Chapter 5. Making up
1189 Words
Aryan was still busy with Mom when the doctor and nurses finally wrapped up and said their goodbyes.
I stayed outside the room on purpose, leaning against the cool hospital wall. Every time someone passed by, I nodded, murmured thanks, returned their polite smiles. It was easier to look functional than to walk back inside and face her.
My legs started to ache. I dragged a hand through my thick, jet-black hair, messing it up without thinking, then crouched down, elbows on my knees.
I wasn’t scared of hospitals.
I was scared of her.
After a few minutes that felt longer than they were, I forced myself to stand. Grow up, I told myself, then stepped inside.
She was asleep again.
Aryan smiled when he saw me, gently pulling the blanket up to cover Mom’s small frame to her chest. He looked tired—but relieved.
“She ate the porridge they gave her for dinner,” he said quietly. “Only half, but still. Your mom’s weird like that—sick, yet still loves food.”
I let out a soft laugh and sat beside the bed, exhaling slowly as I brushed my fingers over her pale cheek. “She’s always eaten a lot. Still don’t know how she never gains weight.”
“Right?” Aryan chuckled. “Back then I was shocked. Her portions beat mine, easy.”
We laughed together, the sound low and careful, then fell into silence. I kept studying her face, memorizing it like I was afraid it might change if I looked away.
I wanted to hug her. To tell her everything I’d been holding back.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Aryan was already asleep, head tilted awkwardly against the chair.
I moved unsteadily to the sofa and lay down, finally letting exhaustion take over.
I don’t know how long I slept before a hand shook my shoulder.
“Kid,” Aryan whispered. “Watch your mom for a bit. I’m heading home to drop off dirty clothes and grab clean ones. Want me to bring anything back?”
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Uh… my backpack, Dad.”
“Got it.”
He left with a large laundry bag slung over his arm. I headed straight for the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and tried to wake my brain up.
My phone battery was nearly dead. I plugged it in, then sat on the edge of the extra bed, staring at Mom again.
With nothing to distract me, my thoughts drifted.
I missed Harper.
Her shy smile. The way her cheeks flushed. Her curly hair bouncing when she moved. Smooth pale skin turning pink under the summer sun. The tiny pimple on her chin the last time I saw her.
It felt like a year had passed.
I closed my eyes, breathed out slowly—
—and when I opened them, Mom was staring straight at me.
My heart skipped.
For a second, I said nothing. I waited for yelling. For anger. For her to tell me to leave.
But she didn’t say a word.
We just looked at each other.
Trying to break the tension, I grinned. “Hi, gorgeous.”
She rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was sharp.
“Because I’m worried about you,” I said softly.
“I’m still mad,” she snapped. Then her eyes scanned me from head to toe. “And looking at you like this doesn’t help. Can’t you take better care of yourself?”
The words were harsh. The concern underneath them wasn’t.
“I’m okay. I’m alive,” I said.
She clicked her tongue, lips pursed. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Yeah. Got sick for a while. But now I’m okay.”
She huffed. “That’s why I tell you not to be reckless.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, fiddling with my fingers.
After a short silence, she spoke again. “Do you want to tell me why you sold the house?”
I nodded and told her everything—losing my car, my friend’s car disappearing, the threats, the beating. How selling the house felt like the only option because I couldn’t bring myself to ask them for that much money.
“Stupid boy,” she said—but I could hear the worry, the pride. “You survived.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get them back. Both the house and the car. I promise.”
“No,” she said flatly.
I blinked. “Huh?”
“I already bought the house back. Focus on the car.”
My eyes widened. Guilt crashed over me again. “Sorry, Mom.”
“That house…” her voice softened. “It’s a memory of your late father. He built it from nothing, on land he bought after saving for years while his business was barely alive. That’s why I was so hurt when I found out you sold it.”
“But you said you bought it,” I protested weakly.
“Because I didn’t feel like explaining everything,” she muttered.
I nodded. “I get it.”
“I still won’t give you money,” she added. “You need to learn that life is hard.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m doing fine.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“He went home to get clean clothes.”
My gaze drifted to her slightly rounded belly. “How far along are you?”
She smiled, rubbing her stomach. “Four months. Are you okay with this?”
“I’ll love them anyway. They’re my sibling,” I said, placing my hand over her belly.
“Good.”
“As long as people don’t think you’re raising a kid from some random girl I knocked up,” I grumbled.
She burst out laughing.
That was when I noticed Aryan standing silently in the doorway, watching us with misty eyes. He carried a laundry bag in one hand, a food bag in the other, my backpack slung over his shoulder.
He set everything down. “Well, look at that. Making up already?”
Both of us rolled our eyes at him.
“Eat first,” he said. “Noah, you too. Honey, want porridge? Your favorite—savory one.”
She nodded eagerly.
Breakfast got delayed—doctor checkups, nurses, hospital food delivery, bathroom assistance. When we finally ate together, it felt small, ordinary… and incredibly precious.
I told them I’d stay in New York City until Mom was cleared to go home. I could work remotely with my laptop. My tutoring jobs back in Los Angeles would have to be doubled up once I returned.
There were still things I hadn’t told them.
About putting college on hold.
About the girl who had stolen my heart.
And about the meeting with Aryan months ago—something that should stay between us, for Mom’s sake. Especially now, when her pregnancy was already risky.
For now, peace was enough.
And for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe we’d be okay.
- Writer
