It started one night. The rain softly tapped against the hospital window, and as always, I sat beside Arel—my brother. I held his hand, even though he was still unconscious. Every drip from the IV counted down the seconds that felt like hours.

And then—something happened.

His skin, once pale and colder than usual, suddenly became warm. His fingers twitched. The monitor, which had shown almost nothing for days, began to beep with a stronger, faster rhythm. Doctors rushed in, but I didn’t move. His hand gripped mine tightly.

Then he whispered:

"I dreamed of Mom." A dream that changed everything. He said he was standing in a field full of light, and our mother approached him. She looked just like she did in our childhood—alive, warm, smiling.

“Arel, it’s not your time yet,” she told him. “Your sister still needs you. You must find the one who heals without hands, and sees without eyes.” The next day, a new doctor arrived. A strange, calm woman who introduced herself as Dr. Eun-Sae. She didn’t focus on lab tests. She looked at him—not as a patient, but as a whole being. She began using unusual rituals, herbs, and held her hands above his body without touching him.

I didn’t believe it at first. Until Arel started to heal.

After one week, he was standing. After two—he was walking. By the end of the month—he was laughing with me again. His eyes sparkled once more.

The illness was never named. No hospital records could explain what it was. Even Dr. Eun-Sae disappeared as mysteriously as she had come. But I believe—it was a miracle.

One evening, as the sun set, Arel turned to me and said:

“See? You saved me. Even without knowing how.” “Your love… was my cure.” And maybe it was more than an illness. Maybe it was a test from life. Maybe even from heaven.

But one thing I know for sure—this time, I didn’t lose. I saved him.

He’s beside me again. My brother. My family. My miracle.