✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

6 - Small Gestures

My father isn't going to let go of the subject easily. As we drive home, he keeps stealing glances at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. When we arrive home, he finds an excuse to linger in the living room, pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper but casting sly glances my way every so often. "You're not very discreet, you know?" 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," He grins, setting the newspaper down with feigned innocence.

"Dad, seriously. Niki and I are just friends," I insist, though the warmth in my cheeks betrays my attempt at nonchalance. "You know I don't want to like anyone or have a boyfriend. I'm not even sure whether I'm ready for that kind of stuff."

He raises an eyebrow, studying my expression. "You're not shutting yourself off from life, are you? I've seen you blossom since Niki came into the picture. Don't let fear hold you back."

My father often sees more than I often give him credit for. "It's not fear, Dad. It's just... I've always lived with this illness. I don't want to burden someone with it or have them watch me get sicker. I've always wanted to be alone and eventually just... I don't know, die alone, I guess?"

"You're not alone, sweetheart, you've got me. And now you have a really nice friend." I look away but I hear him sigh and I know my words break his heart but he has to understand that I'm not here to stay. I'm not sure whether I'll make it to tomorrow, whether my lungs will suddenly betray me, leaving me breathless in the darkness. The fragility of my existence had always been a heavy burden on my heart, and I don't think I can let someone else carry that weight. "Don't shut yourself off from the world. Your mother is gone, but I know she had never regretted meeting me or having you. You should take a chance on happiness, my love."

I try not to let his words penetrate too deeply, but the truth in them lingers in the air. Happiness is something I've guarded against, fearing the inevitable heartbreak that may come with it. "It's easier to avoid the pain," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "If I keep my distance, then no one will have to witness the slow deterioration, the struggle for breath, the inevitable end. It's my burden to carry, not someone else's." I say and walk away to my room, knowing very that if I stay around my father, I might as well end up hurting him even more.

But as I lie in bed, I find myself thinking about Niki. I'm definitely drawn to him, not just as a friend but as someone who makes me feel alive in ways I never thought possible. The fact that I'm the first person to ever talk to him in sign language makes me feel like I'm special. Like I'm opening up a new world for him, just as he has opened up a new world for me. But I won't act on these feelings; it feels too risky, too vulnerable.

A sight leaves my lips as I stare at the ceiling, the nasal cannula tube twisting slightly as I exhale. I take it off for a few seconds, pretend that I can breathe without the aid of the thin, plastic tubing. I remember when I was younger, when I used to be so stubborn and I refused to wear the nasal cannula, thinking it made me look different from the other kids. Until one day when I ended up in the hospital, struggling to breathe, and my father sat by my bedside, worried and exhausted. The memory flashes before me, and I put the nasal cannula back in place. I can hide all I want, but the reality of my condition is inescapable. 

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I do is take my morning medications. The routine has become second nature over the years – a bunch of pills and inhalers that keep my body functioning as best it can. My father is sitting in the living room with his laptop on the coffee table, sipping on a cup of coffee. He glances up and smiles as he sees me. "Morning, sunshine. Did you sleep well?"

I nod, stretching my arms above my head. "Yeah, I guess so. Are you busy? You seem pretty focused on whatever you're working on." 

"Not too busy for my favorite daughter." He always says that, and I always chuckle right after it. I'm his only daughter, he's sticking with me whether I'm his favorite or not. "Just catching up on some work emails. But I can put it aside. What's on your mind?"

"Uhm, nothing." I lied. "Actually, I was just wondering if I could make some cupcakes to bring with me to Hope Haven. I made a few friends and we spend time playing games, I thought it might be nice to share something homemade with them." I spent my whole life in multiple different beds, mine and the hospital's, watching videos on the Internet. Now I ended up being an expert in different baking recipes, thanks to the endless hours of online tutorials. I can even make macarons without them turning into a sticky mess.

"Of course. I'm sure they'll love that. Do you need anything or any help?" My father offers, his genuine interest evident in his eyes.

"No, I've got it covered. Good luck with your work." With that, I make my way to the kitchen, my oxygen tank trailing behind me. My dream was to become a professional pastry chef before my health took a turn for the worse. Still, I can just do it for fun now. 

I start mixing the ingredients, thinking of Niki, the boy I met at Hope Haven. The boy whose hair is black, not black like the darkness I sometimes feel, but black like the night sky scattered with stars. I think of his eyes and the way they almost look like endless galaxies, deep and full of untold stories. The way his lips curl into the most beautiful smiles, the kind that ignites a warmth within me. The way his fingers could tell words most people struggle to express. 

As I blend the ingredients, I imagine him walking into the courtyard, his presence lighting up the space like a gentle breeze on a warm summer day. I recall the way he signed that I looked beautiful and the way his compliment lingered in the air, leaving me with a fluttering heart. The cupcakes in the oven gradually rise, and when they do, I carefully take them out, the warmth radiating from the freshly baked treats. I hope the boys will like them. 

Later that day, Dad drives me to Hope Haven and I'm so excited that I end up nearly forgetting the box of cupcakes in the car. My father chuckles, and I retrieve them while trying to hold both the box and my oxygen tank. "I've got this. Don't worry." My father is about to step out to help me but I quickly gesture for him to stay. I manage to make my way to the place's entrance, looking around for any sight of one of the boys but they're not in the main area. Feeling a bit disheartened, I decide to explore a bit further into Hope Haven when someone places their hand on my shoulder. 

"Are you looking for them?" When I turn around, Heeseung is staring at me with a smile on his lips. It's the chef who makes good ramen. I nod and return the smile. "They're in the garden. Niki is teaching them sign language." His words make me excited to see the three of them actually bonding and learning together, so I rush to the garden and the sight almost takes my breath away. There they are, seated in a circle under the soft glow of the sun, completely focused on what Niki signs. They don't even realize I'm standing there watching them and I don't mind, I'm just absorbing the beautiful scene in front of me.

The garden doesn't seem so dead anymore, and Niki is no longer sitting there alone. In a matter of a few days, we have become friends, and Niki has found people who wanted to speak to him, to listen to him and learn from him.

I thought that we could save each other. For a moment, I did. But I've come to realize that we could only make each other last a little longer. And that's what happens when you intertwine your fate with someone else, especially when the threads of existence are fragile, as mine undeniably are. But I didn't know that when I walked to them with the box of cupcakes in my hand and a big smile on my lips. I didn't know that, none of us did, and our only mistake was believing that we could shield each other from the inevitable pain that accompanies our existence.