Noelle Assigned to Clean His Room

The cart rattled as Noelle pushed it down the third-floor corridor.

Its front wheel, slightly warped from being overloaded the week before, let out a soft, groaning squeak with every rotation. On most days, the sound annoyed her. Today, it felt like betrayal. Like it was announcing her presence with every step.

She didn't want to be noticed.

She wanted to slip between shadows.

To glide across the tile like breath.

To disappear.

Bea hadn't been thrilled.

"I'm bending protocol already," she'd whispered behind the supply closet door. "You get caught in his room unsupervised, and this whole thing falls apart."

"I won't talk to him," Noelle had said quickly. "I won't even breathe loud."

Bea gave her a look that said she wasn't convinced.

"You're not invisible, Elle. And you're not made of glass. If he looks at you again like he almost remembers, how long do you think you'll last before you say something?"

Noelle hadn't answered.

Because she didn't know.

Room 308 loomed at the end of the hallway, lit too brightly under the overhead fluorescents. She'd passed by it more times than she could count. Stood near it. Waited outside of it. Prayed on the floor just beside it.

But this was different.

Today, the door was open.

Today, she was going in.

The room was empty. Bea had confirmed it ten minutes ago. Kairo was in physical therapy down the hall. His therapist, Lila, was known for her tight 45-minute sessions. No distractions, no early returns.

That gave Noelle thirty minutes.

No more.

She paused in the doorway for a full sixty seconds before stepping inside. Her grip tightened around the cart handle until her knuckles paled.

The scent hit her first. That familiar hospital blend, minty cleanser and old linen, the faint metallic edge of machines humming in the background.

A wedge of pale morning light sliced across the floor, slipping through the blinds and casting itself across the opposite wall like a spotlight no one asked for.

She took one step in.

Then another.

Then she saw it.

The bed, unmade.

It startled her more than she expected.

The pillows were crooked. The sheets were tangled where his body had once been. The mattress still held the shape of him. The dip where his head had rested. A crease near the foot where his leg had shifted.

It felt like walking into someone's memory.

Or a moment they'd left behind without warning.

She shouldn't be here.

She should turn around, leave and do the smart thing.

But instead, she moved forward and set a folded cloth down on the tray table like it was something sacred.

An offering.

She started at the sink.

Spray, Wipe, Repeat.

Mechanical. Routine. Her hands moved like they had muscle memory, but her heart wasn't in it. Her mind kept drifting toward the nightstand.

The note still sat there.

Unfolded, unmoved, uncrumpled.

Next to it, the flower. Wilted now, petals curling in at the tips, but not discarded.

Not dismissed.

He hadn't thrown it away.

Her breath caught, quiet and sudden. She gripped the edge of the counter, pressing the cloth harder than necessary, grounding herself in the motion.

But then she saw something else.

On the tray table. Partially hidden beneath a sketchpad.

A pencil. The page curled slightly at the edge.

She paused.

Then stepped closer, one cautious inch at a time.

Her fingertips brushed the edge of the sketchbook.

She opened it.

And froze.

It was her.

Not perfectly. Not fully. The lines were tentative, unfinished. Her eyes were only half-formed. Her lips not fully shaded. But she knew that jaw. That hair. The soft curve of her cheek. The slight dip of her left eyebrow.

It was her.

Beneath the sketch, scribbled over and over in fading graphite:

Noelle.

Noelle.

Noelle.

Her vision blurred.

Tears rose quickly, blinding and sharp.

He remembered.

Not in words. Not in certainty. But in instinct.

Something inside him still carried her name. Still carried her image. Still reached for her across the void they didn't ask for.

She hadn't been erased.

Not completely.

A knock cracked the silence like thunder.

Noelle jumped, spinning toward the door. Her heart slammed into her ribs.

But no one stood there.

Just a shadow passing the hallway window. A nurse. Maybe a visitor. No one looking for her.

She let out a shaky breath, wiping her eyes quickly with the sleeve of her sweater. No time for breaking down. No time for being caught.

She moved to the sketchpad and closed it gently, placing it back exactly where it had been. Aligned. Unmoved. Like she'd never touched it at all.

Then back to the tray.

She straightened the napkin. Shifted the coffee cup by half an inch.

Stood in front of the bed again.

Her hand hovered over the blanket, right above where his chest had rested hours ago.

She remembered that chest.

How it rose and fell beneath her cheek.

How his arms had curled around her back like instinct.

"If I ever forget, remind me," he'd whispered once.

She had smiled then, her lips brushing his collarbone.

And said, "I will."

She just hadn't known it would come to this.

She turned to leave quietly and carefully. Each step as soundless as the ache in her chest.

But just before she reached the door, she heard it.

Lila's voice coming from down the hall.

"Take your time. I'll grab your chart."

Noelle's heart stopped.

He was coming back.

She looked at the room one last time. At the bed. The tray. The sketchpad.

Then she slipped out the side door like a ghost, her heartbeat thundering beneath her sweater, loud enough to drown the rest of the world.