After a warm conversation with Mr. David—filled with laughter and teasing—Deniz and I walk through the hospital corridor, our footsteps echoing softly against the sterile white walls.
His steps are calm, measured, but something has shifted between us. Our hands are still joined, fingers laced together like before, but the warmth that was there moments ago—that easy warmth from his father's laughter and blessings—has faded.
Cooled. Withdrawn.
The smile that lit up his face is gone.
Completely gone.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, stealing glances the way you might check a wound when you're afraid of what you'll find. His face is blank.
Not angry. Not sad. Just... empty.
Like someone turned off the light behind his eyes, and all that's left is a body going through the motions.
His teacher. Mr. Bryan.
The name echoes in my mind, a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward.
