𝙰 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚢𝚊𝚕 (𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚋𝚒𝚊𝚗) 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.
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𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐀𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞, a confident and bold young athlete with a sharp wit and a fearless attitude. She's kn...
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ᴡʜᴀᴛ...?
The hospital room felt colder now, quieter. My mother’s words from earlier echoed in my head:
"There’s no Dom, Amira. You’ve been in a coma."
I stared at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of denial and disbelief. It didn’t make sense. The memories of Dom were so vivid—the way her dimples deepened when she smiled, the sound of her laugh, the warmth of her hand in mine.
How could she not be real?
"Mommy" I said, breaking the silence. My voice trembled as I turned my head to look at her. She was seated in the chair by my bed, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes filled with worry.
"How could you say that? I know Dom. I remember her. I remember us."
Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. She exhaled slowly, leaning forward to take my hand in hers.
"Baby… I don’t know who Dom is. Maybe it was someone you created in your mind while you were in the coma. The doctors said this could happen—your brain trying to make sense of the time you lost."
I shook my head, fresh tears spilling over. "No, I- It’s not just a dream. It’s real. She’s real." My voice broke. "I love her."
(😂 dis funny asf 😭🤚🏾)
Her grip on my hand tightened, and I could see the pain in her expression.
"Amira" she said softly.
"you’ve been in a coma for months. You were twenty-three when the accident happened. Whatever you think you remember, it was from years ago. Maybe it’s all a mix of old memories and your imagination."
Her words felt like a slap, but somewhere deep inside, the doubt started to creep in. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to replay everything. Dom, the kisses, the laughter… but now, some moments started to feel blurry, like a picture losing its focus.
"Then explain why it feels so real" I whispered.
"Sometimes" she began gently, "our minds create things to protect us, to fill the gaps. It doesn’t mean those feelings weren’t real to you, Amira."
I turned my face away, tears soaking into the pillow. If Dom wasn’t real, then what was?
And if she was just a figment of my imagination, how would I ever let her go?
