My eyelids flutter, heavy and uncooperative.
They refuse to open fully, as if the weight of the world presses down on them.
Everything is blurred—washed in white. Too bright. Too empty.
White. Too white.
A sound reaches me first.
Beep… beep…
It's rhythmic. Mechanical. Cold.
A hospital room...?
My chest tightens, breath catching halfway. I can't see clearly, but voices drift toward me—urgent, tense.
"Doctor, the patient is opening his eyes."
Urgent. Trembling.
Again....
"Doctor—he's opening his eyes."
Footsteps rush closer. My body aches—deep, bone-level pain, like I've been torn apart and stitched back together without care.
Then—
A voice cuts through the haze.
"Neon… Neon, are you listening to me?"
My heart stutters.
That voice—
"…Alina?"
The name forms in my mind before my lips can move. Panic blooms sharp and sudden. I try to open my eyes, forcing them, desperate.
I want to see her.
I need to see her.
I need to see myself.
Am I back?
