Chapter 2: The Weight of Hands
The rhythm of the chest compressions filled the hollow space between the rows of waiting seats, steady and unrelenting. Down on the floor, the young girl pressed down with astonishing stamina, her small arms quivering slightly under the physical strain, yet her focus never wavered. Ethan remained motionless, his face pale, a single tear dried on his cheek. The father hovered above them, his hands twitching nervously as he hovered just inches away, terrified that his touch might disrupt the fragile lifeline the stranger's child had established.
""Please, sir... please, save my son,"" the father begged, looking up tearfully at the young girl as if she were a seasoned veteran of emergency medicine. He did not care about social norms or the absurdity of a six-year-old administering life support; he cared only for the rise and fall of his son’s chest, which stubbornly refused to happen on its own. The doctor was closing the distance now, shouting for space, his voice authoritative yet laced with the sudden urgency of someone realizing he might arrive a fraction too late.
The girl did not answer the father’s plea with words. She was counting internally, her lips moving silently as she delivered each compression with calculated depth. Her denim jacket brushed against the grey sweater of the unconscious boy. The crowd pressed in tighter, murmuring prayers and holding up phones, though a few sharp-eyed travelers began yelling at the onlookers to step back and give them air. The air in the terminal felt thick, starved of oxygen, as if the entire terminal's population were holding their breath in unison.
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With a final, desperate burst of energy, the doctor broke through the human barrier, dropping heavily onto his knees right beside the pair. ""I've got it. Let me take over,"" the doctor said, his voice steady and calm, projecting an aura of professional competence that immediately relieved a fraction of the crushing tension. He gently placed his hands over the girl's, smoothly transitioning the chest compressions while sliding his stethoscope into position. The girl yielded her place instantly, sitting back on her heels, her breathing slightly elevated but entirely under control. She reached down, picked up her purple backpack, and slung it back over one shoulder as the medical professional took charge of the terminal floor.
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