To You

The soft clicking of keys can be heard in the silence (not really, if you count the low television noise playing in the background) of the hospital room she is in.

What is The Writer doing in the hospital, you may ask?

Well, it is her turn, along with her cousin, to watch over their uncle who was sent to the emergency room two nights ago due to his shortness of breath. She really hasn’t had any idea what his specific diagnosis is, but she knows he’s had issues with his lungs full of phlegm.

It isn’t that she cares so little, however, far from it actually. It’s just that she has since then stopped tracking the diseases her uncle has diagnosed with and is simply too lazy to keep up.

Glancing one last time to the sleeping old man, The Writer then turns her attention to her cousin, headphones in their ears, who seems to be scrolling through their socials, before settling her gaze onto the pending short story behind her laptop’s screen.

For some reason, the words don’t make sense to her. Well, it’s more like they actually do but her brain can’t seem to register what’s been going on in the story she has yet to finish.

A story that is long overdue, she might as well give up if she could.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door, prompting her to wait for the person outside to go inside the room. Three seconds have passed. Four, five—there is no movement. If it were the nurses or a doctor, there should be an immediate opening after, but there isn’t...which leaves her to one thing. Checking her phone, the screen shows the GPS of the delivery that is now waiting behind the closed door with a little notification of its arrival.

The Writer looks at her cousin, nudging them by their leg. They look up, brows in furrow seemingly asking what’s up. Without saying a word, her eyes plead to her relative as her lips point at the readied money on the mini-table beside them. The cousin glances to where she is aiming at and immediately understands. They grab the money and give it to her, much she greatly appreciates.

“Thanks,” The Writer said upon receiving, earning a slight nod from them before going back to their phone, as she finally sets aside her laptop. She then stands up and goes to the door, opening it. There, she sees a delivery guy holding a paper bag containing their food.

“Hello, ma’am, are you perhaps…” he begins, asking her name for confirmation regarding the delivery to which The Writer affirms, “All right, here’s your order.”

She places the money on his open palm before accepting the bag that is handed to her, “Thank you, sir.”

“Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You too,” The Writer smiles, slightly bowing. The delivery guy returns the gesture before taking his leave. She quickly checks if the food is all complete while she closes the door with her foot. Satisfied, she slowly walks back to her seat and immediately plops down beside her cousin once again. She then starts to pull out her food (a cookies-and-cream cheesecake milk tea, with black pearl and brown sugar walling, and a slice of strawberry shortcake) and put them, along with the utensils, in the vacant space between her and the cousin. After that, she hands the paper bag containing the other food to her relative—them eventually doing the same thing as she did.

The Writer makes some babbling noises for fun as she shakes the bubble tea upside down with her left hand while the other holds the black straw, stabbing it through the drink afterwards.

“Hmm.” Finally tasting the sweet drink after a month of craving it, there is no doubt the elated feeling she feels. Considering how her last incident concerning her stomach got her, she had to lie low a bit from consuming any sort of beverages except water and fruit’s natural juices (usually squeezed and mixed with honey).

Of course, she’d take full responsibility from what had occurred, more so to her stupidity. Drinking a ginger tea at night after consuming a flavoured beer in the late afternoon was—and still is—not a good idea. The next day? She suffered a gut-wrenching stomach ache that really sent her to the emergency room and was under careful observation for five hours.

Good thing her parents were there to help her, she would have probably fainted from the pain.

It was then The Writer decided to be careful with her drinking habits; an advice that she kept repeating to herself to do it or else, there would be consequences—and consequences she got. Now, there shouldn’t be any reason left for her not to follow.

She can still enjoy various beverages, however, just with added responsibility.

Ironically enough, the hospital where she is now, is the same hospital she was in a month ago.

Toes curling in euphoria, she chews the black pearl while her eyes concentrate on the words behind her laptop’s screen.

Ah, she briefly forgets that she still has a story to finish; her first request from her female friend named Ban. The first person who approached and invited her to join their mini-group back in her early college days. Smiling at the memory, The Writer puts down the bubble tea beside her, grabs the laptop, and settles it on her lap.

She really has to complete this today so she can send it to her friend before midnight. After all, this is supposed to be a birthday (and a gratitude) gift—a very late one, at that.

It is currently mid-afternoon, and the time is ticking. With enough sugar in her veins, she flexes her fingers before pressing onto the keys.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.