Only the changing songs from the playlist filled the silence between us until the white building of Skyline Hospital came into view. Its glass walls reflect the dull sunlight, and the letters of the hospital name gleams against the pale sky. Mr. Matthews slows the car and pulls up by the entrance.

I unbuckle my seat belt and step out, the chill air brushing my face. As I turn back to thank him, he leans out the window and calls, “Tell Layla to come home before dinner! She probably forgot to sleep and is buried in her book again.”

I smile and nod, watching as the car drives off before I draw in a deep breath and walk toward the hospital doors.

The scent of antiseptic hit me as soon as I step inside. The lobby was bright, filled with muted chatter and the soft squeak of shoes against the floor. A nurse wheels a cart past me, and behind the counter sat a young receptionist tapping on her computer.

She look up with a polite smile, “Good afternoon. How can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to visit my father,” I reply, pulling out my ID, “Lee Qiang. He’s in room 1007.”

Her fingers move across the keyboard, “One moment, please.” She glances at the screen, then nods. “Yes, Mr. Lee is still in the same room on the tenth floor. Visiting hours started an hour ago, so you’re right on time.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Would you like me to inform the nurses that you’re on your way?” she asks.

I shake my head, “No, that wouldn’t be necessary.”

She hands me a visitor’s pass, “You can take the elevator on your left.”

I accept the pass, bowing my head slightly, “Thank you.”

As I walk through the hallway and press the button to call down the elevator, my heart felt heavy, the kind that always comes before meeting Dad. Talking to him never comes easy, no matter how many times I visit.

The elevator chimes and opens before me. I step inside and press the button for the tenth floor, but a voice calls out behind me.

“Hold the door!”

Without thinking, I press my palm against the metal to stop it from closing. A figure rushes in, out of breath, holding a cup carrier in both hands. His glasses are fogged, and a few strands of hair fall over his forehead. Once he’s inside, I remove my hand, and the doors slide shut.

“S-sixth floor, please…” he says, still trying to catch his breath.

I press the button and glance at him. He’s wearing a white coat, probably a doctor or maybe an intern. Mrs. Tachibana, Layla’s mentor, often talks about the new interns she supervises. He could be one of them.

“Thank you so much, Mr—” he begins, then freezes mid-sentence. His eyes widen for a second, as if he has seen a ghost. “Umm…never mind.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Okay…”

The elevator stops at a few more floors, and more doctors step in, talking among themselves until the space becomes tight. The intern ends up pressed beside me, clutching his coffee carrier awkwardly. Each time our arms brush, he mumbles a soft “sorry,” sometimes drowned out by the chatter around us.

When the doors open on the sixth floor, he squeezes through the small space and steps out. Before the doors close again, he glances back. For a moment, our eyes meet.

His eyes are a striking shade of blue—like the ocean under sunlight. Then he looks away quickly and walks down the corridor.

I’m left staring at the closing doors, wondering why he looked at me like that. Does he know me? Or is it just my imagination?

The crowd disperses as people step out on their respective floors, leaving the elevator empty. When the doors open on the tenth floor, I step out into a mostly quiet hallway, the only person in sight is a male nurse near the front desk.

“Excuse me, this is a restricted area. Do you have a pass?” he asks.

I hand over my pass, “I am here to meet Qiang Lee.”

“You are?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mikhael Lee. His son,” I reply.

“Follow me,” he says.

We walk down the long corridor. Each room we pass is eerily empty. At the end of the hallway, we stop at room 1007. The door slides open to reveal a man in his early fifties sitting on the bed with his back against the pillow perched straight, staring out the window. The curtains sway in the wind, brushing the floor.

“Mr. Lee, you have a visitor,” the nurse announces before stepping back, “I will leave you two alone.”

“Hello, sir,” I say as I step inside and lower myself into the chair next to the bed. He turns toward me with a warm smile.

“Mikhael,” he says, his eyes following the door I just walked through. “Couldn’t bring Mingxi along for this visit as well?”

My chest tightens at the mention of the name, “He…is busy with college assignments, and whatever time he finds, he spends it at the pool,” I reply.

He shakes his head, amusement tugging at his lips, “You’re right. Who would want to spend time with their old man when life is throwing opportunities at them?”

“Please don’t think like that, sir. He really wants to see you, but he is just not able to. That is why I am here.”

He pauses, gazing up at the ceiling. I reach over to the table and pick up an apple from the fruit basket the nurse had left, along with a knife to peel it.

“Mikhael, tell me. Why do you visit me?”

His question freezes my hands. I lower my gaze to my legs, the answer heavy in my chest. Because you are my father.

“It’s under the request of…” Because I want to meet you even if you can’t remember me, “…your son. I am his benefactor. I’m friends with his coach, and one day he told me how his father was admitted here. I’ve told you before about how my own father is also in this hospital, so I just visit both of you.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of meeting me, Mikhael? It’s not your duty to visit a man who is nothing to you.”

That’s where you are wrong, baba. You are everything to me.

My voice comes out uneven when I finally speak, “My dad used to tell me that even if you don’t know the people around you, you should still be there for them, because you can never know how much your presence might mean to someone.”

He hums in thoughtfulness, turning back toward the window, “Your father is a wise man.”

I lower my eyes to the apple in my hand as a smile tugs at my lips. My voice trembles when I answer, “He is…”

I begin peeling the apple, feeling his gaze on me, “Is something the matter, sir?” I ask, setting the sliced pieces onto a plate and handing it to him, “Eat up.”

“Panic settles in my heart whenever I see someone holding a knife,” he admits, “Mingxi always tried to help in the kitchen, but I never let him…and now, I feel the same when I see you. The way you use a knife is so similar to my son.”

I laugh at his concern, rubbing my nose before replying, “I’m the best when it comes to handling a knife.”

He laughs at that, and the sound hits me like a memory I wish I could live in again. I’ve missed that laugh—the one that used to make everything feel better. Now, it only makes my heart ache.

I lay my head down on the soft bedsheet, and his hand comes to rest on my hair. He begins to run his fingers through it, the way he used to when I was small. I close my eyes at the warmth of his touch, but my body trembles despite it.

“Is something wrong, Mikhael?” His voice is low, as if scared of my reaction to him being sweet to me.

“I-I’m just…worried,” I manage to say, my throat tightening.

He tilts his head, “Worried? About what?”

“About everything,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “What if my dad never gets better? And when he does…what if I disappoint him? What if I can’t live up to what he believes in me? What if—”

He cuts me off softly, “Mikhael, do you love your father?”

I look up at him, blinking through the blur in my vision. My lips quiver as tears threaten to fall, “More than anything,” I say, the words spilling out.

He smiles, the kind that holds both kindness and understanding, “Then that’s all that matters,” he says, “There will always be ‘what ifs’ in life, and not all of them will be kind but you have to remember this—he’s your father. No matter what happens, no matter what mistakes you make, nothing you do will ever disappoint him, as long as what you did came from your heart.”

His hand never stops moving through my hair, and that simple, familiar motion breaks me a little more. Because I know he’s saying it to comfort me, without realizing how much those words mean coming from him.

I wipe my eyes and try to smile, and he gives me a look filled with concern, “He would want you to take care of yourself,” he says. Then he slides the plate toward me, “You look tired, Mikhael. Eat something.”

I nod, taking the apple and biting into it, “Thank you…”

He waves a hand as if brushing it off, then reaches under his pillow and pulls out an envelope, “Can you give this to my wife?” he asks, “I’m not sure why she doesn’t visit. She never liked hospitals, so maybe that’s why but it would mean everything to me if you could deliver it for me.”

I take the envelope, my eyes tracing the neat handwriting on the front. Two words stare back at me,
To Adoella.

My jaw clenches, and I click my tongue before I can stop myself. Why her? Why does he remember her but not me, the one who’s been here all this time?

“I…will,” I say, forcing a small nod.

The sound of the door opening pulls both our attention. Standing there is the same intern from the elevator, his hands fidgeting with the clipboard he’s holding. He keeps his eyes down, as if unsure whether to speak.

“Oh, looks like my doctor is here,” he says with a smile, “Seems like visiting time is over.”

I rise from the chair, straightening my jacket, “I’ll meet you again, sir. Thank you for talking with me.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mikhael,” he says, “Take care of yourself.”

I nod once before turning away. As I leave the room, I slip the envelope into the inside pocket of my jacket and tug it closed. Passing the nurse’s desk, I press the elevator button and wait, listening to the faint hum of the machinery as it makes its way up toward me.

When the elevator finally arrives, I step inside and press the button for the sixth floor. The ride is quiet, and it takes only a few moments before the doors slide open again. The change in atmosphere is instant. Unlike the tenth floor, which feels bleak and heavy, this floor is full of life. Doctors and nurses move briskly through the corridor, calling out to one another, papers rustling, footsteps echoing.

I walk among them, blending into the familiar rhythm until I stop in front of a consultation room. The nameplate reads: Dr. Matthews. 

I still can’t believe they gave her a room of her own despite being just an intern. Although, considering she is studying to become a neurosurgeon and already works alongside them, I guess it makes sense. 

A few doctors pass by and offer me smiles. Most of them recognize me by now; my visits are frequent enough, and everyone knows about my friendship with Layla. She is well-liked here but also adored for the warmth she brings into these sterile halls.

I knock before pushing the door open, and the first thing I see is a thick book covering her face, her head tilted back against the chair as if she has surrendered to exhaustion.

“Are you dead?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

Without moving the book, she replies flatly, “No. Just contemplating my life choices.”

“Suddenly regretting being a doctor? I thought that was your life-long dream,” I tease, walking closer.

“Dreams don’t come with working with clients who act like assholes, and I was just blessed with an email,” she mutters, throwing her phone toward me. I catch it before it hits the floor.

A message is open on the screen, and I read it aloud.

Can you meet my nephew, Layla? He needs help with his current project and I thought you would be perfect for it since you’ve lived with him and know him better than anyone.
—Yume Tachibana

I look at her, “You know, throwing something like your phone without checking where I am is pretty dangerous.”

“You’ll know real danger if you drop my phone,” she fires back, her voice muffled behind the book still resting on her face.

“That’s why I caught it, redhead.”

She finally lowers the book, revealing her face. A few strands of her red hair have fallen loose, brushing against her forehead despite being tied back in a ponytail. She’s wearing a blue top patterned with small yellow flowers, paired with white slacks and her usual lab coat. 

I stop myself from calling her a “red panda” as her black eyes track my every move until I sit down on the chair in front of her desk.

“So, who’s this nephew? I’ve never heard of him,” I ask, leaning back.

“God bless your heart that you haven’t met him.” She groans and throws her head back, “How do I even describe him? Think Mars, but worse. Worse ego, worse smirk, worse everything. Ugh! You don’t need to know him. Just know he’s worse than Mars.”

“Wow, I haven’t seen you this agitated even after Mars’s antics. This guy must really get under your skin,” I say with a laugh, handing her phone back.

She narrows her eyes at me, and I quickly change the topic, picking up the book lying on her desk, “So, what’s the story behind this book?”

That instantly brightens her up, “Glad you asked, Mikhael! So, where should I start? Basically, Lion recommended it to me, and well, color me surprised…it’s a dark romance but—”

“Is it gay? Because that’s all Lion reads,” I interrupt, shaking my head.

“Attaboy!” She leans forward and claps me on the shoulder, grinning wide. At least the atmosphere is lighter now. For a moment, it almost feels normal until she brings up something I wish she hadn’t, “Did you watch the news? There were sightings of stealers.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, “I uhh…yeah. Reporters really don’t hold back.”

“But there were no victims. No one got admitted yesterday,” she says, tilting her head.

Because I was the one who got attacked. I can’t tell her that. No one will ever know since the scars vanished this morning after I changed clothes. I threw the bandages away, just like the memory of last night.

“And it happened near your apartment too. Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

“Nope. Wasn’t anywhere near when the attack happened,” I reply.

She narrows her eyes, studying me like she’s about to catch a lie, but eventually sighs. She takes the book from my hand and slides it into one of the drawers. I glance out the window, watching the sunset spill orange light across the clouds.

“Wow, it’s already evening,” I mutter, “We should go eat something. Your shift’s over, right?”

“Hours ago. Just let me find my keys and helmet,” she replies.

The door suddenly swings open, and a nurse rushes in, her voice breathless and alarmed, “Layla! There’s a patient causing a ruckus at the front desk. He’s demanding to meet you!”

Layla groans under her breath and gets up from her chair, “Mikhael, wait outside. I’ll just meet this person politely and give him a piece of my mind.”

She strides out with the nurse, and I follow them into the hallway before taking a seat on the steel bench beside the consultation room, waiting. I close my eyes and rest my palm against my face.