Come What May

22. space

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

SPACE

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• sunday, april 18th •

I'm trying my hand at baking bread, my heart throbbing along with the orchestra music that resounds through my bluetooth speakers, lost in my own sense of reality when the music is harshly cut short by the ringing of my phone blaring through the speakers instead.

Frowning, I wipe my hands on the stray cloth that I had to rip from an old t-shirt because only recently did I find out that I don't have any hand towels.

"Hello?" I say into the phone, of course I don't check the caller ID. "Who is this?"

No response.

I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment, just to check the caller ID, see who would dare to disturb me when I'm baking bread, something that requires my utmost attention because I've never done this before and I need the end result to be good.

It can't be Radhika. She hasn't spoken to me in forever— over a week, to be exact.

She hasn't just not spoken to me, though. She's been ignoring every message I send her, every call I toss her way, every smile I toss her way.

God, it hurts. I don't even know why she's doing it, but I think it might have something to do with me.

So, it can't possibly be Radhika.

There's always a possibility of it being Storm, I learnt that when they called me in the middle of the night two days ago, at around three in the morning, just to talk to me about how they can't find a t-shirt of theirs, one with a single embroidered rose on the left pocket.

I didn't mention that I was the one who took it, that it looked way too comfortable for me to not steal. I also didn't mention that I left another t-shirt in its place, one of my own, a plain black t-shirt that's always been big on me, but has gotten a lot bigger as of late.

But this time, it isn't Storm. I know that it isn't because they always start their calls with an exuberant, "Asif!"

Squinting, my eyes quickly read the name on my screen. Jen?

"Asif?" she whispers into the phone, voice so frail, that instantly, I know what's happening.

Something clicks.

It's in the brisk Spring temperature of the room, the butter that coats my fingers, the quiver in Jen's voice, the sheer happiness I felt right before this moment— especially the happiness.

My mind sings, You know this. You've been here before, heard this before.

The ache of familiarity is so powerful, I almost cry. Because I know what's about to happen next.

"Is it Mom?" I ask, because at this point, I can't even find it inside me to feel anything. "Is it? Jen?"

A static-filled breath echoes through the phone, a shaky one. Then, she says, "You don't have to come, Asif. I promise, everything is okay, she just had a heart attack. It was a bit more severe this time, but it wasn't bad, okay? They're just putting her on some more medication, some stronger ones, and—"

Then, her voice cuts out.

"Jen?" I have to do everything in my power to stop my voice from trembling.