I think to myself as I my fingers through his hair, Don’t pretend you’re happy when you’re suffering. In fact, take notice of that. Realise you’re suffering and let go. But… will things really become better for us if you are dead? My thoughts come to an end as the door slides wide open and though I expect a nurse in white uniform, I see the opposite. The chocolate haired boy with eyeliner from yesterday, holding a bouquet of snow-white roses and beaming down at the sleeping patient in the bed.

  He returned.

  He actually returned.

  The paragraphs in my mind disintegrated and I’m left speechless and gawking, but Chanyeol’s eyes pop open and in them is a glitter of sparkling joy as he examines the visitor. His visitor. His first visitor, someone beside a nurse or doctor. Someone came out of their own will, and for that fact, Chanyeol scuttles out from the thin blanket and walks over with a bouncing step to the male, his smile widening with every step. To me, this boy is a stranger; but to Chanyeol, he’s a miracle. He takes the bouquet out of the male’s hands and wrap his long arms around him and buries his face in the visitor’s hair. He cries, not out of pain or depression, but these tears which fall are happy, so happy that he can’t bear to wipe them away.

  They don’t exchange words, their names, and neither of them even greet the other with a simple ‘hi’ or ‘hello’. It’s silence, but you can sense a spark forming. Both of them stand there with genuine smiles on their face. In this happiness though, annoyance stirs within me.

  Things are going to get much harder for Chanyeol. Why? Because this boy gave him a reason to live.