The door to Room 805 creaked as Ryan stepped in quietly. The room gleamed under the pale clinical blue light bulb. The beeping of the heart monitor moved in rhythm, the only thing filling the silence, as he stood at the bedside staring down on his mother, who lay there.
She looked smaller than he remembered, her frame almost invisible, buried under the hospital bedsheet. She looked thin with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, like a shadow of her former self. His mother was in her mid 40s, yet she seemed older than her age, with the marks of suffering and poverty etched deeply into her face.
Ryan just stood there, his fingers digging into the strap of his bag as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, and a single, hot tear slid down his cheek.
He turned to leave, not wanting to disturb her sleep, but his foot caught the leg of a table by the door, bringing the vase on it falling.
"Ryan?"
Her eyes fluttered open, and Ryan froze, his hand hovering over the door handle. Hastily, he wiped the tear away, closed his eyes for a second, bracing himself, before turning back.
"I didn't mean to wake you, Mom," he said in a low voice as he walked back to her bedside.
She reached out a trembling hand, and despite the years of distance he had tried to build, Ryan took it. Her skin felt like dry paper.
"How're you doing? How is school? I hope you've been eating well," she asked, in a strained voice and faint smile.
Ryan swallowed, forcing a smile back. "I'm fine, Mom. And school is okay. Everything is fine."
"You've grown so thin," she whispered, her eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "Are you eating enough? Is school too hard? Your studies are not overwhelming you, right?"
You're the one who looks thin beyond recognition, Mom. He thought, biting his lower lip, and then said, "I'm doing perfectly fine, Mom. You really don't have to worry. Studying is really easy and far better there. The lecturers and students there are actually good people. I don't get treated differently cause I'm poor or mixed race. The food from the cafeteria tastes really nice too."
He hated how easily the exaggerations came out, unwilling to tell her how he was working three jobs and on the verge of almost withdrawing. Partly because he didn't want to burden her with the truth and partly because he doesn't want her pity.
She studied him a little longer before shifting the conversation. "As for me..." She paused, a small, sad smile touching her lip. I don't think I have much time left, Ryan. I can feel it. I might not be here much longer."
He shook his head quickly. "You'll be fine, Mom. The doctors... they said you still have at least eight more years."
"Eight years... that's for people who can afford it, we don't have the luxury of doing that. We tried other hospitals before this one, the cheaper ones closer to home, but my health didn't improve. So we had to come down here. Though I'm stable now, I can't keep going like this. I've told Ava to stop the payment, so I'll be discharged tomorrow. I'd rather
that money go toward your sister's treatments instead. She's the one with her whole life ahead of her."
The words hit Ryan hard, causing the dam tucked inside to reach its limit, the tears almost falling out.
"So that's it?" he said, trying to keep his calm, and his voice trembling. "You're just giving up? Just like you gave up when Dad used to come home drunk? Just like you stayed in that house and let him beat the life out of you until you were too broken to leave?"
He couldn't hold it anymore, his voice breaking, with tears pouring out now alongside the frustration and grief.
"Why did you stay, Mom? Why did you marry him in the first place when you knew what he was? Cause I'm pretty sure those signs were there, but you still held on to him. You knew about the blood groups, and now what he's left you with is a sickle cell child. You knew what kind of life you were giving us, and you just... you just let it happen. And now you're choosing to die and leave who to carry on with the rest of it? To fix the mess his choices and your silence made?"
Before she could respond, he turned and dashed out of the room, his sobs echoing slightly in the corridor as he collapsed into a plastic bench in the corridor. With his face buried in his hands, his body quivering, he let the tears accumulated over the year fall freely
He cried for a while before lifting his head, though his eyes were still red and teary.
"You know..." a voice said, casual and steady.
Ryan flinched, looking sideways at the direction it came from. It was the man from the elevator, the one with the ponytail and out-of-place lab coat. He approached, hands in his pocket, as he made to sit at the bench opposite Ryan.
He went on, "... the air in hospital corridors consists of about eighty percent carbon dioxide and twenty percent regret. That's why it's really hard to breathe out here."
He had been watching from a distance as Ryan cried with his head bowed, only deciding to approach him after he had settled.
"I'm Liam. And for what it's worth, I saw you run out of that room. Most people who come out of hospital rooms usually end up sitting exactly where you are, wondering if they're the villain of the story."
Ryan looked away, his chest still heaving. "I don't know, maybe I am."
For a moment, there was silence between them, with Ryan's eyes darting about at how Liam's gaze was fixed on him, scrutinizing him.
He got up from the bench and sat beside Ryan. He began speaking without looking over, "You know," he said quietly, "people always think tears mean weakness, but most of the time it's just finally deciding it's done building up. When you've been strong for too long, your body decides to start betraying you in public spaces like this."
Ryan said nothing, he just listened.
"A hospital does that. It brings out that honesty in people. You walk into a room thinking you're all ready to face anything, but then you see someone who looks worse than what you remember in your memories, and suddenly you start questioning the choices you've ever made. You start asking why you didn't do things differently, why you didn't become better faster.
He paused, shifting slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.
"But the mind is cruel like that. It picks the easiest target, which is you, and tells you a lot of things. But here's the part noone ever says. Sometimes, there was never a version of you that could have fixed this."
The tears were starting to gather up again in Ryan's eyes.
"It's just circumstances that didn't care how much you loved them, and that doesn't make you bad, it only makes you more human."
He concluded and turned to Ryan, only to realize he was bent forward, leaning on his legs and sobbing again.
Liam said nothing, only reaching out and resting his hand on Ryan's back, patting him slowly and staying there while he cried on.
They sat like that for a while, the corridor quiet except for distant footsteps and chattering. When Ryan's breathing finally settled, he got his feet.
"Care for a cup of coffee?" He offered.
Ryan gave a slight head shake in rejection. "Nah, I'm good."
As if the response didn't matter, Liam walked off towards a vending machine at the end of the corridor and came back with two cups of steaming coffee. He stretched one out to Ryan, who took it regardless.
"Thanks for um... the coffee and consolation," he muttered.
"It's fine, though. I actually needed one of those myself," he said with a smile, raising the coffee in a wordless toast, then took a sip.
Ryan nodded, with his hands wrapped around the coffee, he began gulping it all down.
After a few sips, Liam spoke again, "Sometimes, when I want to release some pent-up emotions, I just listen to music using this." He pulled a pair of over-ear headphones with an inbuilt SD card from his neck, fondling it slowly. "It's mostly K-Trot in here, though."
Ryan blinked. "Trot music?"
"I know, right? But it's like old soul music. I don't even understand the lyrics, yet I feel so drawn to the melody it gives. It helps in putting my thoughts back in order. Would you like to try it?"
Ryan nodded, with Liam gently placing the headphones over Ryan's ears.
The song felt warm and strange and unexpectedly comforting, filling Ryan's head. The rhythmic, soulful beat and the softness, yet resilience of the singer's voice were hypnotic. And for a few minutes, Ryan wasn't a failing student or a resentful son, he was just a boy listening to a beautiful song.
"I like it," Ryan whispered when the song ended.
" You can take it, though. I have spares," Liam insisted when Ryan tried to refuse. "You can just consider it a commemoration of this heartwarming moment."
Ryan finally took it reluctantly.
"Since you've had good music, why don't I take you somewhere to get good air, to balance the solitude?" Liam suggested
They spent the rest of the day on the hospital rooftop. At a corner of it sat a small sitout garden that seemed like its own little world. With pots of flowers lined up at each corner, adding a soft splash of color that made the place feel alive. A swinging chair hung quietly in a corner, and a simple table with chairs sat nearby, with rope lights hung at each corner, unlit in the afternoon sun, but promising a gentle glow when evening comes.
The air there felt refreshing, carrying a hint of breeze, and the view stretched far enough to make the city below feel a little less heavy. Liam mentioned it was his little relaxing spot, though it was created by someone else who had long passed away, without going into much detail.
They listened to the rest of the songs on the headphones, talked about quite a lot of things, and by the time the sun began to set, Liam turned to him. "So, what's the plan, Ryan? Will you be confronting the memory in that room, or will you let it die out?"
Ryan didn't answer. He didn't have an answer yet.