BORROWED TIME

"Some hearts quit long before they stop beating ." The room in his dream was too white to be realistic. The kind of white that slowly brings discomfort. It stretched past the memories ' edges until Ethan could not tell where the walls ended and the air began. The doctor articulated each word slowly with a solemn tone , each word sliding through the stillness like a blade through water. "Stage three, Mr. Ethan Loth . I’m so sorry to have to break this to you, but the cancer has recurred this time worse .” The words should have sounded heavy, but in the dream , they floated—weightless, almost sounding unreal. Ethan tried to speak, but nothing came out . Ethan saw his reflection in the glass cabinet: a thirty - two year old man , thin grey around the eyes, a tie loosened as if he’d forgotten how to finish dressing. On the desk , his phone buzzed . A message from his sister—Dinner tonight? You had promised earlier . Another from someone else he had not gotten in contact with for months . He remembered ignoring them both. The doctor kept talking. “We’ll make you comfortable. There is the option of advanced treatment with highly skilled doctors ..... " " .... hospice , " Ethan cut him short. Hospice. The syllables echoed, distant, as if the room itself were swallowing them whole. Ethan’s breath came to a hitch . For a second , he thought of sunlight, of coffee steam on a cold morning, of running along the river in spring. Then the dream fractured. The white light cracked open, and darkness rushed in.Ethan snapped his eyes wide open. He was lying in a small, wooden, comfortable bed with rails, the kind meant to keep you from wandering in your sleep. A faint antiseptic smell hung in the air—lavender disinfectant and stale hope. The ceiling above him was low, creamy , faintly trembling with the hum of the air-conditioning. He lay still, waiting for his heart rhythm to slow its pace . The nightmare always ended this way—at the edge of that word hospice. Only now , it was not a nightmare but rather where he was. Turning his head , morning light leaked through the beige curtains, painting a pale stripe across the bed's foot . Someone had left a schedule on the bedside table, folded neatly beneath a glass of water. Across the top, printed in bold dark letters: Welcome to the Haley Hospice Centre Weekly Activities – Orientation Week Ethan let out a mockery laugh. Orientation. As if death were a course in the university. He swung his legs off the bed gently, his muscles slowly protesting the motion. His body felt like a suit that was empty that someone else had worn too long. Running a hand over his face , he found the day’s stubble rough against his fingers. The dream still clung to him—the sterile light, the doctor’s mouth, the quiet finality of his phrase : I’m sorry. Although his flesh wanted to fight one more time , his spirit gave way, falling under the pain from the chemotherapy. He did not desire a similar experience. In the corner of the room, a brown pot of hibiscus leaned toward the window. Someone must have left them that night. Their scent was too gentle for a place like this. Looking for a card , he found none. He drank some water, then unfolded the paper. The first item on the list circled in blue ink: 8 AM – Introduction : Getting to Know You Common Room – Compulsory for new residents Mandatory. Ethan smiled faintly . Even here, there were rules. He slipped into the attire laid across the chair—loose trousers, a clean shirt that was well ironed for him. The hospice staff liked to keep up appearances; they said it helped people “feel normal.” He checked his reflection in the mirror on the bedside table . Pale skin. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes that had seen too much. The man before him was a total stranger. For a moment, the man in the mirror looked like a ghost practising how to live again. He left his room quietly. The hallway smelled faintly of tea . From somewhere down the corridor came the low murmur of conversation and the sound of dishes clattering together . The hospice, though hushed, was not silent—life persisted in small, deliberate sounds. Walking towards the end of the hallway, a sign pointed toward Common Room . He slowly followed it. Inside, plastic chairs had been arranged in a circle. There were probably fifteen of them— fifteen individuals suspended in the same fragile space between living and leaving. Some sat wrapping themselves in blankets while others stared out of the window where the city glimmered beyond the trees. The hospice was on a hill, far enough from the busy central business district streets that traffic sounded like the tide. A woman in a pale pink cardigan stood before them , smiling with the practised gentleness of someone who had seen too many farewells. “Good morning, everyone. " My name is Rose ,” she said. “I am one of the counsellors here. Today is simply just about introductions—sharing what brought us here, what we hope to find, even if that’s just peace or a good cup of hot tea .” A small ripple of laughter emerged from the group."Anybody to start us off with the introductions ? " Ethan sat down , his arms folded, eyes lowered, staring into the distant as if watching a film only he could see . He had no intention of speaking. But then he heard her voice. Soft. Steady. A note of warmth that didn’t belong in a hospice. “My name’s Riley .... Riley Brown ,” she said. “I have congestive heart disease. I've been here three months now . I used to think this place was where hope comes to dim —but I have learnt it is where people start to listen again.” Ethan looked up. She was seated at the distant edge of the circle, a slender woman with a slightly pale brown skin and long brunette hair that fell over one shoulder . Her eyes caught the light, and she held it. When she smiled, it was small, but everyone in the room could tell it was genuine , the kind that makes a room feel less temporary, and the heaviness of their situations dissipate into the oblivion. She went on rumbling about the music she used to play, the list of things she still wanted to do - visit different restaurants, go for swimming , go bunkee jumping , dance in the rain once more if her heart would allow it. Something stirred suddenly deep in Ethan heart , something shifted. He hadn’t believed in bucket lists for a long time.