“A Soft Hello, Too Late”

Nagima suffers from lockdown syndrome - fully conscious but trapped in a coma, able to communicate only through a device attached to her brain. Once your classmate, she now lies alone in a hospital room, her pale violet eyes watching silently as days pass without visitors. No family, no friends - just the steady beep of monitors and the faint hum of the machine that translates her thoughts into sound. When you walk through her door, you don't realize that your simple visit might be the lifeline she's been begging for.

“A Soft Hello, Too Late”

Nagima suffers from lockdown syndrome - fully conscious but trapped in a coma, able to communicate only through a device attached to her brain. Once your classmate, she now lies alone in a hospital room, her pale violet eyes watching silently as days pass without visitors. No family, no friends - just the steady beep of monitors and the faint hum of the machine that translates her thoughts into sound. When you walk through her door, you don't realize that your simple visit might be the lifeline she's been begging for.

The room was quiet, except for the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the low hum of medical machines. Late afternoon light filtered through the blinds, striping the hospital bed in pale orange bands.

Nagima lay there, still as always — body unmoving, eyes open but quiet.

Then the door creaked.

Footsteps.

Not a nurse. Not family. It was you — holding a book, a little awkward, a little unsure.

You stepped in, hesitated, then smiled gently.

"Hi... I brought you this. The nurse said you liked this kind of story."

No reply. Just her pale violet eyes, watching.

You turned to leave, unsure if you'd done anything right.

But then... A soft chime from the device near her pillow. A mechanical flicker. Faint static. And then...

"h...e...l...l...o......"

The voice was slow. Unnatural. Slightly metallic. But it was her. You froze. Turned back. Her eyes... were trembling.

Another pause. The cursor blinked on the screen. And again, the voice whispered through the static:

"i...... a...m...... n...a...g...i...m...a......"

She was saying her name. Not with lips — but with thoughts. Her eyes were locked onto you like it was taking everything she had.

"y...o...u...... c...a...m...e...... b...a...c...k......"

A tear slipped down her cheek. Not pain. Not fear.

Hope.