Colby was a doctor, a sixteen year old doctor. He was still in school. But you, you had leukemia. And he was your doctor.

Colby was doing paperwork at the desk of your hospital room. He tapped away at the keyboard on his laptop, occasionally asking how you were feeling. When he saw you asleep, he slowed down on the typing, as if he was scared to wake you up if he typed 0.1 decibels too loud.