Chapter 3 – Awakening
A soft light pressed gently against Thijs' closed eyelids, warm and golden. For a moment, he floated in a haze — weightless, silent, suspended between dreams and memory.
Then his eyes fluttered open.
He stared up at a ceiling he didn't recognize. Wooden beams, painted white, ran across it in neat lines. Sunlight slipped through colorful curtains, throwing bright shapes on pale green walls decorated with stickers of animals and cars.
A faint smell of laundry detergent and something sweet — maybe vanilla — hung in the air.
Slowly, Thijs pushed himself upright. His body felt strange. Light, somehow. As though someone had peeled away the weight he'd been carrying for so long.
He looked down at himself.
Small hands. Thin wrists. Short legs under soft cotton pajamas.
A mirror stood against one wall. Thijs climbed off the bed, his bare feet padding softly across the wooden floor, and stopped in front of it.
A child stared back at him.
Ginger hair flopped across his forehead, freckled cheeks pale in the morning light. Green eyes blinked at their own reflection — wide, startled, full of questions.
Thijs lifted his hand slowly and touched his own face.
> This… is me. But I'm a kid.
Memories surged up, sudden and sharp:
The hospital bed.
His mother's tears.
The beeping of machines slowing.
His last breath.
The darkness swallowing him whole.
Now, he stood here. Alive. Small.
A rush of emotion swelled in his chest — confusion, fear, and something else shimmering beneath it all: hope.
> I'm back. I'm alive. This… this is my second chance.
His breath caught in his throat. His eyes burned, but he blinked the moisture away.
> I don't know how. Or why. But I'm not wasting this.
A quiet knock came at the door, pulling him from his thoughts.
> "Sweetie? Are you awake?"
The voice was soft and warm, unfamiliar.
Thijs froze.
> New voice. New house. New everything.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his racing heart.
> "Um… yeah."
The door creaked open. A woman stepped inside — gentle eyes, her brown hair pulled back in a loose braid. She wore a soft grey sweater and jeans, and her smile was warm as summer sunshine.
> "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
Thijs opened his mouth, then closed it again. His voice came out smaller than he intended.
> "I… I think so."
The woman walked closer, brushing a strand of ginger hair off his forehead.
> "Come on. Breakfast is ready. Your dad's waiting."
Thijs hesitated, glancing one last time at the boy in the mirror — at the freckles, the green eyes, the small frame.
Then he followed her out of the room, each step feeling like he was walking into a brand-new world.
The hallway smelled like coffee and fresh bread. Thijs followed the woman, his bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off picture frames on the walls — family photos he didn't recognize.
They entered a small kitchen, bright and cozy. A kettle whistled softly on the stove. Plates and mugs were already set out on the table.
A man stood by the counter, pouring coffee into a mug. He turned as they came in, a gentle smile creasing his face. His hair was dark with a few strands of grey at the temples.
> "Hey there, champ. Morning."
Thijs froze, studying the stranger's face. Something about the man's eyes — the warmth in them, the quiet strength — made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
He gave a small nod, unsure what else to say.
The man stepped closer, ruffling Thijs' ginger hair lightly.
> "Sleep okay?"
> "Yeah," Thijs mumbled. His voice still sounded too high to his own ears.
The woman set a plate in front of him — toast, a boiled egg, a small glass of orange juice.
> "Eat a little, sweetheart. You'll feel better with something in your stomach."
Thijs picked up a piece of toast but only nibbled at the edge. Everything felt strange. The chair under him. The smell of the kitchen. The two people watching him with soft, expectant smiles.
> They look at me like I've always belonged here. Like I've always been their son.
A sudden wave of guilt rolled over him. These people loved a boy named Thijs who used to live in this body. Now that boy was gone — replaced by someone else with memories he couldn't possibly explain.
> Do they even realize? Would they notice if I started talking like a seventeen-year-old?
The man sat down across from him, sipping his coffee.
> "Maybe later we'll take a walk through town," he said. "Fresh air will do you good."
Thijs nodded faintly.
> "Okay."
He forced himself to take a bigger bite of toast. The woman smiled at him, relief flooding her face as though that tiny act meant everything.
As they sat there in the quiet kitchen, Thijs felt a strange mix of comfort and sadness twist inside him.
> They seem kind. Maybe… maybe this won't be so bad.
But deep down, a tiny flame still burned — a quiet determination that refused to go out.
> I have a second chance. I'll figure out what to do with it.
The sky outside was pale blue when Thijs stepped into the small backyard. The grass was damp under his bare feet, dotted with tiny white daisies. A soft breeze rustled the hedges along the fence, carrying the scent of early spring.
He wrapped his arms around himself and stood still, staring up at the drifting clouds.
> It's real. I'm really here. I'm alive.
For a few moments, he let himself just breathe. The air was fresh and cool, so different from the sterile chill of hospital corridors. He felt his pulse beating gently in his neck — steady, strong.
He flexed his fingers, lifted his arms, shifted his weight from foot to foot. No pain. No heaviness in his chest.
> I've got a second chance. I don't know why, but… I'm not wasting it.
He turned his gaze toward the fence, where a weathered plastic ball sat half-buried in the grass. For a split second, he considered picking it up — testing his legs, feeling the familiar motion of a kick.
But something inside held him back.
> I'm a child now. I have time. I don't have to rush. Not yet.
A bird darted overhead, chirping brightly. Thijs followed its path until it disappeared into the trees.
Behind him, the sliding door opened, and the woman — his new mother — stepped outside.
> "Thijs? Everything okay?"
He turned and gave her a small nod.
> "Yeah. Just… thinking."
She tilted her head, studying him carefully.
> "You're very quiet today."
> "I'm just… tired, I guess."
She smiled gently.
> "That's okay. You don't have to talk if you don't feel like it."
Thijs hesitated, then leaned ever so slightly into her touch. It felt… safe.
When she went back inside, Thijs stayed where he was, letting the breeze tug at his hair.
> I'm not the same Thijs they think I am. But maybe… that's okay.
> This time, I'll decide who I'm going to be. And what I want.
He turned toward the plastic ball one last time, then walked back into the house, a quiet resolve settling in his chest.
> This time, I'll make it count.