My angel

I remember the day I was rushed to the hospital because I fainted. It happened to me often, in very hot, stuffy rooms, but never at school.

Maybe that's why the teacher was so concerned. The PE teacher took me to the doctor, even though I tried hard to convince him I was better and that this often happens to me when I'm tired or stressed. When the doctor examined me, she said the same thing many people had said before:

"You should take it easy." I was tired of hearing these stupid doctors' spiel, the same old thing over and over again! I left the room, but the teacher stayed and talked to the nurse.

I walked through the emergency room and continued toward the exit. However, I got lost, and I was embarrassed to ask for directions. As I stood there, unsure which way to go, a rushing nurse almost knocked me down. She was shouting something, but it was terribly indistinct. I followed her, hoping to reach the exit. However, the woman disappeared from my sight, and I found myself standing in front of the open door leading to a room with only a single bed, a dresser, and a television in the corner. I stepped over the threshold and approached the patient. Something compelled me to enter the room, but it wasn't curiosity, something truly strange... A young boy slept in white hospital sheets; I wouldn't have guessed he was more than nineteen at the time. He had a pale face, matte lips, and contrasting black hair.

He didn't wake up when I approached; he was sleeping peacefully.

"He's beautiful," I whispered to myself, not taking my eyes off him.

"That's my brother," I heard a woman's voice behind me. I turned and started to explain.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I just peeked in." My tongue was tangled,

and a thousand thoughts raced through my mind.

"Please don't explain yourself, no one is here except me and my mother." Only then did I realize I wasn't talking to a woman, but a teenage girl not much older than me.

"You're not anyone Michael knows?" she asked, her face calm, almost emotionless. She looked at the boy and swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears.

"No, not yet," I muttered, but she heard it perfectly, remaining silent, waiting for what else I would tell her

. "I came here because I got lost and stumbled in here by accident.

" "Tell me, what happened to him?"

"Why is he in a coma?" Only when I asked the question did I realize such a question was inappropriate. "

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.

" "It doesn't matter, it's no secret. My brother was shot in the head, the bullet damaged one of his cerebral lobes," she stammered again, holding back tears.

"That was two years ago." She couldn't hold it back anymore, she burst into tears, and I stood frozen, not really knowing what to say. God, it was so terrible, such a young boy must have suffered so much!

I felt sad, and that's when I made my decision: I wouldn't leave him alone...

I only showed up at home briefly. I asked my brother to take me to the library, and it was hard to believe he agreed. When I arrived, I asked the librarian for newspapers from two years ago, and she brought me everything she had about that terrible accident.

Unfortunately, there weren't many, just a few mentions of the shooting and Michał's coma. A bit disappointed, I returned home. I began visiting the hospital more and more often. At first, I just sat there watching Michał sink into a blissful sleep. But over time, my shame disappeared, and I started talking. I told him everything, about my school, about what was happening in this cursed world. I never felt like I was talking to a wall; I always felt in my heart that he understood me perfectly, that he was listening. I also met his sister often, and it was from her that I learned many important details about my new friend.

I was very surprised when she told me that my sleeping prince was five years older than me, twenty-one. Iza, for that was the name of Michał's sister, had told me about the studies he had been accepted to; he had always dreamed of graduating in Romance Philology, and when fate gave him the opportunity, this accident happened. From her story, I gathered that he was a romantic, loved horseback riding, listening to ballads, and watching old movies. Izka didn't tell me one thing: what caused this tragic accident. From newspapers I read in the library, I learned that he had found himself in the middle of a shootout caused by two street gangs.

That day, as usual, I rushed to the hospital. To my surprise, a crowd of frantic doctors stood outside Michał's room. I quickened my pace and in a moment I was already outside my friend's room. "Excuse me, is something wrong with Michał?" I asked, startled, the young doctor who was just passing me on his way out of the room. The man smiled at me and replied, "

Quite the opposite! The patient has woken up, from his coma!" "These words raced through my head, refusing to reach where they should have. I couldn't believe the luck that had befallen Michał's family and me.

"Can I check on him?" I hoped they'd let me see him.

"You'll have to wait a moment, the head doctor is examining him." He gave me another kind smile.

I sat down on a bench in the hallway. I waited for about fifteen minutes, maybe a little longer, my heart pounding like crazy. I so desperately wanted to hear Michał's voice, see his eyes and smile.

The thought made me blush. When I was finally allowed to enter, I hesitated for a moment. He didn't know me at all! How would he react to seeing me? I began to wonder, but after a moment my fears vanished, and I crossed the threshold of the hospital room. Michał looked at me with curiosity.

" Hi," I murmured, trying to stop my hand from shaking.

"Hello," he replied, not taking his eyes off me; he was strangely fascinated by me. " We

don't know each other, do we?" he added after a moment of silence.

"We do, or maybe we don't." I couldn't decide. After all, I'd been at the hospital every day for the past month, taking care of him, and now I'd have to say we don't know each other!

"I know you, I guess you don't know me," I finally decided. "I

don't really understand. "

"I've been visiting you almost every day for the past month.

" "I'm Weronika," I introduced myself, giving him a warm smile. "

I dreamed of you, sitting on my bed, telling stories. I thought an angel came to me every day.

God, what a beautiful, melodic voice he had, and two dimples when he smiled." I giggled softly

. "I didn't think I looked like an angel, but I'm glad you did, sleeping prince."

As usual, I sat down on the bed and began to tell my story, but this time it wasn't a monologue.

Michał proved to be a great conversationalist, and I was pleased that he accepted me as a friend. My visits to the hospital were now a daily occurrence; even my family had grown accustomed to me never being home in the afternoons. Months passed, but Michał's condition didn't improve significantly. I wouldn't say it was difficult, but he was always so weak and pale. Winter passed and spring arrived, the trees turned green, the weather outside became increasingly pleasant, and my heart grew warmer. The doctors allowed Michał to accompany me to the hospital park.

It was a truly beautiful day; the trees were green and smelled of blooming buds. Drops of water, recently watered by the gardener, glistened on the grass. We sat on a park bench, under a blossoming cherry tree. For the first time, I didn't know what to say; I was intimidated by the beauty around us, not Michał. My heart beat faster and faster when he looked at me with his dark eyes.

"I..." I started to stutter, unable to tear my gaze away from him. He was looking at me too.

"You have beautiful eyes," he whispered after a moment

. "I've never noticed that before," he said sincerely, making me feel like

I was about to faint with happiness. Suddenly, he raised his hand and ran his hand through my long brown hair. I smiled, and he returned the kind gesture. He approached me and gently kissed my lips. I felt a blush spread across my cheeks, but it was so pleasant; after all, I'd been dreaming of this moment for a very long time. Since that afternoon, the relationship between Michał and I had been much warmer than before; we were a couple.

"Hi!" I shouted as I entered the room. Michał was awake, lying on the bed, reading the newspaper.

I moved closer and we kissed passionately, until a nurse passing by the door joked, "Well, you'll strangle him, dear!" She laughed, and I blushed, giggling.

As usual, I sat on the bed and started talking.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, stroking his pale face.

"You look so weak.

" "He'll survive somehow," he smiled at me, so sweetly. I could already see the pain on his face,

the pain he wouldn't tell me about. I was worried, but if he didn't want to tell me anything, then I couldn't show him my fear either. I also returned home full of fear for his health. The next day, I ran to the hospital straight after school. When I entered the room, I found the bed made. I was terrified; my legs felt like jelly, and my face was pale.

I stood there for a long moment before I regained my composure. I turned and went out into the hallway.

The nurse who had made fun of me yesterday was passing by.

"I'm sorry," the words barely escaped my lips.

"Where is that boy who was lying in that ward?" I pointed to the empty room.

"That handsome guy?" she smiled

. "He wasn't doing so well last night, they transferred him to intensive care," she replied.

"Thank you," I whispered and ran towards the door

. "But you're not allowed in there!" I heard the nurse's voice behind me. I rushed into the ward where Michał was lying like an arrow. When I saw him hooked up to all those machines,

my heart sank.

"Michał, my God," I whispered, covering my mouth with a shaking hand. I moved closer and, as usual, sat on the bed. I stroked his chalk-white face, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Please wake up, like you used to," I whispered, but he was still sleeping peacefully. "Weronika," I heard Michał's mother's voice. I stood up, wiping away my tears.

"Please tell me what happened?" I asked immediately. We went out into the hallway, where Iza and her father were sitting.

"He had a high fever last night, and they immediately brought him here; the doctors don't know

what's wrong with him. That day, I stayed in the hallway the whole time; I wasn't allowed in the ward. However, when I had to go home, I slipped into the room to say goodbye.

I sat on the bed and took his hand.

"I love you," I heard him whisper softly, and his eyes opened briefly.

I burst into tears as I looked at him. I stroked his face again, and he snuggled into my hand. I kissed him on the lips and whispered,

"I love you too, I will always love you."

His eyes closed and he fell asleep. I didn't want to go yet, but Mom was pestering me with constant phone calls. I'll remember the next day for the rest of my life; it was Saturday, so as soon as I got up, I had to go to the hospital. I washed, dressed, ate breakfast, and just as I was about to leave, the phone rang. I took off my shoes as I walked back to the living room and picked up the receiver. "

Excuse me?" I muttered impatiently, looking at my watch.

"Weronika? This is Izka speaking," she stammered, her voice trembling—she was crying.

"Oh my God, Izka, what happened?" She scared me senseless.

"Hurry up," she muttered, and all I heard was a few rings. I ran for the bus as fast as I could. Twenty minutes later, I arrived. I burst into the intensive care unit, oblivious to everything. In the hallway, Izka and her parents were drowning in tears. As soon as they saw me, they came closer. Before they could say anything, we sat down on a bench.

"Michael's condition has worsened,"

his mother began. "He's... undergoing surgery now. The doctor said they'll let us know when they're finished..."

She wasn't crying, but her voice was so sad, full of pain and suffering. We sat there for almost four hours when the head doctor appeared in the hallway. I had a feeling the worst was coming.

We all rose to our feet.

"It was really hard. I'm sorry, but your son didn't survive," he said in a serious voice,

as if completely unconcerned by what had happened. I wanted to throw myself at him and scratch his eyes out for what he'd said, for that calm expression on his face!

I couldn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it. He was never supposed to kiss me again, never take me for a walk. My heart broke so suddenly; I pictured yesterday's kiss, the last one, and then the first one on the park bench. I was shaking, I wanted to scream,

"How could you, how could you let this happen!!!"

I cried, screaming at the head physician, who stood before me like a stone, unmoved...

A few days later, the funeral took place. With swollen eyes, dressed in black like a widow, I went to the church. My immediate family and a few friends who sometimes visited him in the hospital were there. I sat behind them, not wanting to push my way into Michał's family. However, his mother noticed me and asked me to sit with them. As I walked to the first pew, I saw that the coffin was open, so I walked slowly, unsteadily toward it. I looked at Michał, his pale face lost in blissful sleep, as before. I again pictured the first day I met him, asleep... just like today. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.

I turned to the gathered people, looked at them and at Michał. Even today, when I was at his funeral, I couldn't believe it all. I sat in a pew, right next to Iza, and together we tried to console each other. During the mass, the priest asked me to move to the pulpit. Michał's mother, the day after his death, asked me to say a few words in farewell.

Although I had memorized my own speech, as I looked at the open coffin, I couldn't say what I'd been writing all evening.

"You're probably wondering who Michał was to me," my voice trembled with fear and grief. "

Some would say he was my boy, and I would say something more; he was my friend. Although we met under strange circumstances, we became very fond of each other.

When I was with him, time ceased to matter. Someone told me that Michał was lonely until I came along...

" "Jesus, what was I saying? I was talking nonsense." My heart was pounding harder and harder, and I felt like I was about to faint.

I started again

, "I've never had to talk about my feelings, my sorrows.

I loved Michał, and when I think that I'll never touch his hand again, never kiss his lips,

my heart breaks," I rambled for a few minutes, thinking back to the hospital a few weeks earlier. It wasn't easy to talk, to delude myself that somehow it would all be alright, that the pain would ease over time, that it would pass in a few years. At the cemetery, I stood at the back, watching the gravediggers lower Michał's coffin on ropes. Those were the last moments we were together.

It's so cliché, yet so true. I remember crying, sobbing hysterically, choking on tears.

I clutched a wreath of flowers, white lilies, in my hands. When the coffin reached the bottom of the grave, my heart ached even more. The slabs collapsed, cemented in place. Then the family began to gather around the fresh grave. I was the last to approach; there was no one else around me.

Even Michał's parents had left, seeing that she wanted to be alone with him. I crouched down, placing the flowers.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I will always love you." A few tears fell on the wreath.

Today, as I stand at his grave, ten years later, I miss him just as much as before.

The pain hasn't subsided; I still feel the same way. I look at Michał's smiling face, the picture in marble, it seems to have such pale shades. God, what I would give to look

into his eyes again and say, "I love you." I remembered again our first meeting, when he told me he dreamed of an angel, that I was that angel. I miss him; I think I always will...