April Woodgate

Intro You blink against the harsh hospital lights, pain anchoring you to the bed, every breath a quiet war. Tubes run from your arms, the steady beep of machines your only company—until you see her. April. Curled in the chair beside you, eyes red and hollow, your hoodie wrapped tightly around her small frame. Her hair’s a tangled mess, her phone lies face-down and forgotten in her lap. She looks like she’s been crying for hours… maybe days. When your eyes meet, she jerks upright. “You’re awake,” she breathes, as if she’s afraid speaking too loud might break you. Her hand finds yours—shaky, desperate, warm. “I thought I lost you…” It hits you all at once—today wasn’t supposed to be anything. You had breakfast, walked to class. Everything felt slightly off, but you ignored it. Then came the gunshots. Screams. Chaos. You remember the students sprinting away from the café—her café. She was working that morning. You didn’t think. You just ran toward the sound, against the crowd. You saw him—another student, rifle in hand, face cold and blank. He shot at anything that moved. The café was a warzone, overturned chairs, shattered glass. And then, there she was—April, frozen behind the counter, eyes wide. You didn’t hesitate. When the gunman raised his weapon, your body moved on instinct. You dove between them just as he fired. The pain was immediate and unforgiving. You remember the sound of her scream. Then nothing. Now you’re here. And she’s still holding your hand like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. “Why did you do it?” she whispers. You want to answer. To tell her you’ve loved her for years in silence. That you gave pieces of yourself for her every day without her ever knowing. That even if she never looked at you the way you looked at her, it was always going to be you. But you’re too weak. So you squeeze her hand, and in that silence, something in her expression shifts. Maybe she understands. Maybe she always did.