BECOMING HER

CHAPTER 2

They settled on a romcom after a few minutes into the movie, the soft glow of the TV lighting up the living room. Laughter trickled from the screen, but their attention was more on each other than the plot. The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of their meal.

“Coming!” their mother called, slipping off the couch. She moved to the door, her slippers squeaking softly on the tiles. A few moments later, she returned with two bags and placed them on the kitchen counter.

Elara followed, peeking over her mother’s shoulder as she set to work. The noodles were simple to make with just boiling water, putting in the seasoning, tossing in the vegetables their mother had chopped earlier, stirring slowly so nothing stuck. The aroma filled the apartment, warm and comforting, drawing all three into the kitchen.

Once the meal was ready, they gathered at the small dining table, plates steaming, chopsticks at the ready.

“Well, this is boring,” Isla muttered, referring to the rom-com they had left playing in the background, her voice soft and tired.

“Definitely,” Elara echoed.

Their mother gave a small smile at her response

Isla coughed lightly, and without a moment’s panic, Elara reached over with a glass of water, holding it carefully to her sister’s lips. “are you okay?” she asked gently.

“Don’t forget your medication after, alright, sweetie?” Their mother said keeping her voice calm.

Isla nodded, taking a sip of the water. They went on eating, the conversation drifting to funny stories; the time Elara had accidentally dyed the bathroom sink pink with a science experiment gone wrong, or when Isla had tried to make pancakes and ended up with half the batter on the floor. Laughter bounced softly in the room, light and homely.

Hours passed this way.

Eventually, Elara said good night, slipping into her room with a quiet sigh. She had been waiting for this moment the chance to finally relax and sleep but now that it was here, rest seemed elusive.

She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting her mind wander. She imagined a different life: a house that smelled of fresh bread on weekend mornings, laughter that didn’t come with worry, and sunny afternoons spent walking in a park instead of rushing to appointments. She pictured families she’d seen at school, fathers reading bedtime stories, parents playfully teasing their children, a home where everyone was present and ordinary.

Why couldn’t her family be like that? She couldn’t remember her father at all — only the stories her mother told. He had died when they were very young, in an accident coming home from work. Isla, a little over a year, older than her, remembered even less. Some days, Elara wondered what it would have been like to grow up with him, to have someone there to guide them, laugh with them, or scold them gently when they misbehaved.

In this quiet moment, she let herself dream: she, Isla, and their mother laughing together on a sunny afternoon, their father joining in, just for a moment, no hospital visits, no whispered worries just a family like the ones she saw on tv.

Isla had been sick for as long as she could remember a chronic condition which made her lungs weak and prone to infections. Hospital visits were frequent check-ups and occasional nights in the ward whenever infections flared up. Elara remembered every beep of the monitors, every nurse’s careful instructions, every time she had to help Isla through another painful treatment. She had grown used to it, too used, and it had shaped her quiet resilience.

Her thoughts drifted further, to a dream she had held close for as long as she could remember: becoming a doctor. While others hated the smell of hospitals the antiseptic sting in the air, the beeping monitors, Elara didn’t mind. She often imagined herself walking through the corridors of a hospital one day, tending to patients, learning from the doctors, making a difference. Perhaps it was because of her frequent visits ever since childhood, watching nurses check on Isla. She had never flinched at the sight of needles, nor did she turn away at the occasional sight of blood. Instead, she lingered, fascinated, wanting to learn, to help.

But the dream was farfetched. In high school, she realized how much she was missing out on compared to her classmates trips abroad, birthday parties, books and gadgets she could only admire, the little things that seemed so ordinary for everyone else. To help around the house and cover some costs, she started taking up part-time jobs while her mother worked multiple shifts. Most of their money went toward Isla’s treatments, leaving little for anything else. And yet, deep down, Elara had not given up on this dream. She secretly hoped and sometimes prayed that one day, somehow, a miracle would allow her to make it a reality.

But in this quiet moment, Elara allowed herself to imagine a family untouched by sickness or absence, a home filled with warmth, laughter, and ordinary love.

Her eyelids grew heavy. Thoughts of what could have been faded as the warmth of the day and the gentle hum of the apartment eased over her. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she drifted into sleep.