It's been almost two months since the accident.

These days I found myself moving with a little more ease, my steps growing less uncertain.

The hospital became a familiar maze.

I knew the paths now—the routes to the cafeteria, the endless halls that looped around, and the quiet corners where you could disappear into your own thoughts.

But I hadn’t seen the old man since that first encounter.

There was a weight to him, something more than just the frailty of his body. It lingered in the way he spoke, as if every word carried the weight of a thousand regrets.

One day, when the sun was shining high in the sky, I decided to leave my room again. After eating a kind of bean soup with two slices of bread, gorging onigiri and sashimi, i got out of bed.

My legs were stronger now, the limp almost gone, though I still moved slowly, more out of caution than pain.

The hospital was quieter lately, with fewer visitors a day and less bustle in the air.

It felt peaceful in a way, like the world outside had slowed down to match the rhythm of this place.

I took a different route this time, one I hadn’t explored before.

It led me to a small garden in the center of the hospital, a little hidden space surrounded by tall buildings on all sides.

The air here was fresh, crisp with the scent of early winter, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of calm wash over me.

That’s when I saw him again.

The old man sat on a bench beneath a barren tree, his hands resting in his lap as he gazed at the sky. He looked much the same as before—small, almost shrunken, with age etched deeply into his face.

But there was something different in the way he sat now, more at peace, less weighed down by whatever ghosts haunted him.

I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude, but this time I got attracted to him again.

To be clear, I like women.

What attracted me was not his figure, but the story he kept within himself.

Slowly, I made my way over and sat on the bench beside him. He probably didn't saw me at first cause he was staring up at the sky.

I wanted to say things like: I'm here! or We met a week ago, I'm that guy!

Now that I think about it, I wasn't even sure he remembered me.

The silence between us felt comfortable, not like the heavy stillness of our last meeting.

For a while, we sat in that quiet, listening to the wind rustle through the dead branches overhead.

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I glanced over at him, noticing the thinness of his hands, the way his skin seemed to stretch too tight over his bones. I wondered how much longer someone like him could last in a place like this.

Eventually, he spoke.

"Back again, huh?"

So he remembers me? I thought.

His voice was rougher this time, like he hadn’t used it in a while.

"Yeah"

I replied, looking down at my feet.

"I guess I’ve gotten used to wandering."

He chuckled, though it sounded more like a cough.

"Hospitals will do that to you. Make you feel like time doesn’t matter. Like you’re stuck, motionless, waiting for something to change."

I nodded.

"I’ve been walking more lately. Trying to feel… normal again."

"Normal"

He muttered, as if the word held no meaning for him.

"That’s a funny word, don’t you think? What is normal, really?"

At first I thought he was talking about my fat belly because I saw him glance at it every now and then.

Then I realized he was just too old and his eyes were staring into nothingness.

I remembered the question but I couldn't find the answer.

Was it normal to feel lost, even when you were alive?

Was it normal to want something more, something beyond the dull existence I’d been living before all this?

The result? I had even more questions..

We lapsed back into silence, the wind carrying the faint sounds of the city into the garden.

I didn’t expect him to talk again, but after a while, he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at me from the corner of his eye.

"My name is Koizumi Shinohara"

He said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Koizumi-Shinohara"

I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue. It felt strange, like putting a label on something that had been a mystery until now.

"I’m Keisuke Mori."

"I know"

He said, his voice soft.

My eyes widen in confusion.

"Don't worry..."

He smiled and then glanced back to the sky.

"I'm not a seer, I just overheard one of the nurses talking about you."

That threw me off guard. How much had he heard? Did he know about the accident? Did he know how close I had come to ending it all?

Koizumi must have sensed my unease because he let out a dry laugh.

"Don’t worry. I don’t pry into other people’s lives. I’ve got enough baggage of my own."

I didn’t ask what he meant by that, but it was hard not to wonder.

What kind of life had he lived? What had brought him here, to this hospital, alone and staring at the sky like he was waiting for something that would never come?

As if reading my mind, he sighed.

"Spent most of my life running, you know. From things, from people. Thought if I could just keep moving, I’d never have to face what I left behind."

I stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. There was a weight to his words that reminded me too much of my own thoughts—the constant running, the endless avoidance of things I didn’t want to confront.

"I always thought I had time"

Koizumi continued, his voice growing softer.

"Time to fix things, time to change. But then you wake up one day, and you look like me."

His words hit hard, harder than I expected.

They echoed the same thoughts that had been swirling in my head for days, ever since I survived the accident.

I had always believed there was more time—more time to figure out my life, more time to change.

But Koizumi’s words made me realize something.

Time was running out for me too, even if I didn’t want to admit it.

I looked over at him, his frail form bathed in the soft light of the sun that was passing through the branches of the tree.

He seemed so small, so fragile, yet there was a depth to him, a quiet understanding that came from having lived through more than I could imagine.

"Do you regret it?"

I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

Koizumi didn’t answer right away. He just stared ahead, his gaze distant, lost in thoughts I couldn’t reach.

"Regret?"

he finally said, his voice almost a whisper.

"Yeah. But not in the way you’d think. I don’t regret what I did. I regret what I didn’t do."

We sat there for a long time after that, neither of us saying a word.

After a while, I stood up, my legs feeling stronger than they had in days.

I looked down at Koizumi, still seated, still staring into the sky.

"I’ll get out soon and I'll make sure to greet you properly"

I said quietly.

He nodded, but didn’t turn his head.

"Yeah. You will."

As I walked away, I realized something had shifted. It wasn’t just my body that was healing—something inside me was too.

And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one waiting for time to run out.