I was on duty at the hospital—when I walked into the room, there was a child no one seemed to know about.
I was exhausted at the end of my shift, just finishing up my notes when I decided to do one last sweep. I didn’t expect anything unusual—but then I walked into Exam Room 3.
A boy, around five or six, was lying casually on the bed, staring at the ceiling like he’d been there all day. No nurse, no chart, no adult in sight.
“Hey, buddy,” I asked gently. “What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer—just kept watching the ceiling. Calm. Too calm.
“Are you lost?” I pressed.
He finally turned to me with a faint smile. “I’m not lost. I’m waiting.”
“For who?” I asked, confused.
“For you to ask the right question.”
The hairs on my neck stood up. I checked the system—no record, no admission. Nothing.
I told the charge nurse. “There’s a kid alone in Room 3. No file, no guardian.”
She looked surprised but followed me. I half-expected the room to be empty—but he was still there, exactly as I’d left him.
Then I saw her face go pale. Without saying a word, she reached for the phone and called security.
