The bench outside Room 207 wasn't built for comfort. Hard plastic. Cold against the back of my neck. But when you've been awake for nearly two days, even stone feels like a pillow.
I don't remember when I closed my eyes.
It just… happened.
In the dream, the air was gold — not yellow, but that perfect soft gold you see when the sun dips just right behind clouds. My feet stood on grass too perfect to be real, rolling forever in every direction.
Then I saw them.
My mama and dad stood in front of me, wearing white overalls — glowing in a way I'd never seen before. Not heavenly or exaggerated. Just… peaceful.
Calm.
Whole.
My dad's face had no pain. He stood straight, without the neck brace or hospital lines. His shoulders looked broad again. Powerful.
My mama smiled the way she always did when she knew something I didn't — mischievous but warm.
They stepped toward me.
No words yet.
Just presence.
Then my mama placed her hand gently on my shoulder, and my dad followed, placing his hand on the other. Her touch felt warm — familiar. The way it used to when I cried into her lap after a scraped knee.
"Noah," she said softly, her eyes gleaming, "we know you can achieve so much. You always could."
Her voice was so real, I felt it echo in my ribs.
"Don't falter. Not for heartbreak. Not for sorrow. Not even for loss."
Dad nodded beside her, his smile small but proud.
"You can conquer it all, son. That's who you are. "
" We will always love you our baby boy" said my mama while hugging me .
I didn't want to blink. I didn't want it to end. I wanted to stay in that field, between their hands, frozen in that feeling — where nothing hurt and no one left.
But the golden air faded.
And the warmth slipped away.
---
I woke up to sunlight on my face.
A clean beam filtered through the corridor window, slicing across the bench and warming my cheek. My neck was stiff, my limbs half-dead from the angle I'd curled into. My head throbbed faintly — but my chest... that was the real ache.
I rubbed my eyes. A tear had dried along my cheek.
Had I cried in my sleep?
Before I could fully sit up, I heard footsteps approaching. A familiar voice, soft and measured.
"Noah?"
It was the same nurse from last night.
Her eyes had changed.
She didn't need to say it, but she did — carefully.
"I'm… I'm so sorry. Your parents... both of them… they passed early this morning. Peacefully."
Time didn't stop. It didn't even slow.
But everything felt quieter.
I sat still, hands folded in my lap.
No tears came.
Not right away.
Just silence.
Not the kind that sits beside you. The kind that becomes you.
The nurse stayed for a moment, probably expecting me to break — to scream, to sob, to curse the world. But I didn't. Not yet. I just nodded once.
"Thank you," I whispered, and she placed a hand lightly on my shoulder before walking away.
I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling, letting the sun hit my face again.
And all I could think of… was the dream.
They were smiling.
Not scared.
Not in pain.
Just smiling.
Was it just my brain making it easier to handle?
Or did they really… find their peace?
My heart hurt, but not the wild, crashing kind of pain I'd felt after Laura. This was different.
This was deep.
Like a bruise under the skin. Heavy. Still.
They were gone. For real.
But they'd left something behind.
Not just grief.
Memories. Words. Hands on my shoulder and belief.
Even in my dream, they believed in me.
I closed my eyes again. But I didn't cry.
Instead, I remembered:
My dad teaching me how to kick a football without using my toes.
My mama laughing too loudly when she watched Indian soap operas and English movies.
Their dancing at that one wedding in Australia — where they didn't care how they looked, only how much fun they had.
All those memories stacked in my chest like puzzle pieces I could finally hold onto.
Maybe this was better. Maybe this was their mercy — to not suffer, to not be trapped in machines and braces and waiting rooms.
Maybe the universe had taken them gently.
I stood slowly, the bench creaking beneath me, and walked to the room again.
I stood in the doorway.
They were both still there — silent, still, but at peace. The same faces I'd always known. Only quieter now.
"I'll carry it from here," I whispered.
Then I stepped back.