Flame of hot burning danced around the air as Asahi's thumb rolled on the lighter. Flick.
The light illuminated his face: he is smoking. Covering his pale hands over the cigarette, the tip of it was burnt.
Viewing out of his window, he could see a blanket of city lights shining the city. "If only she could see this," he thought to himself.
He turned around. Behind the cloud of smoke, he saw his father's figure sitting on a red fabric chair behind him. His legs were crossed and that disappointed face of his was on: The muscles on his ironed face contracts and his hair whitens, showing how much he has aged.
Growing up, they never had any good relationship. Asahi always stood behind the door of his father's study room, the furthest he could go, and see him working. Of course, his father never liked that, but he felt his presence now and then. Usually, he would stand by the door for hours; 6 pm until 10 pm, sometimes up till 11 pm.
Nevertheless, Asahi always looked up to him. His father, Mr Yuta, would receive many calls from day till night, sign important paperwork and attend many meetings. Those time that they never had, shows Asahi how very important his role was.
Knock knock knock. Soft knockings hit the oak-wooded door. There, stood Asahi, 43 inches tall, in his best uniform. On his left hand, he held documents that he found on his bed; On the other, he held a pen.
Mr Yuta raised his head and saw him. He quickly took the papers away from his hands.
"I-I found it on my bed," said Asahi.
No response.
"I shall no longer disturb your father. Pardon me" Asahi said with a sad tone. He walked a few steps away, waiting for him to say something, but nay, he did nothing. Yet.
"Ahem, Son?" Mr Yuta said.
"Yes!" Exclaimed Asahi with a cherry face.
Mr Yuta sat down at his desk. His deep blue eyes, which Asahi resembled, reflected the city lights outside. His nerves calmed down and his face muscles relaxed. "Cough. Asahi, I have important matters to discuss with you," he fisted his hands and covered his mouth. "It's alright father. We can discuss this tomorrow," Young Asahi said. Feeling surprised, he replied: "W-well then. We'll discuss this tomorrow, you may leave now," It felt as if they just talked for the first time, their first conversation.
Walking upstairs, Asahi felt relieved that his father noticed him. Then, he had a deep thought: Has he noticed me before?
One of his maids went with him to bed and tucked him in. The room was pitch-black; No sign of lights seeping into the room, not even the lights outside. Beside him was a night light, designed by a famous designer- Loui Petersburg from France.
Flick. She flipped the switch and a thousand stars lit up the room. Not too bright, nor too dark. It was perfect enough for him to fall to sleep. It was as if a small candle were to light up a village.
She grabbed a book from his shelf in front of his bed and sat next to him. The bed pushed downwards, weighing her up while she sat.
As she flipped the pages, Asahi began to listen to her reading about 2 volumes. The rustling of the pages and her breathing made him dozy. His eyes flutter. With her pinkie on her left hand, she gently rubbed down from his forehead to his nose continuously. Usually, that should do the trick to make him fast asleep.
His eyes were closed tight. When she stood up, she saw his hands clinging on to hers. She tried to pull it out, but he awoke. She had to choice but to gently sit back down next to him.
"You have to sleep now. Your father will be displeased if he finds that you're still up." She said in a hushed voice. She tried to use the same method to put him to sleep but he clasped her hands. He turned his head facing upwards.
"Mariam, do you think that father would stop worrying if Mother has recovered?" He asked.
Unexpectedly, she did not think that a five-year-old child would ask such things. But she had no choice. What is the point if the child has no hope?
"Well, your mother will recover from her sickness swiftly. I have heard from the nurses that tomorrow; your mother will have to go through her last surgery. Afterwards, you two can stay home happily if it succeeds," She added. In his mind, there is still room left with possibilities. There is no 'if it fails' situation. Right?
Checking on him, she felt guilty telling him about it, but there is nothing that could reverse this. Then, she assured that it will go well and sang him a song, his mother's favourite song.
...
If only you knew
What I would do for you
I'd jump up and hold you
So tightly
But I will never be
Able to do these things
So I'm just left imagining
(If I could ride a bike-Chevy)