I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

“Well, that sounds like everywhere.”
“Where are you from, Sam?”
That’s a question I often find difficulty answering. Not to mention
following Hikari down the stairs and waiting for an elevator, there
isn’t much to do except look at her and every time I look at her, my
thoughts no longer begin or end, they jumble together until I’m an
incoherent mess of flustered attitudes trying not to stare so long that
my cheeks flush and butterflies make a funhouse of my stomach.
I clear my throat. The elevator arrives, and Hikari leads the way into
it, pressing the button for the ground floor.
“I’m from here,” I say.
“The city?”
“The hospital.”
A less amused expression finds Hikari. She holds onto the back
railing as I do. So little distance remains between my hand and hers
that I wonder what it would feel like if they kissed.
“Sam.”
“Hm?”
“What do you have?” Hikari asks, and for such a serious question, it
is so softly said.
This is a scripted moment between sick people. A rule of sorts. It
states that when you meet someone within these walls, you are to
ask one thing.
What do you have? Who is your killer? It’s a different outfit, but it’s
the same question. What she’s asking is why I’ve been confined to
the hospital for so long that I view myself as an extension of it. She
wants to know to what degree I’m dying.