Memory did not return to Kieran all at once.
It came like pain—dull at first, then sharp in places he couldn't name.
There was the sound of machines. The smell of antiseptic. Light bleeding through closed eyelids like something unwelcome. His body felt heavy, foreign, as if it had been abandoned for years and only now reclaimed.
He didn't open his eyes immediately.
He listened.
Someone was talking.
The voice was low, steady—but threaded with something fragile, like it might shatter if raised too high.
"…I don't know if you can hear me," the voice said. "The doctors say sometimes people do. Sometimes they don't. But I keep thinking—what if you're just… waiting?"
Kieran frowned faintly.
Waiting for what?
"For someone to say your name."
Silence followed.
Then the voice again, closer this time.
"You were always so stubborn," it said with a soft huff of breath. "Even when you were unbearable, you never gave up. I don't think you'd stop now."
Kieran tried to move.
