It was a tiny hand clasped at the very hem of his nurse coat that made Soobin stop in his tracks.
Yet another tranquil Sunday morning at the hospital cafeteria came, uneventful as always. The male was holding a tab in one hand, heading back in after finishing a round of check-ups at the courtyard. Not many patients were inside, save for a few children finishing up their breakfast and some elders in need.
Upon feeling the tug, Soobin immediately turned, coming face to face with the owner of the hand. It belonged to a small girl—young, rather pale, her frame frail. Soobin made a mental note to ask for her name so he could put in a word or two with her nutritionist later.
She had hair that was as dark as night, silky like black jade. Her eyes were wide and round as they stared straight at him—almost alarmingly big in proportion to the rest of her tiny features. Her frame was dressed in a plain white dress, oddly ambiguous. But then again, this was a hospital gown.
The child had a Peitero duck plushie in her free hand, possessively clutched to her chest. Her fist was oddly clamped, and only then did Soobin realise there was something else poking through the gap of her stout fingers.
"Hello there," he flashed her a warm smile, quickly crouching down to meet the child's eye level. He was rewarded with a shy one in return. "How can I help you?"
"Mister nurse." Meekly mumbled the girl, eyes wide with a hint of curiosity in them. They were clear as day as those obsidian orbs blinked at him. Soobin's crinkled. "I... I found something."
"You did? Would you like to show me?" Soobin hummed, eyes gazing at the girl's clamped fist, waiting for it to unturn. And so it did.
What laid in the girl's palm, however, made his expression shift.
Clutched in the middle of her small hand was a crinkly paper heart. Neatly folded, but with edges worn. It wasn't an uncommon sight for him, but for whatever reason, his guts told him that Soobin recognised all too well just where this particular one came from.
"Oh? Where did you find this?" He tried to keep the smile plastered on his face, unstretching his own palm to hold the child's.
The girl fidgeted, shifting her weight between her feet; reluctant to answer—like a child afraid of reprimanding because she was caught doing something she shouldn't be. "It's okay to tell me, I promise." He added, for extra reassurance which he was certain she needed.
This sparked a glint of hope in her eyes. "I found this in the room next to mine! There were so many! It was like a Barbie movie, mister nurse!"
Soobin's heart dropped.
A heartbeat too late, he inquired, his voice wavering just in the slightest. "What's your room number, little one?"
"554!" Chirped the child, and something unreadable flashed across Soobin's usually bright visage.
"You went in there?" Said Soobin, his cheerful tone from earlier completely absent.
"I-it was unlocked." Fumbled the child, her grip on the plushie tightening. She was looking away now, and the hand situated on top of Soobin began to tremble.
Soobin cooed, shaking his head and reaching out to stroke her back; something he was trained to do to comfort children. "Shh, it's okay. It's alright. Why don't we return this to where it belongs?"
She meekly nodded, putting the crumpled paper heart in Soobin's much larger palm. Soobin carefully held it, like he was afraid it would break under the gentlest of touches; and put it in his coat pocket.
Long time no see.
He then stood up, took the child's hand in his, and began walking.
"Mister nurse, why are there so many hearts in here?"
Fluorescent lights began to flood the room after he flipped the switch. Soobin had let the girl come in ahead of him before he slid the door close.
The room was exactly just as they'd left it three years ago; in which Soobin never let anyone, himself included, enter it since. Just being here alone made his body feel like it was being torn through a time warp. Inhaling a deep breath, his eyes finally flickered up to take in his surroundings.
It wasn't anything different from other hospital rooms. The bed was perfectly made. The sheets were white—so were the sheets, the floor, the ceiling, and just about anything else. Almost the entire room was adorned in white. Nothing unordinary.
Except for the masses and masses of origami hearts—all in different colours—filling the entire room to the brim everywhere one would look. Colours rippled in bright paper hues through his field of vision; left to right, up to down. It was taped on the wall, much so that there was barely room for the white paint to peek through. Strings and strings of it were hung up across the ceiling in multiple rows, criss-crossing like bedroom lights decoration. It was by the bed; on the nightstand, on the pillow, and carefully spread out on the sheets.
Soobin could perfectly recall how he was right there, taping the hearts onto the wall, tying the strings, scattering them on the sheets—three years ago, like it was just yesterday.
The little one carefully sat down on the chair right by the bed, but Soobin lifted her up and put her on the mattress. Her tiny frame was huddled by the sea of origami hearts on the sheet; the sight was oddly endearing, but heart-wrenching to him for reasons the male would rather not address.
The nurse sat himself down on the bedside chair, pulled it closer, and handed the child a random heart he picked up. "Have you ever heard about the origami hearts tradition in the hospital?"
Taking the heart, the child excitedly inspected it, nodding in glee. "Yes! My mama told me that when someone leaves the hospital to go to heaven, we all fold a paper heart for them! Like this, like this!"
"That's right," chuckled Soobin. The pure, innocent excitement of a child almost single-handedly brightened the morbid ambiance of this room, something that no one was able to accomplish for countless years to come. Soobin found it highly ironic. "But do you know how it started?"
The girl shook her head, handing her paper heart to the Peitero duck so they could inspect it together. This alone tugged at Soobin's heartstrings.
"Well, then. I'll tell you a story." He cleared his throat, and the child looked up at him with the brightest eyes in the world, waiting for him to go on with her lips shaped into a perfect 'o'.
I wonder if you sent her into my path. As a sign.
"It started here, in this room. From a boy who used to fold a paper heart every day for his lost love, hoping each one he makes will take him closer to the day those eyes would open again."
