A glimpse
834 Words
A sharp ringing cut through the air.
Li Ming barely had time to react before a bicycle rushed past her. Wind brushed her sleeve as it swerved away.
“Watch it!” the rider shouted, already disappearing into the crowd.
She stopped.
If she had taken one more step, it would have hit her.
For a moment, she stood still. Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her bag.
Then she exhaled.
“I wasn’t even paying attention.”
The street moved on as if nothing had happened. People passed her without a glance. Voices blended into noise.
Li Ming adjusted her grip and continued walking.
The hospital was not far. She had walked this path too many times to think about it.
Still, something lingered.
Not fear. Not surprise.
Just a faint thought she could not quite catch.
She shook her head.
It didn’t matter.
She was already late.
The hospital came into view, tall and familiar. She stepped inside without slowing.
The air was colder.
Her footsteps softened along the corridor. She passed doors she never looked into. She already knew where she was going.
Room 312.
She paused for a second, then pushed the door open.
Her mother lay exactly as she always did.
Still. Peaceful. Unmoving.
Without the machines, it would have been easy to believe she was only asleep.
Li Ming stepped closer.
“You look the same,” she said, setting her bag down.
Her voice sounded normal. Too normal.
“I came straight from school today. I did well on the test again. You would have been proud.”
She sat beside the bed, smoothing the blanket without thinking.
“The Gaokao is coming soon. I am preparing. I have to, right? You always said I should not fall behind.”
The words came easily, as if they had been said many times before.
“I am still doing everything properly. I am still your good daughter.”
She paused. Her fingers rested against the fabric.
“At home… it is still the same.”
Softer now.
“I do not mind. It is fine. I will manage.”
The lie stayed where it was.
“I just need you to wake up.”
Silence followed.
The machines kept their steady rhythm.
Li Ming leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her mother’s cheek.
“I will come again tomorrow.”
She picked up her bag.
“I should go before it gets late.”
She did not look back as she left.
The sky had begun to darken when she reached home.
She opened the door quietly.
“You are late.”
Her father’s voice cut through the room.
“It is only a few minutes,” she replied.
“A few minutes?” His expression hardened. “Do you think this house runs on your time?”
“I went to the hospital.”
“That is not an excuse.”
His voice rose, sharp.
“You think visiting her changes anything? She is lying there because she is weak.”
Li Ming’s hands tightened slightly. She said nothing.
Her brother leaned against the wall, watching. Something in his expression made her chest tighten.
“You will learn discipline,” her father continued. “Or you will regret it.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” His voice lowered. “Because you do not act like it.”
She lowered her gaze.
“I will do better.”
“Go to your room.”
She turned before he could repeat it.
The door closed softly behind her.
She slid down immediately, her back pressed against it, as if she needed something solid to hold her in place.
For a moment, she stayed still.
Then her breathing faltered.
The quiet broke.
She covered her mouth, trying to keep it in.
It didn’t last long.
It never did.
After a few moments, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood.
“I am fine,” she whispered.
No one heard it.
She moved to her desk and opened her books.
“I will keep going.”
Her voice steadied.
“For you.”
The night passed quietly.
Pages turned. Words blurred. Time slipped.
At some point, her eyes grew heavy.
Her head lowered onto the desk.
And then—
Everything shifted.
She was somewhere else.
The air felt different. The sky stretched wide above her, painted in colors she could not name. Structures rose in the distance, unfamiliar yet strangely clear.
It felt far.
And yet close.
Like something calling her without sound.
She took a step forward.
The world rippled.
And then it vanished.
Li Ming woke with a sharp breath.
Morning light filled the room.
For a moment, she did not move.
“What was that…?”
The question lingered.
Unanswered.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
She stood, already reaching for her uniform.
Another day had begun.
And nothing, it seemed, had changed.
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