I won't give up

Parallel Lines slowly converging

By the time I crawled into bed, the weight in my chest had eased slightly. Healing didn't feel linear. It didn't feel rapid but possible.

⸻
Luke's POV

I ended the call with Karen and sat staring at the ceiling in the dark. The room felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath. I tried to doze off, but sleep wouldn't come—just that restless tossing and turning, that creeps in when your mind won't let go of something.

Something had shifted between us. Not dramatically, or a way either of us could express in words. But it was there. A subtle realignment. Like parallel lines—bending, almost imperceptibly, toward each other. Not out of desire. But out of choice. Conceivably,  that was more powerful. Maybe that meant something real.

Lately, I'd been contemplating a lot about life.

Ever since, I reunited with my Dad at the firm, everything I thought was settled had been kicked back up like dust in a sunbeam. We hadn't spoken in years—at least, not in any way that mattered.

Then suddenly, he's in a boardroom across the table, cool and collected, acting like nothing happened or the past was a misunderstanding we could file away. I didn't know what was worse: the ease with which he slid back into my world, or how part of me wanted to give him one last chance. But part of me was still sceptical because of the amount of trauma he put me and my sister through.

Forgiveness is an understatement in this case, it is meant to feel like freedom. It mostly, just felt like pressure—like trying to hold a door open when you're not sure you want someone to walk through it.

And Holly. God, I miss her.

When I left for university, I had trouble leaving her, even though she was in safe hands with my Aunt but it's still didn't feel right because we were so used to living together. She is still a kid to me—no matter how old she gets, she will always be.

—I love her

Trailing behind me, asking questions inquisitively, wanting to hang out when I was too busy or distracted but I did try by all means to prioritise her and spend as much time we had as possible. I still check in on her daily, it almost feels like I'm obliged to, like a parent which is peculiar that is how inseparable we are. We are like velcro.

Lying there in the dark, with Karen's voice still vividly echoing in my mind, I realized how much of my life was still unfinished business.

But for the first time in a while, it didn't startle me.

It made me stronger and feel the urge to want to try. Suddenly, I wished my Mum were alive to see me here.

Not just in university, but to really see me—scraping by on instant noodles, overthinking every decision, attempting to make something of myself without really knowing what that even meant. I envisaged her walking through campus beside me, asking too many questions, getting ecstatic over things I'd stopped acknowledging.

She'd make a big deal out of the littlest accomplishments—grades, a clean room, a new pair of shoes—and somehow, that would make them feel like enough. Like I was enough. Fresh tears begin to stream down my face.

She never got to see this version of me. The one still figuring things out, striving...yes—but showing up anyway.

At times, I still hear her humming in the kitchen, that same tune she'd sing when she thought no one was listening, and boy did she have the vocals! I catch it in the back of my mind at random—during long walks to class, when I'm folding laundry, even now, lying in the dark. It always sneaks in when I'm at my loneliest. Like her way of saying, I'm still here. I feel a sense of warmth.