Lying motionless in a hospital bed was a boy with long golden hair that shimmered like sunlight through the window. His skin was pale, almost translucent—white as milk. His body was fragile and thin, the inevitable result of years spent hooked to machines, surviving through nutrient tubes. Still, even in that frail state, there was something striking about him. Not a rugged, masculine beauty, but something softer—almost ethereal. A beauty some might call feminine.
Suddenly, the boy's eyes opened. They blinked slowly, scanning the room with confusion before settling into awareness. It took only moments for him to recall where he was—and why.
Neurological Hyperdevelopment Disorder.A rare and extraordinary condition that pushed his brain's capabilities far beyond that of any human genius in history. What once seemed a miracle quickly became his curse. His mind burned through nutrients and energy at an unsustainable rate. His body, too weak to match that power, could do little to keep up. And so, it had learned to survive the only way it could—by shutting down.
Sleep had become his default state. He would wake for a few days, maybe a week, perhaps even a month. But always, inevitably, he would fall back into a deep, consuming sleep. And as the years passed, each waking period grew shorter, each slumber longer.
Escaping the spiral of memory, he turned slightly and pressed a small button near his hand. A soft chime rang out, signaling the nurses that he had regained consciousness. It was routine by now. In a few minutes, someone would come in to check on him.
There wasn't much else he could do. His strength had its limits, and so he waited. Slowly, his eyes drifted toward a digital calendar on the wall. A bright red date blinked softly:
April 30, 2050
He stared at it for a moment, then let out a quiet breath.
"So… it's been four years, huh?" he murmured, without much surprise. The illness was progressing. Everyone knew it. He knew it."If it happens again… I'll probably sleep through a decade next time," he added quietly.
Despite the weight of that truth, there was a smile on his face—a small, honest smile that hadn't left him since waking. For someone whose time awake was measured in fragments, each moment was a gift. He refused to waste it in sorrow.
A sound caught his ear. Turning his head toward the window, he saw a branch swaying in the morning breeze. Perched there was a small group of birds, chirping cheerfully in the sunlight.
Watching them, the boy's smile deepened.
"Good morning," he said softly.