He’d been in and out of a coma-like trance for about three months now. He used to be one of the most charismatic and caring people I knew. He used to be a great brother. Now he was withdrawn, not able to string together more than a few words at a time. But when he did speak, it was always a small miracle.

I visited him almost everyday, telling him my problems and happenings, just like I used to before his accident. Except now, he couldn’t comfort me with words of assurance or tell me it was all going to be okay. One day, I walked in the room to see him watching a documentary on the history channel, just as he always was.

He looked at me, only to see my crying, my face red and blotchy. His face was one of complete empathy. You could see he wanted to ask, so I told him.

“He left me! After a year, for some other girl!” I sputtered incoherently, wishing for some solace in his words.

But still nothing, all I got was his face matching mine in tears. Together, we wept in empathy of each other.