Jane: So, you still have no idea what kind of content to post on your page?
Kana: (nods slowly) I've been brainstorming for the past four days, but I still can't come up with anything. (gloomy) It's so frustrating.
Jane sat down gently in the chair beside Kana's bed, her arms folded casually as she watched the girl scroll aimlessly through her Twibbler feed. The screen glowed dimly in the hospital room's soft light, illuminating Kana's furrowed brow. After a brief moment of silence, an idea popped into Jane's head.
Jane: What if you posted about anime? Like, weekly reviews or fan theories or something?
Kana: That won't work. I'd actually have to watch anime for that, and honestly… I don't think it's my thing. So… no.
Jane tilted her head in thought, tapping her chin.
Jane: Hmm… okay. What if you made posts introducing yourself? Telling people your story—your experiences. That kind of stuff tends to resonate with people.
Kana: I already did that on the first day. Got a few responses—ten followers, to be exact. (shrugs) But I think I'm going to delete those posts soon.
Jane: Why would you do that?
Kana: (sighs deeply) I don't want to feel like I'm selling myself short—like I'm just using my life for likes and followers. It doesn't feel right. I want to post something that actually draws people in… something that's worth reading. Not pity bait.
Jane's lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed Kana's words.
Jane: (softly) But you know it doesn't just happen overnight, right? Gaining traction takes time… and consistency. It's like building a garden. You can't expect it to bloom after one day of watering.
Kana: (nodding slowly) Yeah… you're right. Maybe I'm just too impatient. But… (clenches her fists) I don't know. I just feel like…
Jane's eyes flicked downward, noticing the subtle way Kana's hands curled tightly into fists on her lap. And then, the realization hit her.
Jane: (thinking to herself) She's afraid… that she won't have enough time to make an impact before she dies.
A weight settled in Jane's chest. She wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—that might offer comfort. That might ease Kana's burden.
But she couldn't.
Because no words could erase the truth Kana was living with. No words could mend a reality so unfair. And lying would only insult the strength Kana had been showing every single day.
To distract herself, Jane glanced around the room—and that's when she saw it. A worn-looking hardcover book sitting at the foot of Kana's bed.
Jane: Hey, what's that book over there?
Kana's eyes followed Jane's gaze—and immediately widened in alarm when they landed on the journal.
Kana: (panicking internally) Crap. Why did I forget to hide it after writing earlier?
In a flash, she leaned forward and snatched it into her arms, hugging it protectively.
Kana: Oh, this? Uh… just a book. Something I write in. Nothing special.
Jane: Like… a diary?
Kana: (cartoonish face) NOT LIKE THAT!!!
Jane: (laughs) Okay, okay! Then what is it? What do you write in there?
Kana: (red-faced) Uh… just… just…
Jane: "?"
Kana: …just… some poems. That's all. Just poems.
Jane's eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise.
Jane: Really? That's actually kind of cool. Can I read some?
Kana: (nervously clutches book tighter) YOU CAN'T!!!
Jane: Why not?
Kana: Well…
Kana scrambled mentally for a reason—anything that might justify why Jane couldn't read her poems. Then it hit her. The same excuse she'd used with Dr. Kennedy just a few days ago.
Kana: They're emotionless poems. I don't want to bore you or anything.
Jane: (grins knowingly) Oh? Isn't that the same thing you told Dr. Kennedy?
Kana froze. Her face turned an even deeper shade of red.
Kana: (internally) The same excuse won't work twice, huh?
Seeing Kana's flustered state, Jane burst into laughter.
Kana, feeling utterly embarrassed, curled into a tight ball and yanked her blanket over her head with an exaggerated fwomp!
Jane: (teasing) Are you mad at me?
Kana: (muffled) Go away.
Jane: (chuckling) You know, you're so cute when you're embarrassed.
Kana: (muffled, voice rising) Shut up!!!
Jane's laughter rang throughout the room, echoing into the hallway. A couple of nurses walking by peeked into the room with curious expressions. But when they saw the joyful interaction between Kana and Jane, they smiled. It was rare to see someone getting through to the quiet girl in Room 208.
Satisfied that Kana was in good hands, they walked away.
Jane, noticing the attention they'd attracted, softened her tone and leaned closer.
Jane: Kana?
Kana: (no response)
Jane: Kana, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to tease you that much. I promise I won't laugh at you again.
There was a pause. Then a quiet voice emerged from under the blanket.
Kana: You promise?
Jane: Yeah, Kana… (smiles gently) I promise.
The blanket shifted slightly, and Kana peeked out from underneath it. Her cheeks were still red, and her expression was somewhere between annoyed and shy—but Jane could see her resolve slowly melting.
Jane: Now… will you let me see your journal?
Kana bit her lip, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the corner of the book.
There was a long moment of silence. Then—with clear reluctance—she extended the journal toward Jane.
It was as if she were handing over a piece of her soul.
Jane took it with care, her expression softening.
Jane: (whispers) Thank you, Kana.
And in that small exchange—quiet, awkward, and unspoken—a thread of trust was woven just a little tighter between them.
*****
Kana watched as Jane flipped through the pages of her journal, her eyes moving slowly, thoughtfully, across each line. Every now and then, Jane would pause, glance up at Kana with an unreadable expression, then return to reading.
That cycle repeated again and again—for what felt like forever.
Kana sat stiffly in bed, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her blanket.
"Would she like it?"
"Would she hate it?"
"Why is she taking so long?"
"There are over seventy poems in there. Which one is she reading?"
"Was giving her the journal actually a mistake?"
Her anxiety built with every second. Her heart pounded against her chest like it was trying to escape. The silence between them felt deafening. She could practically hear her own insecurities whispering doubts in her ears.
Finally, after what felt like twelve years instead of twelve minutes, Jane closed the journal gently and rested it on her lap. Kana sat up straighter, her body tensing as she braced herself for Jane's verdict.
Jane took a deep breath, her expression unreadable.
Jane: I'm really surprised, Kana. This… this is really good.
Kana blinked, caught off guard.
Kana: It is?
Jane: Yeah. After reading just a few of your poems, I could tell how intentional and thoughtful you were with your word choices. Each one felt like it had a soul—like it meant something.
Kana looked down at her hands, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.
Kana: Is that so...? (quietly, to herself) Am I really that good...?
Jane smiled, her voice gentle.
Jane: I mean it, Kana. Your poems are amazing. They're emotional, personal, and real. I'm genuinely impressed by your talent. You've got something special.
Kana looked away, shyly brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Kana: T…Thank you, Ms. Jane.
Jane leaned back in her chair, still smiling warmly.
Jane: When did you start writing?
Kana: Um… A few months ago, I think. I got tired of just lying here all day—taking medications, watching reruns on TV, staring at the ceiling. I needed something to make the days feel less… pointless. Then, one day, I found this old notebook in that drawer over there— (she pointed to the far corner of the room) —and I figured, why not write something? At first, it was just whatever I was feeling—no structure or meaning or anything. I never thought anyone would like it, let alone understand it, but… (she gave a small smile) I'm really glad you do, Ms. Jane.
Jane's eyes suddenly lit up with inspiration, and she snapped her fingers.
Jane: Of course! This is it! This is the answer!
Kana tilted her head, clearly confused.
Kana: What are you talking about, Ms. Jane?
Jane: I just realized the perfect thing you can post on your Twibbler page!
Kana sat up straighter, her curiosity piqued.
Kana: You have?! That's great!! Uh… What is it?
Jane leaned forward, pointing at the journal in Kana's hands.
Jane: You're holding it right now.
Kana blinked. Then she looked down at her journal.
Then back at Jane.
Realization hit her like a cold wave.
Her smile faded instantly.
Kana: …I'm not doing it.
Jane: Oh, come on, Kana. Why not?
Kana: I'm not ready. I only showed it to you because… well, because it's you. I trust you. But posting it online, for strangers to see and judge… that's different. I don't think I can share it with anyone else yet.
Jane: But Kana, your writing is powerful. Not letting people read it—it just feels like such a waste. You could really touch someone's heart with this. Maybe even help them.
Kana shook her head, her grip tightening on the journal.
Kana: No. I just… I can't.
Jane gave a small sigh and leaned back again, her expression softening.
Jane: That's okay. I won't push you. If you're not ready, you're not ready. I get it. But maybe one day, when the time is right, you'll find something you do want to share. And when that day comes, I'll be right here, cheering you on every step of the way. Deal?
Kana: (murmuring) Okay…
A brief silence settled over the room before Jane glanced at the clock on the wall.
Jane: Oh—it's already past five? (standing up) I need to go grab your dinner tray so you can take your meds on time. I'll be right back, okay?
Kana: …Right.
Jane gave her a soft smile before heading toward the sliding door. It opened with a quiet hiss, and she stepped out, leaving Kana alone in the quiet room.
As the door closed behind her, Kana stared down at her journal, her reflection faint in the glossy surface of its hardcover.
Her chest ached—not with pain, but with something deeper. A strange mix of fear, doubt… and hope.
****
It was 11:47 PM, and most of the doctors had already gone home for the night. Only a few remained—those who had either chosen to work the night shift or simply had too much left to do. Aside from them, the hospital was now in the hands of the nurses making their final rounds, security guards patrolling quietly, and the patients sleeping—or trying to—in their designated wards.
At the entrance to the hallway leading toward the patient rooms, Kana peeked her head out from behind a corner, cautiously scanning her surroundings. The hallway was empty. No nurses. No doctors. Not even a janitor in sight. With her phone and journal clutched tightly in her left hand, she slipped out of her room and padded softly down the corridor.
She moved quickly but carefully, mindful of how every footstep echoed faintly in the silence of the sleeping hospital. When she reached the stairwell, she pushed the heavy door open and ascended the steps, her hand trailing the railing for support. Her heart beat a little faster, not out of fear but out of anticipation. She knew exactly where she was going.
When Kana stepped onto the rooftop, the familiar chill of the night air greeted her. The breeze tugged gently at the sleeves of her hospital gown, and for a moment, she just stood there, breathing it in. The rooftop lamps, spaced evenly along the perimeter, cast a soft, steady glow, illuminating the quiet space in a muted golden hue. It was peaceful—still.
This place had become her sanctuary.
It was where she came when the walls of her hospital room felt too small, or when her emotions swelled too large to contain. It was here, under the open sky, that she found the freedom to cry, to reflect, and most often, to write.
But this rooftop held more than serenity—it held memory.
She remembered the first time she had come up here. It was four years ago, just days after being admitted to the hospital. That night, she had made a phone call to her mother—a desperate plea to feel loved, to feel remembered. But her mother's response had shattered her.
"I don't know who you are. Don't call this number again."
That was all it took. Those words sent Kana spiraling into the darkest moment of her life.
She had come up to this very rooftop with only one thought in her mind: to end the pain.
Standing at the edge, looking down at the world she felt no longer belonged to, Kana believed she was ready to disappear.
But when the time came—when the wind howled in her ears and the tears blurred her vision—she couldn't do it. Something inside her, fragile and faint, whispered: not yet.
Now, standing once again in that same place, the memory resurfaced with startling clarity. A wave of sadness washed over her, but this time, it didn't drag her down. Instead, she steadied herself with a deep breath and walked to her usual spot beneath one of the rooftop lamps.
She sat down on the cold concrete floor, crossing her legs and laying her journal across her lap. Flipping it open to a blank page, she picked up her pen and began to write. Her fingers moved automatically, almost like they were tracing the thoughts forming in her heart. The poem she wrote was short, but it carried the weight of everything she had felt that day.
Once she finished, Kana read over her words and felt something unexpected—satisfaction.
But before she could close the journal, a familiar voice echoed in her mind.
Jane.
"You should post your poems on your Twibbler page."
Kana hesitated, her eyes drifting toward her phone.
She flipped through her past entries, reviewing poems she had written weeks ago—some sad, some wistful, and others simply honest expressions of how she had felt in the moment. They were raw and vulnerable. And that made them terrifying to share.
Still, Jane's encouragement wasn't the only thing she remembered.
Kennedy's words from a few days ago floated back to her as well:
"If you're scared of being forgotten… then leave a mark. A good one. Here, or online. Give people a reason to remember you when your time comes."
Kana closed her eyes and placed a hand over her chest, feeling the irregular beat of her heart—a quiet but persistent reminder of the fragility of her time.
She opened the Twibbler app.
Her account: Lonelygirl4556.
Still only ten followers. Most of them were strangers who had never interacted with her.
Still, for some reason, tonight felt different.
Guided by a quiet resolve, she typed out the poem she had just written into a new post. Her thumbs hovered above the screen, checking the spelling, the format, the wording.
Her hands trembled just a bit. She hesitated.
Then she whispered softly to herself:
Kana: Well, here goes nothing.
With a shaky exhale, she pressed the "post" button.
At first, she stared at the screen, watching it refresh over and over again, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
For fifteen long minutes, there was nothing.
The post just sat there. No likes. No reposts. No comments.
Doubt began to crawl back into her mind like a slow fog.
Kana: Maybe it was a mistake to post it?
Her thumb hovered over the delete icon.
But Jane's voice returned again.
"You know it doesn't just happen like that, right? To get to that stage, it'll take a lot of time and consistency."
Kana sighed and lowered her hand, fighting the urge to hit delete.
Kana: Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow before I make any rash decisions.
She locked her phone, got up from the cold rooftop floor and stretched. Her body ached slightly, but her spirit felt a little lighter. It was already past midnight, and she knew Jane would scold her if she found out she'd stayed up this late.
Time to go back.
*******
Usually, Kana was woken by the soft footsteps of a nurse entering her room and the rustle of curtains being drawn open. But not today.
Today, it was something else entirely.
Her phone.
A persistent buzzing filled the room.
Kana: (groaning) Ughhhh... what's that noise?!
Grumbling, she pulled the blanket over her head but quickly reached for her phone to silence it. She unlocked the screen, intending to mute the app.
Then she froze.
Her notifications were flooded with alerts from Twibbler.
Kana blinked at the screen in confusion.
Kana: What the…?
She tapped the app.
What she saw made her sit straight up in bed, fully awake.
Her follower count had exploded.
From 10 to 457.
And her post? The little poem she had been too scared to share? It had gone viral.
Twibbler Account: Lonelygirl4556
Followers: 457
"Silent Weight"
I open my mouth, but words feel weak,
No voice can shape the pain I speak.
They listen, yet they never hear,
Their comfort is distant, insincere.
So I just smile and hide the ache.
1,270 likes | 300 reposts | 350 comments
Kana stared at her screen, speechless.
Kana: …It actually happened.
Her voice was barely a whisper, but her eyes shimmered with something new—something bright and fragile.
Hope.