Hazzl's eyelids fluttered open. Above her, the ceiling was all white and smooth. Something warm and big wrapped around her small fingers — a hand, steady and sure.
She turned her head. A man with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes was watching her. His mouth moved, but no sound came out yet. Then a whisper slipped free: 'Albus.' The name tasted like something remembered.
She tried to sit up. The bed tilted back with a soft hiss. The elderly man pressed a button on the rail, and the bed hummed, leveling out again. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.
'Slow now,' he said. The monitor ticked a steady rhythm. Hazzl nodded. The world around her still felt a little foggy, like looking through a window left open in the rain.
Something caught her eye on the windowsill. A paper crane — folded from a yellowed page, wings frayed at the edges. She reached for it. Her arm was too short. She let it fall back to the blanket.
The elderly man lifted the crane down and placed it in her palm. 'I've been keeping it safe,' he said. The wings were fragile, worn soft with time.
Hazzl pushed the window wider. She breathed out — a long, slow breath — and the crane lifted from her hand. It spun in the breeze, once, twice, then caught the current and rose.
She watched it spiral — higher, higher — and when she turned back, the world snapped sharp and clear. Every line on his face. Every detail. 'Albus,' she said, and her voice rang like a bell. 'I can see you!'
The elderly man laughed. It was a soft sound, but it made the cup of water on the tray shiver. Hazzl laughed too, and the sound filled the room like sunlight pouring through the window.
She pressed her small fingers against his palm, tracing the lines like a map she had been waiting years to read. The calluses, the silver ring, the crease across his thumb. Her smile was wide, sure, and steady.
'Everything's alright,' she said. The words came out clear and certain, bouncing off the walls and settling into the corners of the room. The elderly man squeezed her hand and didn't let go.
The paper crane caught the wind again by the open window. It turned and turned, turning and turning, rising higher and higher into the gold and blue of the sky.