Rooftop Summer | EN- Jake

7

Hanna lay in her hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, feeling familiar weight of despair pressing down on her. Days had passed—how many, she wasn't sure. Time had lost its meaning, each hour bleeding into the next in a haze of numbness and exhaustion. The sterile walls of the hospital felt like they were closing in on her, suffocating her, trapping her in a reality she couldn't escape.

Her parents had stopped trying to cheer her up, their attempts to coax her out of bed or convince to eat met with nothing but silence. They had taken to leaving her alone for long stretches of time, visiting only brief, their eyes filled with worry and hopelessness. Hanna didn't care. She didn't want their pity or their concern. She just wanted to disappear, to fade away quietly, without anyone noticing.

Outside, the world continued on without her. She could hear it through the window—the distant hum of traffic, the occasional laughter of people walking by, the chirping of birds that seemed oblivious to the fact that her world was falling apart. It was as if life was mocking her, reminding her that it would go on, even when she was gone.

She hated it. She hated the world for continuing on, for not stopping, for not caring that she was dying. How could everything just keep moving forward when her life was coming to an end?it was unfair, cruel, and it only deepened the bitterness that had taken root in her heart.

But as much as she tried to push the world away, it kept creeping in. The sounds from outside filtered through the cracks in her resolve, a persistent reminder that life was still happening, even if she wasn't part of it anymore.

One afternoon, as she lay in bed, too tired to move, too numb to think, she heard the distant sound of children laughing. It was faint at first, almost lost in the hum of the hospital, but it grew louder, closer, until she could almost picture them—young children, carefree and happy, playing some game that only they understand.

Hanna turned her head slightly, her gaze shifting to the window. The curtains were partially drawn, but a sliver of sunlight streamed through, illuminating the sterile room with a warmth that felt out of place. For a moment, she considered getting up, pulling the curtains closed, shutting out the world completely. But something stopped her. Instead, she pushed herself up, wincing as her weak muscles protested the effort, and leaned forward to peer out the window.

What she saw made her heart clench in her chest.

The hospital was near a park, a small green space where families often gathered to enjoy the fresh air. From her window, she could see the edge of the park—the sprawling lawn, the benches scattered beneath the trees, and the playground where the children were laughing and playing. It was a scene of pure, uncomplicated joy, a slice of life that felt so distant, so unattainable.

Hanna watched as a little girl, no more than five or six, chased after a bright red ball, her laughter ringing out like a bell. The girl's parents sat on a nearby bench, watching her with fond smiles, their faces relaxed and content. It was a simple moment, ordinary in every way, but to Hanna, it was like a glimpse into another world—a world where life was still beautiful, still full of possibilities.

For the first time in days, something stirred inside her, something that had been buried beneath layers of despair and hopelessness. It was faint, fragile, but it was there—a spark of longing, of wanting something more than this dark, suffocating existence.

As she continued to watch, the little girl caught the ball and ran back to her parents, who lifted her into the air, spinning her around as she squealed with delight. Hanna felt a pang in her chest, a deep ache that had nothing to do with her illness. It was the ache of realising that life was still happening outside these walls, that the world wouldn't stopped just because she had.

And in that moment, a thought crystallised in her mind, sharp and clear.

I don't want to die like this.

The thought was starting in its simplicity, but it was enough to pierce through the fog of despair that had enveloped her. She didn't want to die lying in a hospital bed, wasting away while the world continued on without her. She didn't want her last days to be spent in this sterile, lifeless place, where every moment was a reminder of her impending death.

No, if she was going to die, she wanted to live first. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. She wanted to breathe in the fresh air, to see the world one last time—not from behind a hospital window, but up close, where she could touch it, experience it, even if only for a little while.

The realisation brought with it a surge of determination, a flicker of the strength that she thought she had lost. She didn't want to die a meaningless death, trapped in this place, surrounded by pity and sorrow. She wanted to go out on her own terms, to find some semblance of freedom before it was too late.

She wanted to escape.

The idea took hold, growing stronger with each passing minute. It was reckless, dangerous, but it was also the first thing that had made her feel alive in days. The thought of escaping, of leaving the hospital behind, filled her with a sense of purpose, a sense of control that she hadn't felt since the diagnosis.

She didn't know where she would go, didn't care. All that mattered was getting out, breaking free from the confines of this place, and finding some way to live, even if only for a little while longer.

Hanna waited until nightfall, when the hospital was quiet, the halls dimly lit and empty. She had spent the afternoon planning, going over every detail in her mind, trying to anticipate any obstacles. She had even managed to eat a little, forcing down the food she didn't want but knew she would need of she was going to make it. The spark of determination had grown into a flame, burning away the despair that h ad held her captive for so long.

When the time finally came, she slipped out of bed, her legs trembling with the effort. She was weak, her body still recovering from the collapse, but she couldn't let that stop her. She had to do this. She had to escape, to find some way to live before it was too late.

She dressed quickly, pulling on the clothes her mother had brought from home, the familiar fabric giving her a small measure of comfort. She grabbed her phone, her wallet, and the small bag she had packed earlier, her heart pounding in her chest as she moved as quietly as possible.

The hospital was eerily silent as she crept down the hallway, her footsteps soft on the linoleum floor. Her senses were heightened, every creak and rustle setting her on edge, but she kept going, her determination driving her forward.

She made it to the stairwell without encountering anyone, her breath coming in short, quick gasps as she pushed open the heavy door. The stairs seemed to stretched endlessly before her, but she didn't hesitate. She took them one at a time, her legs trembling, her body protesting, but she kept going, fuelled by the desperate need to break free.

By the time she reached the ground floor, she was shaking with exhaustion, her heart pounding in her ears. But she didn't stop. She pushed open the door to the outside world, the cool night air hitting her like a wave, filling her lungs with a freshness she hadn't realised she'd been missing.

For a moment, she just stood there, breathing in the night air, feeling the freedom that came with it. The city was alive around her, the sounds of the distant traffic, the hum of streetlights, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was a world that had seemed so far away, but now it was right in front of her, waiting for her to step into it.

And she did. With one last look at the hospital behind her, Hanna took a step forward, and then another, her heart beating with something she hadn't felt in along time—hope.

She didn't know where she was going, didn't care. All that mattered was that she was out, that she was free, that she was alive. And for the first time since the diagnosis, she felt like she had a chance to truly live.

Even if it was only for a little while.