Not Enough Tomorrows

One Way Home

The confirmation email appeared almost instantly.

Your flight has been booked.

Departure: 10:45 P.M. Tomorrow

Noah stared at the screen until it dimmed.

"So..." he muttered to the empty apartment. "I guess I'm really doing this."

He closed the laptop and leaned back on the sofa.

The silence returned.

Only this time, it didn't feel comforting.

It felt final.

His phone buzzed again.

Oliver Hughes

Noah answered on the second ring.

"You're supposed to be celebrating," Oliver said without greeting.

"I did."

"For twenty minutes?"

"It was a long celebration."

Oliver laughed.

"I just got home. Claire told me you canceled tomorrow's meetings."

"I did."

"And she also said you're taking leave."

"She talks too much."

"She was worried."

"So are you?"

"I'm trying to decide."

Noah smiled faintly."You'll survive."

"I'm not worried about me."Oliver's tone shifted.

"What's going on?"

Noah stood and walked toward the windows.

"I booked a flight."

"...Where?"

"Home."

There was silence.

"To see your mother?"

Oliver didn't need him to explain.

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Damn."

Another pause.

"I thought you'd never go back."

"So did I."

Oliver sighed.

"I'll cover things here."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

"But I will."

"Thanks."

"And Noah..."

"Yeah?"

"If you're going to do this..."

Oliver hesitated.

"...Don't leave anything unsaid."

Noah looked out over London's lights.

"I don't think that's why I'm going."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to anyone."

"No?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Noah smiled sadly.

"...To make peace with myself."

The next morning, Noah arrived at the office before anyone else.

By nine o'clock, everyone knew.

"You requested leave?"

Daniel looked genuinely confused.

"You?"

Another architect leaned over the partition.

"I thought you hated vacations."

"I do."

"So... are you dying?"

The office fell silent.

Noah laughed.

"Little dramatic, don't you think?"

"I'm serious."

"I'm taking two weeks."

Only two weeks.

That's what he'd told them.

Whether he'd actually be back...

He didn't know.

Claire appeared carrying a folder.

"I moved your meetings."

"Thank you."

"I also emailed the clients."

"Any complaints?"

"They were shocked."

"I'll survive."

She looked at him for a long moment.

"So..."

"So?"

"I've worked with you for three years."

"You have."

"I've seen you come in with a fever."

He smiled.

"I remember."

"I've seen you work through Christmas."

"I remember that too."

"I've seen you sleep in this office."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're making me sound unhealthy."

"You are unhealthy."

He laughed.

"So tell me the truth."

He looked at her.

"What truth?"

"Are you coming back?"

The smile slowly faded from his face.

"...I hope so."

Claire's eyes softened.

"I didn't ask if you hoped."

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Finally, Noah reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"I'll see you soon."

"I'll hold you to that."

Around noon, Oliver knocked once before entering.

"Ready?"

Noah grabbed his jacket.

"For?"

"Your appointment."

"You remembered."

"You've been avoiding it for three weeks."

"I've been busy."

Oliver rolled his eyes.

"I swear that's going on your tombstone."

Noah laughed.

"He was always busy.Too busy to listen to his doctor."

"That's catchy."

Oliver pointed toward the door.

"Come on."

Neither of them spoke much during the drive.

Rain tapped softly against the windshield.

London looked gray.

Beautiful.

Busy

Oliver finally broke the silence.

"You nervous?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm thinking."

"About home?"

"...Among other things."

Oliver nodded.

"And Lena?"

Noah didn't answer.

"You know," Oliver continued, "there's nothing wrong with admitting it."

"I admitted it years ago."

"To yourself."

"Yes."

"Not to her."

Noah looked out the window.

"Some truths arrive too late."

Oliver tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

They pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Oliver switched off the engine.

"I'll wait here."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

"But I will."

Noah smiled.

"...Thanks."

As he climbed out of the car, Oliver called after him.

"Noah."

He turned.

"Whatever the doctor says..."

"Yeah?"

"...Don't carry it alone."

Noah gave him a small nod.

"I'll try."

He watched the hospital's glass doors slide open.

Then, taking a slow breath, he stepped inside.

Dr. Whitmore slid the brown envelope across the desk.

"The scan report, your blood work, and the treatment plan are all in here."

Noah looked at it but made no move to pick it up.

"You should read it," she said gently.

"I already know what it says."

"You know some of it."

He smiled tiredly.

"I know enough."

She folded her hands on the desk.

"The disease is progressing faster than we'd hoped."

Silence.

"Noah..."

"You don't have to soften it."

"I'm not."

"You've done that before."

She sighed.

"I have."

"So don't do it now."

She held his gaze for several moments before speaking.

"I need you to begin treatment immediately."

He looked out the office window instead.

"I can't."

"You can."

"I won't be here."

Her eyebrows knitted together.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going home."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Noah."

"I booked my flight."

"When?"

"Last night."

She leaned back in disbelief.

"Without waiting for today's results?"

"They wouldn't have changed my decision.

"They might have changed your priorities."

"My priorities changed eight would still be the same."

She was quiet.

"You think this can wait?"

"No."

"Then why are you leaving?"

He finally looked at her.

"Because I don't know how much time I have."

She didn't answer.

"And if I stay here..."

His voice softened.

"...I'll spend it designing hospitals for children I'll never meet."

He swallowed.

"I'd rather spend it remembering the people who made me who I am."

The room fell silent.

Dr. Whitmore slowly pushed the envelope closer again.

"Take it."

He looked at it.

Then shook his head.

"If I carry it..."

He smiled sadly.

"...I'll read it."

"And if you read it?"

"I'll start counting."

His words caught her off guard.

"I don't want to count whatever time I have left, I just want to live it."

She stood and walked around the desk.

"You've always carried everything by yourself."

"I've had practice."

She rested a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to be brave all the time."

He laughed quietly.

"I'm not brave."

"No?"

"I'm terrified."

His voice cracked on the last word.

"For the first time in my life..."

"I don't know how to fix what's broken."

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Finally, she nodded.

"I can't force you to stay."

"I know."

"But promise me something."

"What?"

"If your symptoms get worse..."

He smiled.

"They already are."

She ignored the joke.

"...Promise you'll see a doctor."

"I will."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She knew he wasn't promising because he believed he'd keep it.

He was promising because he didn't want her to worry.

As Noah reached the door, she called after him.

"You left your results."

He stopped.

For one second...

She thought he might turn around.

Instead, he smiled without looking back.

"I think..."

He rested his hand on the doorknob.

"...they're better off with someone who still believes paper can change the future."

Then he walked out.

Oliver stood the moment Noah emerged into the waiting room.

"How'd it go?"

Noah slipped his hands into his coat pockets.

"They want me to rest."

Oliver searched his face.

"That's all?"

"That's enough."

"You look pale."

"I skipped lunch."

"Come on."

Oliver grabbed his keys.

"I'll buy you the biggest burger in London."

Noah laughed.

"The doctor would not love that."

"The doctor isn't here."

As they walked toward the exit, Dr. Whitmore stood behind the glass, watching him leave.

The unopened brown envelope remained on her desk.

She whispered to herself,

"Please don't be saying goodbye."