Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was dimly aware of being cocooned in soft fabric.

“Move,” I commanded. Nothing. “Move.” Yet nothing.

I thrashed around mentally, willing life in my muscles. But they remained rigid and quiet. Stamping down on the spikes of panic, I willed my mind to focus. A memory pushed through in bits and pieces.

A late-night drive… speeding on the road… blaring of a horn… screams… a sickening crash... and then silence.

“How long before....”

A voice managed to penetrate my tangled thoughts. Fuzzy but familiar enough to flood me with warmth.

It was my mother’s. “…. really can’t say. Such cases of coma are not uncommon after head injuries. Hopefully, your child will regain consciousness in a day or two. Of course, there is still the possibility of…” the voice cut off abruptly.

“Coma. Coma. C.O.M.A. No! It couldn’t be.” I soundlessly screamed inside. But what else could explain the ice in my limbs, the excruciating pressure on my eyelids? My body was flatly refusing to listen. Terror coursed through my veins, but I couldn’t call out or scream or sob. I was locked. A prisoner in my own body.

Time blurred by. I was fully aware of my parents holding me close, their broken voices whispering shaky prayers in my ear, lips touching my cheek, begging for me to come back. No matter how I longed to wipe away their tears, to sit up and smile, the darkness did not loosen its hold.

The only comfort in the abyss was my memories. I came to realise just how blessed I had been to have had a functioning body and intact senses. I clung to every memory.

Kneading dough for bread, the soft and powdery mixture beneath my fingertips; playing basketball with my friends, the thud-thud of the ball was rhythmic against the warm concrete. Laughing my head off at a silly joke. Soaring, drowsy afternoons immersed in a book with buttery sunlight streaming through the windows. A picnic on the beach; foamy waves sucking against my ankles. Watching old television shows with my grandmother. Tender hugs. Drinking sweet milky tea on the lawn. Playing Ludo with my cousins. The trill of a sparrow outside my window. Sharing ice cream with my father…

I cherished these flashbacks, yearning for just one more day of sight and touch. We never truly value life while we have it. We are all so engrossed in what we do not have that we fail to consider the innumerable blessings we do have.

Though my heart was beating, my world had died.

Published in Dawn, Young World, January 10th, 2026