Chapter 78

Chapter 78
KAIA

The soft knock on my door made me look up from the book I'd been staring at without really reading. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, creating gentle patterns on the pale walls.

"Come in," I called, setting the book aside.

Amy pushed through the door, carrying a small bouquet of white daisies and a folder. Her presence brought a piece of the normal world into this sterile space.

"Hey there," she said, breaking into that genuine smile I'd missed. "You look so much better."

"I feel better," I admitted, though my eyes immediately moved to the folder. "Is that...?"

"Just some things from school," Amy said carefully, gently tucking the white daisies between the pink roses from her previous visit. The contrast was lovely – cheerful white petals breathing new life into the soft pink blooms. "Nothing urgent. How are you sleeping?"

"Better. The nightmares are less frequent." I studied her tired face. "You look exhausted though."

She laughed softly. "I should be asking you that question." Then she paused, preparing for more serious territory. "Actually, there are a few things I should update you on—"

"Wait," I interrupted, anxiety flooding through me. "My mother. What happened with her? Did someone contact her? She must be so worried. Is she trying to get time off work? I don't even know if she knows what's going on."

Amy's expression immediately softened. "Kaia, it's okay. Your mom knows everything. The school contacted her right after everything happened. She flew out immediately and stayed with you for the first two weeks."

My eyes widened. "She was here? For two weeks?"

"She barely left your bedside while you were unconscious," Amy said gently. "But once you woke up and the doctors confirmed you were stable, she had to go back to work. She still visits whenever she can manage it – usually on weekends. She's been coordinating with me to make sure you're taken care of in between."

"I don't remember her being here at all."

"You were unconscious for most of that time. But she was here, holding your hand, talking to your doctors. She's been handling everything, Kaia. You don't need to worry about her."

The guilt hit me like a wave. "Is she okay though? Managing work and this?"

"She's strong, just like you. And she's so proud of your progress."

I nodded slowly, trying to process that there were whole weeks of my life that existed only in other people's memories now. "What about school?"

Amy seemed to relax slightly. "Good things, mostly. I've been working with the registrar's office, and they've approved your medical leave. Most of your professors have been incredibly understanding. Dr. Martinez said your coursework will count as an incomplete that won't affect your GPA. Professor Chen has already agreed to let you audit her seminar next semester."

Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by concern. "What about the others?"

Amy hesitated. "English Composition is more complicated."

My hands gripped the edge of the blanket. "How complicated?"

"Professor Mellark has been fighting for you, but the department chair won't budge." Amy spoke carefully. "Normally, students who miss significant portions can take a makeup exam at the beginning of next term. But since you were unconscious for the entire semester, you missed that window. The only option now is to take the final exam with everyone else."

"When is the exam?"

"December tenth. About three weeks from now."

Three weeks. The number felt impossibly small. "What kind of exam?"

"Critical analysis and argumentative writing."

My heart sank. "Argumentative writing. That's always been my weak spot."

"I know," Amy said gently. "But Professor Mellark will be available for extra office hours. And you know I'm good at that stuff – we can work through it together."

"It's not just about structure," I said, my voice small. "It's about taking a strong stance, being confident in your position. Right now I can barely decide what to have for lunch, let alone construct a compelling argument."

Amy leaned forward. "Your analytical skills are still there – I can see it in how you're processing everything we're talking about right now. The argumentative writing... we'll build that back up step by step."

"What happens if I fail?"

"You won't fail. Professor Mellark said if you can score decently on the final, he can justify keeping your semester grade at a B+ level, which would protect your scholarship status."

The weight of everything I'd almost lost and might still lose settled on my chest. I stared out the window at a small bird perched on the sill.

"You know," Amy said, shifting to a lighter tone, "speaking of Professor Mellark, you missed quite the scene. The new teaching assistant with the thick Scottish accent was trying to explain argumentative writing, but half the class couldn't understand what he was saying."

Despite everything, I felt my lips quirk upward. "Poor guy."

"He spent ten minutes explaining MLA format, except in that accent it sounded like he was talking about some kind of militant organization." Amy grinned. "Maria from Barcelona started taking notes on his pronunciation instead of the lecture content."

I actually laughed – a soft, genuine sound that surprised me. For a moment I felt almost normal, connected to the familiar absurdity of college life. But underneath the laughter, I was acutely aware of how much I'd missed, how uncertain my return to that world really was.

"I brought some materials," Amy said eventually. "Nothing overwhelming. Just the reading list and some recent assignment prompts. We can start small – think of it as getting reacquainted with the material rather than studying for an exam."

"That sounds less terrifying," I admitted.

"Good. Because that's the point." She checked her phone. "I should probably go soon – visiting hours end in twenty minutes – but I'll come back Thursday. I can bring some of the easier essays then, if you feel up to it."

I nodded, then caught her hand as she prepared to leave. "Thank you. For handling all of this. For protecting my scholarship, for talking to the professors, for being here. For taking care of everything while I couldn't."

"Of course," she said simply. "That's what friends do."

After Amy left, I remained sitting up in bed, staring at the flowers on my bedside table. The cheerful daisies nestled between the pink roses created a small garden of hope in the sterile room. Three weeks until the exam. Three weeks to prove I was still capable of the academic rigor that had earned me the scholarship in the first place.

The bird was still perched on the windowsill, its small head tilted as if listening to something I couldn't hear. I watched it for a long moment, wondering what it knew about resilience, about finding the strength to keep going when everything felt uncertain. Three weeks wasn't much time, but maybe it would be enough to remember not just the facts and theories I needed for the exam, but who I used to be before everything fell apart.

Maybe that would be enough to start with – just remembering, just trying, just being present enough to begin again.