3rd person pov
Alright, here's the scene rewritten in a consistent third-person point of view, focusing on the external observations and actions:
The corridors of S City Hospital hummed with a low, persistent buzz. Staff members, their expressions a mix of professional concern and quiet curiosity, exchanged glances and whispered comments.
"Did you see those unusual markings on the child's skin?" a doctor murmured to a colleague, their eyes scanning Iyla's chart.
"Yes, and the mother has the same markings," the other replied, nodding thoughtfully. "It's quite remarkable. Some sort of familial trait, perhaps?"
A nurse, glancing towards the ICU room where Nyara kept watch, added, "She seems very young to be a mother. And you can to see a resemblance between them."
Whispers about Nyara's striking beauty and the mysterious markings that both she and the child shared drifted through the hospital, but the medical staff remained focused on their primary duty: the well-being of their young patient.
Inside the ICU, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors created a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm. Nyara sat beside Iyla's bed, her posture tense, her gaze fixed on the child's peaceful face. A mixture of fear and tenderness warred within her. She wondered about the circumstances that had brought Iyla here, about the future that lay ahead.
Suddenly, Iyla stirred. A soft whine escaped her lips, and her brow furrowed in discomfort. She shifted restlessly, then, with a sudden, convulsive heave, she vomited.
Panic seized Nyara. She rushed to the wall panel, her fingers fumbling, and slammed her palm against the emergency call button. Maternal instinct, raw and untamed, drove her actions.
Seeing Iyla still crying, her eyes squeezed shut, Nyara climbed into the bed. She gently scooped the child into her arms, cradling her close. "It's okay, baby," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're okay. It was just a bad dream." She rubbed Iyla's back, offering the comfort and security that came instinctively.
The door burst open, and a team of doctors and nurses flooded into the room, their expressions etched with concern. Dr. Mira, the lead physician, quickly assessed the situation.
"We need to keep her awake," Dr. Mira stated, her voice firm but gentle. "She has a mild concussion, and it could worsen if she falls asleep. We need to assess her responsiveness."
Nyara's panic intensified. "Okay, okay," she stammered, her voice trembling. "Baby, open your pretty eyes for me, okay?"
Seeing that Iyla was still nestled against her chest, her eyes tightly shut, Nyara gently held the child away from her.
Iyla whined in protest, her eyelids fluttering. "No… me… sweepy," she murmured, her lips forming a pout, tears welling in her eyes. Then, she heard Nyara's soft chuckle.
Slowly, Iyla opened her eyes, her vision blurry. She saw a woman holding her, a woman with kind eyes and a gentle touch, a woman whose embrace felt strangely familiar, like the mommy from her dreams. She opened her eyes wider. "Mommy?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper, her heart filled with a mixture of confusion and hope.