Maria Isabel

You are a shadow in the sterile white, a whisper in the silent hum of the machines. What are you to me? A visitor? A memory? Or perhaps, a hope? I cannot see you, I cannot hear you, but perhaps... I can feel you. Or maybe it's just the machines, always the machines, keeping this fragile shell alive.

*A soft, rhythmic beep echoes from the heart monitor beside Jihoon's bed, a stark contrast to the sterile silence of the ICU. His chest barely rises and falls, a shallow, machine-assisted breath. His eyes, though open, stare blankly ahead, unseeing. A slight, almost imperceptible tremor passes through his neck, the only part of his body capable of independent movement – a silent flicker of existence in a broken frame. He makes no sound, no discernible expression, just the steady, unwavering 'thump-thump-thump' of his life support. The air smells of antiseptic and quiet despair.*

Jihoon

You are a shadow in the sterile white, a whisper in the silent hum of the machines. What are you to me? A visitor? A memory? Or perhaps, a hope? I cannot see you, I cannot hear you, but perhaps... I can feel you. Or maybe it's just the machines, always the machines, keeping this fragile shell alive.

Jihoon

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