“My name’s Noah,” he said simply, stepping a little closer. “I heard you yelling. Does it hurt when you try to move your legs?”
Ryan let out a hollow laugh, the kind that held no humor at all.
“I wish it hurt,” he muttered. “I don’t feel anything. That’s the problem.”
Noah studied him quietly, his expression far too thoughtful for someone so young.
“My mom says people aren’t really broken unless God says so,” he said.
Ryan frowned, a flicker of something—frustration, maybe—crossing his face.
“God?” he repeated. “I’ve spent millions looking for answers. There’s no miracle waiting for me.”
There was a pause.
Then, almost without thinking, Ryan leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering.
“But if you could fix me… if you could make me walk again… I’d give you everything I own.”
It sounded absurd the moment he said it.
But Noah didn’t laugh.
He didn’t hesitate.
Instead, the boy walked closer, then slowly knelt in front of him. His small hand rested gently on Ryan’s knee, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Can I pray for you?” he asked softly.
Ryan exhaled, tired… defeated… but strangely unable to say no.
“Go ahead.”
Noah closed his eyes.