Charlotte wheels in with the brightest grin I've seen all week. She's not alone.

Beside her stands a tiny girl with an IV pole, a hoodie two sizes too big, and eyes so big and curious they could swallow the whole room.

"Eliora!" Charlotte says, her voice warm and proud. "Look who I brought to meet you."

The little girl ducks her head shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

I gasp dramatically and clasp my hands. "Oh my gosh. A new recruit! Are you my replacement? Did they finally find someone younger and less chaotic to take my place?"

Charlotte laughs. "Don't flatter yourself. This is Lily. She just moved into the room next to mine."

I look at the girl and smile so wide my cheeks ache. "Lily! That's such a pretty name. You totally look like a Lily—soft, sweet, and probably tougher than everyone in this room combined."

She giggles, shy but proud. "I have leukemia."

"I have a rebellious heart," I say gently. "So basically, we're both walking disasters. Instant best friends."

Charlotte rolls her eyes. "Eli..."

"What?" I grin. "It's true. We're like... Team Malfunction. But make it adorable."

Lily laughs again — that small, airy kind of laugh that sounds like the start of something good.

"Wanna help me name the fish?" I ask, motioning toward the giant tank. "They get offended if you ignore them for too long."

She peers through the glass, her eyes lighting up with wonder. "The yellow one looks like sunshine."

"Perfect," I say. "Meet Sunshine. That one's Lemon Drop, that one's Stardust, and that one with the pouty face? Definitely Carl."

"Carl?" she giggles.

"Every tank needs a Carl," I say solemnly. "It's science."

Charlotte laughs, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm educationally ridiculous," I correct. "There's a difference."

As Lily leans forward to wave at the fish, Charlotte watches her with this quiet, aching softness — the kind of look that says I've been here before.
I know what that look means.
Charlotte lost her little sister years ago.
So every time she helps someone younger, it's like she's building a world where that girl gets to stay.

And I love her for it.

I glance back at Lily. Her thin fingers rest on the glass, tracing the shapes of the fish as they drift by.
There's something so pure about it — this tiny moment of peace in a place built on pain.

"Pretty, huh?" I say softly.

She nods. "They look free."

That hits me right in the chest. "Yeah," I whisper. "They do."

Charlotte nudges me lightly. "You okay, Eli?"

"Me?" I grin quickly. "Totally fine! Just... thinking about fish politics."

She laughs. "You're impossible."

"I'm memorable," I say proudly.

When I glance across the room, Calian's standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, just... watching. Not in a weird way — in that quiet Calian way where he's taking it all in.

For a moment, I catch his eyes. He doesn't smile exactly, but there's something there — something soft and unreadable that makes my heartbeat feel a little louder in my ears.

I quickly turn back to Lily before I melt into a puddle. "Okay, Lil, official question: if you could be any fish, what would you be?"

She thinks for a second. "A goldfish."

"Why?"

"Because they forget everything after a few seconds," she says. "So they never stay sad for long."

I smile — but it's the kind that hides a tiny crack. "That's a good reason."

She grins up at me, proud of herself, and suddenly the ache in my chest softens.

Maybe this is what living looks like — not the big things, not the world outside, but this. A kid with a brave smile, a best friend with a gentle heart, and a quiet boy who doesn't know how to say he cares but shows it anyway.

For a little while, in the glow of the aquarium light, it feels like enough. More than enough.

🫀🫁

Lily's sitting cross-legged beside my wheelchair now, chin propped in her hands as she watches the fish swirl through blue light. Charlotte's chatting with a nurse a few feet away, and Calian's pretending not to listen, sketchbook balanced on his knee, eyes flicking up every few seconds.

It's calm here. That rare kind of calm that makes you forget how fragile everything is.

"Can I ask you something?" Lily says after a while, her voice small but bright.

"Anything," I say.

She studies me for a second. "Why's your hair that color?"

I laugh softly, reaching up to twist a piece of lavender around my finger. "You mean my 'I lost an argument with a paintbrush' look?"

She giggles. "It's pretty."

"Thank you," I say, smiling. "It's my favorite color. Always has been."

"Why lavender?" she asks. "Not pink or blue or something?"

I glance at my reflection in the glass — the faint shimmer of lilac against the glowing fish tanks — and smile quietly.

"Because lavender's brave," I say softly. "It's soft, but it doesn't fade. It grows in places most things can't — cracks in stone, dry fields, forgotten corners. It's gentle, but it survives anyway."

Lily tilts her head, listening.

"I figured..." I trail off for a second, my throat tightening. "If I can't control how long my heart lasts, maybe I can at least choose to look like something that refuses to give up."

She blinks up at me, her small face serious in that too-grown-up way kids in hospitals get. "So it's like... your armor."

That makes me smile wider, but my eyes sting a little. "Yeah," I whisper. "Exactly. My armor. My color of staying."

Lily nods, satisfied. "I want purple hair too."

I grin. "Tell you what — when you're done with all this hospital nonsense, I'll sneak you a box of dye. Deal?"

"Deal," she says, pinky out.

We link pinkies, and I swear it feels like a tiny spell — one that keeps both of us tethered to something beautiful.

"Do you ever wish you could change it?" she asks after a minute.

"My hair?"

"No," she says quietly. "Your heart."

For a second, I can't speak. The aquarium light ripples over her face, soft and blue, and I hear the quiet shuffle of Calian's pencil stop mid-line.

"I used to," I say finally. "All the time. I wished I could trade it for a normal one, one that didn't scare the people I love."

Lily's eyes stay on mine. "And now?"

"Now..." I take a deep breath. "Now I think my heart just needs to be loved for how it is. Even if it's fragile. Even if it skips. Even if it's tired. Because it's still trying."

She nods slowly, thinking about it like it's the most important answer she's ever heard. Then she smiles — small, soft, and certain. "You're like lavender."

I laugh quietly. "What do you mean?"

"You said lavender's brave," she says. "You're brave too."

My throat burns. "You're gonna make me cry, kiddo."

She giggles. "Good. I'm funny."

I ruffle her hair gently, blinking back tears. "You're dangerous, is what you are."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Calian watching us — still quiet, still pretending not to listen — but the look on his face isn't cold anymore. It's soft. And when I catch his gaze, he doesn't look away this time.

He just gives a small, almost invisible smile — the kind that feels like sunlight sneaking through a crack.

And for a moment, everything feels weightless.
The fish, the laughter, the lavender, the air between all of us.

For a moment, it feels like my heart might be tired — but it's still beautifully alive.