When paths cross again
962 Words
"Please drive faster," Sandra said, pressing her fisted hands against her lips before pulling them away to redial the number from her school. She bit her lower lip anxiously.
It was Daniel’s homeroom teacher.
"Hello? How is he holding on? Please help him—I’ll be right there," Sandra said, her voice trembling as she fought back the lump in her throat and the knots twisting in her stomach.
Daniel, her younger brother, had fainted during lunch break and was rushed to the nearby hospital. Panic surged through her. How could she stay calm? She had already lost her mother and was now caring for her siblings and a limping father. The weight of responsibility crushed her, reminding her painfully of her financial limitations.
Sandra stared out of the tuk-tuk, her fear growing. In her mind echoed the doctor's cold voice from years ago: “I’m sorry, we couldn’t save her.” Her hands trembled at the memory. She couldn't bear to lose another loved one, not again. Not because of money.
She blinked away the tears and clenched her fists. "It’s okay, Sandra. You’ve been through worse. He just fainted. Maybe it’s not that serious. Be positive," she whispered to herself.
Meanwhile, in the café, Andre—the young man Sandra had bumped into earlier—picked up her worn-out purse and looked around to return it, only to find she had already left in a hurry.
He sighed and walked inside.
"One espresso and a chicken sandwich, please," he said.
The waiter returned shortly.
"We’re out of espresso, and our barista took an early leave today."
Andre raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Alright, then get me a hot chocolate instead."
As he waited, the scent of the sandwich and the soft café music filled the air. His thoughts drifted to the young woman who had rushed off. Was she the barista?
He opened the purse and saw a few wrinkled bills—barely enough for a single meal. Then, tucked inside, a photo of Sandra and her siblings, her name written on the back: Sandra Wilson.
The waiter returned with his drink, and Andre finished his meal quietly. Before leaving, he ordered takeout for his mother, a nurse at the general hospital, then flagged a cab in the direction of her workplace.
Just outside the hospital, the tuk-tuk carrying Sandra came to a stop. She jumped down and rummaged through her bag for her wallet—but it was gone.
Panic crept in as she searched frantically, even digging into her apron pockets. The driver grew impatient.
"I was sure I had it... Oh God, this can’t be happening," she muttered, voice cracking, eyes brimming with tears.
"Sir," she pleaded, hands trembling. "Please, I think I lost my wallet. I wasn’t trying to—"
"So I should just let you go for free?" the driver snapped. "I’m working. Don’t waste my time."
People stared—some with pity, some with judgment.
"No sir, it’s not for free," Sandra cried. "I work at the café where you picked me up. If you come tomorrow, I’ll pay you, I promise. Just let me go, please—my sibling is in the hospital."
Tears streamed freely down her face, her voice trembling with exhaustion.
As she pleaded, a cab pulled up nearby. Andre stepped out, paid the driver, and began walking toward the hospital. A smile played on his face as he imagined giving his mom the food, knowing she’d pretend to scold him for the gesture while secretly beaming with joy.
Then, he heard the commotion.
At first, he ignored it, but something pulled his attention back. His gaze landed on the familiar silhouette. “Sandra?” he murmured, pulling her wallet from his pocket. He walked over to the crowd, and as he drew closer, he recognized her fully.
"It really is you!" he exclaimed.
Sandra looked up, startled, clearly not in the mood to admire his good looks. She turned back to plead with the driver again.
"Please, sir, I’m not lying. I just lost my wallet... Why is all this happening to me?" she rambled, distressed.
Andre interrupted gently, holding up her wallet.
"I believe this is what you’re looking for."
Sandra's eyes widened. "Oh my God, yes! That’s it! Thank you so much! How did you—"
"Later," Andre said. "I think you need to settle the fare first."
Sandra nodded quickly, opened the wallet, and handed the driver the money. "Here, sir. I told you I lost it. I wasn’t trying to scam you."
The driver took the money, grunted, "Thank this young man," and drove off.
"That was mean," Sandra mumbled with a slight frown. Andre couldn't help noticing how cute she looked at that moment.
"Thank you so much. About the wallet—we’ll talk later," she said and rushed into the hospital.
Andre blinked. "Um… okay, then." He shook his head, amused. "Always in a rush, huh?"
Inside, Sandra hurried to the front desk.
"Please, what room is a young boy brought in by the school in?"
"Room 102," the receptionist replied.
She turned and ran off—only to bump into someone again.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh God, why do I keep bumping into people?" she gasped.
"It’s fine," came Andre’s voice.
Sandra paused, recognizing him. "Oh, it’s you again. Thank you—and sorry," she said and rushed off.
She pushed open the door to Room 102. There lay Daniel, pale and fragile, hooked to an IV. His teacher stood nearby.
Sandra’s breath caught, her eyes filled with tears. She walked to his side and gently took his hand.
"What happened to him? What did the doctor say?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"The doctor said that Daniel has…"
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