A young nurse bathed a millionaire in a coma, but when he suddenly woke up, something miraculous happened. The fluorescent lights of Westbridge Private Cardiovascular Hospital hummed softly as Anna Munro walked through the immaculate white corridors. She had been a nurse there for almost two years, but today she felt different.

The moment she received the unexpected call to the office from Dr. Harris, chief of neurology, a strange sensation took hold of her chest. Had he done something wrong? Was she being transferred? He took a deep breath before knocking on the polished mahogany door. Go ahead.

Upon entering, he found Dr. Harris standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back and his usual piercing gaze fixed on the city skyline. His office smelled of sterile antiseptic and expensive leather, and the atmosphere was denser than usual. “Anna,” he said, turning finally to her.

His voice sounded serious and measured. We have a patient who requires special care, but this job is not for cardiac patients. Anna frowned

.

Not for the faint of heart? What kind of patient? he asked cautiously. Dr. Harris stared at her for a moment before pointing to a thick medical file on his desk. Grant Carter, he said.

Said. Anna’s breath got stuck in her throat. Grant Carter.

The Grant Carter. Although he didn’t recognize the name instantly, the cover of the file said it all. A black-and-white newspaper clipping from a terrible car accident.

A year ago, the city’s youngest billionaire suffered a devastating accident. His sports car slipped off a bridge in the middle of the night, leaving him in a coma ever since. His name grabbed headlines.

Grant Carter, the ruthless and untouchable CEO of Carter Enterprises. The man who built an empire at just 32 years old. And now? He was nothing more than a ghost trapped in his own body.

His family rarely visits, Dr. Harris continued. And most medical personnel simply make their rounds out of obligation. But Grant Carter needs someone dedicated.

Someone who really cares. Anna bit her lip. I could sense the hesitation in his voice.

And do you think that someone is me? Dr. Harris nodded. Yes, I think so. Anna took a deep breath.

It was a daunting task to care for a man who might never wake up. A man whose wealth and power once dictated the lives of thousands. But deep down, she knew the answer even before she spoke.

I will. Dr. Harris’ lips tightened into a fine line, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes. Not bad.

Does your shift start tonight? The private suite on the top floor of the hospital felt eerily quiet as Anna entered. Unlike the cold barrenness of the other rooms, this one was designed for luxury. A spacious layout, dim chandeliers and dark oak furniture.

And at the center of it all lay Grant Carter. His breath was cut off as he looked at it. Despite the tubes, the machines that kept him alive, and the stillness of his body, he was beautiful.

Firm jawline, dark eyelashes against her pale skin, broad shoulders visible under hospital gown. If not for the lifeless stillness, he could easily have passed for a man who was simply sleeping. But this was not just any dream…

This man was trapped in an eternal silence. Anna swallowed hard and walked over, adjusting her IV before taking the warm cloth that had been prepared for her. He hesitated for a second before gently pressing it against his skin.

The moment she touched it, a strange shiver ran down her spine, an inexplicable sensation. As if he could feel her there. As if, in the depths of his unconsciousness, he knew.

A soft beep from the heart monitor filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. Anna got rid of that strange feeling and continued with her work, carefully cleaning her arms and chest, making sure that her body remained clean and cared for. “I guess you don’t have a say in this, huh?” she muttered, almost to herself.

Silence. I’ll take it as a no. A small smile tugged at his lips to annoy.

The days became a routine. Every morning and night, Anna bathed him, changed his sheets, and checked his vital signs. But it soon ceased to be just a matter of medical care.

She found herself talking to him, telling him stories of her day, of the world she saw outside her window. You should check out the cafeteria food, Grant. It’s tragic.

Even for a billionaire, I doubt you survived. Silence. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.

Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice. Silence. Silence.

Or maybe you’re listening to it. The heart monitor was constantly ringing, as if it were responding to him. And maybe, just maybe, he was doing it.

Anna hummed softly as she dipped a clean washcloth in the warm water. The sterile silence of Grant’s private suite in the hospital was something he had grown accustomed to over the weeks. The constant beeping of the heart monitor, the faint hum of the IV line, it was all part of the atmosphere now.

She leaned over the bed, carefully wiping Grant’s face, with soft but precise fingers. “You know?” he said in a soft voice. “I read somewhere that people between commas can still hear things.”

So, technically, you’re the worst listener I’ve ever met. No answer, of course. He sighed, shaking his head.

It is ok. I’ve gotten used to talking to myself. He moved to clean his jaw when, with a slight movement, he gasped for breath.

Would he have imagined it? She froze, staring at his hand. Nothing. Fingers lay motionless on the starched white sheets.

Anna chuckled, shaking her head. Great, now I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m the one who needs a hospital bed.

But the concern persisted. And over the next few days, it happened again. The second time, she was adjusting his pillow.

He wasn’t looking when he felt it. A slight pressure on your wrist. His head slumped.

Grant’s hand had moved. Only an inch, but enough to make his stomach turn upside down. “Grant,” he whispered, barely noticing that he had said his name.

Silence. The same rhythmic beep from the monitor. She put her hand on his, feeling his warmth, his stillness, his potential movement.

Nothing. Did you imagine it? Or was something changing? Anna couldn’t shake that feeling, so she told Dr. Harris. Did it move? The doctor raised an eyebrow skeptically…

“I think so,” Anna admitted. At first I thought I had imagined it, but it keeps happening. His fingers tremble.

His hand moves slightly. It’s small, but it’s there. Dr. Harris leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.

“We’ll do tests,” he said finally. But don’t get your hopes up, Anna. It could just be reflex muscle spasms.

Anna nodded, but deep down she didn’t believe it. I sensed that something was happening. And when the test results came in, he wasn’t surprised.

Dr. Harris told him that there is increased brain activity. Their neurological responses are stronger than before. His heart skipped a beat.

So it’s waking up! Dr. Harris hesitated. Not necessarily. It could mean anything.

But it is a good sign. It was not the answer I wanted. But it was enough.

Ha. That night, sitting by her bedside, Anna found herself talking to Grant more than usual. “I don’t know if you hear me, but something tells me that you do,” he murmured.

She looked at his face, at his marked features. Still motionless. But for the first time, she felt like she wasn’t alone in the room.

So she spoke. He told her about his day. About frustrated patients.

About the rude doctor on the third floor who always stole his coffee. He told her about his childhood. About the small town where he grew up.

About how she always dreamed of being a nurse. And as he spoke, he didn’t notice that, deep in the silence of his coma, Grant was listening. The morning sun filtered through the large windows of the hospital room, casting a warm glow on Grant Carter’s motionless body.

The beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence, steady and rhythmic, as it had been for the past year. Anna was standing by the bed, rolling up her sleeves. It was just another day.