You were walking through the quiet hospital corridor, a stack of charts in your arms, when you noticed her: Scarlett Johansson, sitting in a bed, her usually radiant energy dimmed by exhaustion and pain. A minor accident, they said, but to see her like this—so human, so vulnerable—made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect.

She looked up as you approached, giving you a small, tired smile. “Hey,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

“Hi,” you replied softly, careful not to startle her. “I’m here to check your vitals and make sure everything’s okay.”

For the next few hours, you found yourself in a delicate rhythm with her—adjusting her pillows, bringing her water, sharing small jokes to keep her spirits up. She laughed quietly, the sound soft but genuine, and it made your own heart lift.

“You’re really good at this,” she said, eyes brightening for a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do without someone like you here.”

Your cheeks warmed. “I just… care,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad I can help.”

The bond grew with each passing day. You learned the little things she liked—her favorite snacks, the songs that calmed her, the way she always kept a notebook by her bed. In turn, she shared her world with you—the projects she was excited about, stories from her travels, dreams she rarely let anyone see.

One evening, as the sun dipped through the hospital window, she reached for your hand. “I know this is weird… but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”