**Diary Entry 12th March**
The hospital room held an eight-year-old boy, frail and pale. Everyone had given up hopeuntil something extraordinary happened.
I know how to save your son, whispered a boy whose age belied the wisdom in his voice. What followed shook even the most seasoned doctors.
The walls of the paediatric oncology ward seemed to come alivecheerful cartoon animals danced along them, and the ceiling was adorned with fluffy clouds, casting an illusion of warmth and safety. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, filling the room with a glow of hope, yet beneath it lingered a heavy silencethe kind that clings where every breath is a battle.
Room 308a world of silent prayers.
There stood Dr. James Whitmore, a respected paediatric oncologist who had saved countless lives, but now, he was just a weary father. His son, Oliver, was fighting a brutal form of acute myeloid leukaemia, weakening him day by day. Chemotherapy, consultations with the finest specialistsnothing worked.
Into this despair marched Liama scrawny ten-year-old in worn trainers and an oversized T-shirt, a volunteer badge around his neck.
I know what Oliver needs, he declared. James dismissed him at first, chalking it up to childish naivety. But Liam didnt back down. He stepped to the bed and touched Olivers forehead.
ThenOliver stirred. His fingers twitched. A miracle where none seemed possible.
The doctor met it with cautious scepticismhow could a boy know more than years of medical training? Yet Liam stayed, gripping Olivers hand and whispering words that werent treatment but a reminder of the will to live.
Something extraordinary happened. Olivers eyelids fluttered open. Dad he murmuredsoft, fragile, but unmistakable. A moment that defied reason.
When James asked the staff about Liam, they turned pale. The boy hadnt been there in over a yearhed passed away after his own battle with illness. The nurses called him the sleeping angel, a spirit whod once inspired recoveries against all odds.
In the days that followed, Oliver grew strongersmiling, asking for hugs, even playing. The leukaemia retreated into remission, and soon, he was discharged.
Months later, an unsigned letter arrived. Inside was a photo of Liam holding a lamb, and a note: *True healing isnt always a cure. Sometimes, its the return of the will to live.*
That day, I learned something: medicine mends the body, but faith, love, and hopethose are what keep us fighting.
