When It All Caught Up

I don’t remember the last thing I said to Mum before leaving the house that afternoon. Probably something vague and half-hearted. I had just gotten back from school, drained from everything that had been happening recently. The whispers, the way the air shifts when you walk into a room and people suddenly go quiet.

The moment I stepped in, Mum was already coming out of the bathroom. Her hair was pulled back in a loose scarf, and her face carried that mix of exhaustion and silent strength she wore too often these days.

"You're back," she said softly.

"Yeah." I nodded .

She moved past me with a weak smile and went to wash her hands. I watched her for a moment. There was something about the way her shoulders slumped that made me realize just how tired she must’ve been. She’d spent all morning at the hospital with Dad, and even now, she didn’t complain about it. She just moved with quiet resilience.

“I made rice. Go eat something before you leave,” she said, not looking back.

I obeyed. Not because I was hungry, but because it felt like one of those things you do so the silence doesn’t swallow the house.

After a few spoonfuls, I pushed the plate aside. I could feel the weight of my thoughts pulling me down again, and sitting around wasn’t helping.

I grabbed my hoodie and headed out to the hospital. Even though I was not even sure what I would say to Dad, I knew I needed him anyway. 

The hospital was across town, tucked away behind the noisy traffic and smoky roadside grills. But the moment I stepped through the double doors, my world shifted.

The smell of disinfectant hit me first. I felt sharp and cold, almost medicinal enough to sting your memory. A nurse passed by with a clipboard. Somewhere nearby, an ambulance wailed in the distance, like the cry of someone who already knew they were too late.

The ward Dad was kept in wasn’t busy, but the stillness made everything feel heavier.

It was Room 107.

I walked in slowly.

From the doorway, I could already see him propped up against the white pillows, tubes running across his arms, and eyes that tried to pretend they weren’t tired.

Dad had never been one to show weakness, even when it was obvious. And somehow, he was still trying.

He caught my gaze and smiled. “Oly Oly. The genius of our family.”

I stepped closer, trying not to let the emotion crawl into my throat. We didn’t do hugs or dramatic greetings. We just exchanged that familiar look.The kind that said everything without saying much.

“I already know what you’re going to ask,” I said, trying to smile. “And yes, school’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

It wasn’t. But I needed him to believe it.

He chuckled lightly, his voice faint. “My future personal doctor.”

That one always got me. It used to be a joke. Now it sounded more like a prayer.

I wanted to tell him that I still thought about studying Linguistics.That I sometimes imagined a life filled with books and languages and not scalpels and ER rooms. But I’d let that dream go quietly the moment his health became a recurring hospital bed.

“You’re doing well,” he said, staring at me like he could see deeper than my words.

I nodded. “I am.”

We talked about school. Exams. A boy who wouldn't stop calling me “Madam Brain.” He laughed at that part. But most of our conversation was light, breezy and almost fake. It wasn't because it didn’t matter, but because we were both pretending this wasn’t hard.

And for a while, I felt lighter too. Like talking to him was therapy I didn’t know I needed. My Dad always makes sure he gives me a listening ear even if I am not making sense in most of the things I am saying.

As the sky outside darkened, I stood to leave. “You know tomorrow’s school, right? Don’t miss me too much.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and his smile was almost strong.

Just as I turned to go, I paused by the door.

“Dad… remember to plan something for my birthday, okay? I’m turning eighteen soon”.

He smiled, soft and tired, like the idea alone made him stronger.

Since I turned five, he had never missed a single birthday.

Not one even one 

Even in the years when he was sick, broke, or away, something always showed up with my name on it. Sometimes it is silly, sometimes small, but it's always perfect.

I didn’t tell him this, but I was already looking forward to this year’s gift. It made everything feel… normal.

“You’ll get something special,” he said. “Even if it’s just my annoying voice singing off-key.”

I smiled, pretending I wasn’t scared that this might be the last.

He pecked my forehead, and I turned to leave.

But halfway down the hall, something felt off.

I heard voices from the hospital and the directions it came made it look as if something really serious has happened inside the hospital.

I spun around and rushed back toward the ward. Just before I reached the door, I stopped.

Inside, I saw the nurses gathered. One of them shouted something I couldn’t catch. I saw my strong, careful, never-complaining dad coughing violently.

Blood gushed from his mouth.

He leaned forward, spitting into the basin beside his bed. The sound hit me like a punch. But I couldn’t move nor could I go in. 

I stayed frozen just outside, clutching the wall with trembling hands.

I wanted to scream. To run in. But I knew him. He wouldn’t want me to see him like that.

So, I stood and  watched.

My breath caught in my chest as tears began to fall. I was so loud that I had to cover my mouth with my hand while sobbing from the corner. You know that helpless situation of seeing your loved one suffer while you can't do anything for them rather than watch.

Moments later,my phone rang. 

 It  was Mum.

I wiped my eyes quickly and picked it up.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, in a tired but hopeful voice .

I paused for too long muting the phone in order not to alert her to think anything went wrong especially with the way I was sobbing.  Mum was always observant. She can easily sense when I am not in a good mood. Shortly after, I said, “He’s fine. I’m already on my way home.”

I ended the call.

And stood there again, silent.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But I knew one thing for sure. This wasn’t just about school anymore. This was about life. About pain. And love. And how, no matter what I chose to study or how many exams I passed, the people I loved were the reason I even tried.

Right there, at that moment, I promised myself: I would do this for him and for mum. For all the times we pretended to be okay, just to keep going.

And deep inside, I heard his voice again:

  "Whatever you set your mind to, you’ll achieve it.”

So I wiped my face, straightened my hoodie, and walked out of the hospital. Even though I was still hurting and still scared.

But at the same time, I was ready to fight for every single dream I had.