Once a week, every week, the boy came to visit Mira as she slept on, each time bringing different flower, telling her about school, his homelife, or reading to her, whether they were is own stories, hers, or books he had got from the library.
Her nurse continued to watch the boy, as Winter turne to Spring, to Summer, to Autmn, and back to Winter. She was amazed how this boy enjoyed spending time with this girl, who was practically dead. It was almost watching a young child playing with a doll. She did find a lot out about him though.
His mother had died giving birth to him, so he had never known her. He had a big sister, two years older than himself, called Rio. His father worked as a teacher, and at weekends, was a waiter in a small cafe. He himself wanted to be a teacher, or an artist of colour, as she was an artist of words. He enjoyed both soft and rock music, playing piano, and - their little secret - knitting.
So, on Boxing Day, he returned, with a large wrapped box under his arm, his carier bag hung awkwardly over his large coat. He placed a sprig of holly, and one of mistletoe down on her bedside, before smiling.
"Sorry I'm late, Miss Mira, I was out buying your Christmas presents." He said cheerfully, his cheeks rosy, his glasses fogging up. He placed the long box on the floor, before opening his messenger bag, pulling out three crudely wrapped presents. He took her hand softly, and used her fingers to puncture the paper, pulling it waay from her to rip it. The first was a blanket, dark blue, with silvery bits here and there, like a night sky. He placed this over her body carefully, tucking it around her.
The second was a dress, a black one. It had no straps, and came in tighty roung the waist, with a bow to one side. The skirt, in three layers of different lengths, would come just past her knees. The finl one was a music book, for the piano. He lifted the box up, onto his knees.
"My dad can only afford to get us cheap presents, but he knew I wanted this really badly. This was my only present, along with some money from my grandparents. I've already told you I love to play, so I thought you should be there when I opened it."
He tore the paper away, and smiled. It revealed a keyboard. Opening the box, and pulling it out, to balence on his knee, he plugged it in and turned it on. He began to play softly, his eyes watching the keys. The nurse smiled.
"Such dediction. I hope she wakes soon. Merry Christmas, Leon." She whispered, partly to him, and to herself.