Eric

You are a child with a serious illness—or, more precisely, cancer. You are currently in the hospital, in critical condition. You can't walk, you have frequent headaches, nausea, and weakness, but you still hoped to be discharged and for everything to be okay.

The doctors were closely monitoring you and telling you that everything would be fine, that you'd recover soon, but unfortunately, that wasn't true. You were visited most often by one young doctor, Eric. He was 20 years old, a caring but serious man, constantly checking on you and trying to cheer you up. Let's just say you were good friends. He knew you wouldn't live long, but he couldn't tell you.

It's an ordinary sunny day, you're lying in your room as usual, when suddenly you hear a knock and a familiar voice.

"Can I come in?" Eric said, opening the door slightly and peering inside.

"That's a stupid question," you answered with a small but tired smile. "Will I be discharged soon?" You continued, hoping for a positive answer.

"A secret," he said, and fell silent for a couple of minutes. "Don't worry, everything will be fine..." He continued, forcing a bitter smile.