the poet

are the best i've ever had

the elevator descends to the hospital entrance, the ground buzzing as it stops a few stories before. my colleague, dr pandit enters the steel box smiling as he notices me. 

"good evening doc, ready to clock out?" he chuckles as he leans against support -- clearly tired. 

"i'm ready to retire," i say, tossing him a charming smile though my body feels like it's on fire from exhaustion. 

he laughs again, this time it sounds different, like silk -- almost intentional. his eyes shift from me, to his shoes, to me again, "i know you're tired but the radiology department wants to go out for drinks," he begins, looking into my eyes to see how i'm receiving this information before he continues, "join us if you will" he says. 

i pass him a warm smile to ease the tension in his shoulders before declining. 

"i've got a young adult at home who's most likely hungry and cranky for food and attention" 

dr pandit nods, his eyes crinkling at the thought of my maternal side -- men truly love it when women do what society expects them to.  

by the time i'm unlocking my front door, said door unlocks itself from the inside and swings open, revealing my disdainful younger brother who looks to be eagerly waiting for my arrival. 

"you left the refrigerator door open," he says with annoyance lacing his words, "a fire could've broken out." 

i giggle at the thought of ice-cold air causing a fire to erupt. "it's fine, the building's concrete," i reply cheekily, watching as his eyes rage with anger. it's difficult to take someone you raised so seriously when they lecture you. 

"you're lucky mathias woke me up," he states, "i didn't even notice it when i came back from uni." 

ah yes, our saviour mathias. i've been trying to get him to focus on his own life but he always ends up babying me like i'm some child. 

this is why they tell you to never show weakness around others. my year of depression made those around me assume i'd never fix myself and that i'd always need some sort of care. leila and mathias were always on their tiptoes around me for the first year after my depression but they've calmed down. mathias however still pins after me to eat breakfast and -- and wash my car?! there's a reason car washes exist. 

i set my bags down and go to hug my baby brother, squishing him in my arms as he struggles to scold me. 

we eventually decide to go out for dinner since i'm in no mood to cook and my brother's worried the gas stove will explode for some reason. 

"they've got scallops," he mumbles to himself, amused by the ridiculous amount of seafood on the menu. 

"i'll order the cajun bass, should i get some fish fingers for you?" i enquire, smiling at the memories of him enjoy his fish fingers as a little boy. 

"yes su-- wait no!" he catches himself, 'now what grown man eats fish fingers?' he must think to himself. "i'll get the uhh scallops with the green sauce" he points to a picture since the name is too hard to pronounce. 

after giving our order i sit and listen to him go on about his liberal arts college and how stupid he thinks poststructuralism is -- i couldn't care less. 

i rest my chin on my palm as he goes on about camus and jean paul sartre -- two names i really can't relate to any of my knowledge. 

"and so basically what existentialism is that man is born lonely --" i zone out at this point as i prompt myself to 'just smile and nod.' 

from the corner of my eyes, i see a mope of dark black hair. a figure leaning forward with his head resting on his palm just like me -- almost parallel to myself.