Not sure yet

I lay there feeling stark naked, the constant, steady hum of the dialysis machine reminding me of my harsh but honest reality. I have less than a month left. Crazy, right? Across the room, my elder sister Kylie slept awkwardly in the stiff hospital chair, her breathing slow and even. The sound filled the room, a rhythm I had been longing for, a sign or proof that someone I loved was still whole, still breathing, still here, just there waiting on me and by my side. Then the lights went out. Kylie jolted awake. “Sis… sis?” It hit me all at once. The machine. The one thing keeping me alive needed electricity. I had always believed death was natural, inevitable. Something you accepted when the time came. But staring at the dark ceiling, my chest tightening, I realized I wasn’t ready. I was terrified. My vision blurred. My head spun and my stomach tightened. In a single second, my entire life flashed before my very eyes— unfinished dreams, unsaid words, moments I thought I had a little bit of time for. Is this really the end? Kylie panicked. She rushed to my side, shaking me gently. “You can’t die on me now. We had plans,” she pleaded. “Please—just this once—keep your eyes open.” Her voice cracked. “Help! Doctor! Someone, please!” I tried to smile. I really did. But my eyelids grew heavy, my body began surrendering. Then— A long, sharp beep. The machine jeered back to life. Somehow, I had been pulled back from the edge. It seems God doesn’t want me home yet. Doctors and nurses flooded the room, voices overlapping as they adjusted machines and attached more tubes to my body. I stared at the sterile ceiling while they worked, counting each beep, each bringing me closer to the countdown to my own tombstone. And honestly? I agreed with it. The donor list crossed my mind again. None of my family members were compatible. What a cruel, pathetic joke. A small laugh escaped my lips, hollow and misplaced. The nurses and doctors stared back at me like I’d lost my mind. And honestly Maybe I had. Friends had disappeared the moment things got ugly. Strangers? Maybe one day, if luck decided to notice me before my time ran out. When my family left to freshen up, the room fell quiet all over again. For the first time in months, I let myself think about hope. Kylie returned hours later, a grin stretched across her face like she was holding onto a miracle. “Sis, I have good news.” I barely reacted. What good news could exist for someone already dying? “Stefan is back in the country,” she said carefully. “And he asked about you.” Stefan. My high school crush. Heir to Dominic Enterprise. The boy who always stepped in when Cynthia and her group of meanies were bullying me. The boy I never stopped thinking about. After graduation, he left for the U.S. to be groomed properly and professionally for the family business. I on the other hand, never got the chance to confess how I felt. And now he was back. And asking about me. A small smile betrayed me. Kylie noticed immediately. “Thought you weren’t interested in the good news,” she teased. But the rhythmic beeping pulled me back to reality. He deserves better, I told myself. Someone healthy. Someone who wouldn’t disappear in less than a month. Kylie fed me peeled apples, grapes, and Greek yogurt. I ate quietly and drifted into sleep. When I woke, voices shifted in the room. “Finally. You’re awake.” That voice. Deep. Rich. Familiar. My heart skipped. “Stefan?” I froze. “How are you here—wait, sorry—that came out wrong.” I was rambling again. He stepped closer. His eyes didn’t leave mine. “I’m compatible, Disha,” he said softly. “You don’t have to die.” My stomach dropped. I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell him I’d find another donor, that the list was long but not hopeless—even though I knew that wasn’t true. “No… I can’t,” I whispered. “This is too much.” He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to convince me. He simply smiled—like my consent was never really required. And for the first time in weeks, I smiled too. Genuinely. He took my hands in his. I stared at our entwined fingers, warmth replacing fear. For the first time, survival felt real. And the cost of that survival was something I chose not to think about.