The hospital room echoed with the sounds of despair—crying and shouting filled the air as Sophia struggled to contain her anguish. "Madam, you need to calm down," pleaded the nurse gently. "We're doing everything we can. Right now, all we can do is hope and pray."
Sophia turned to face her husband, desperation etched on her face. "How can I calm down? They're saying our son is going to die!"
"Sophia, please," he said firmly yet gently, taking her hands in his. "We need to stay strong for Alen. Being anxious won't help anyone, especially him."
"But how can I not worry?" Sophia sobbed, her voice cracking. "He's only 17, he has so much ahead of him—marriage, children. How can I live without him?"
Amidst the turmoil, a weak cough cut through the tension. Alen, lying in the hospital bed, summoned all his strength to speak. "Mom, Dad," he rasped, "stop crying. I'm not going to die. I'm going to live for a hundred more years."
His words hung in the air, a fragile ray of hope amidst the darkness of uncertainty. Sophia clung to her husband, tears streaming down her face, a glimmer of belief flickering in her eyes.
In the midst of fear and anguish, Alen's words offered a beacon of hope, reminding them to hold onto optimism despite the overwhelming odds.
"Hey there, I'm Alen, a former student now in the final stages of cancer. My life was pretty great before I fell ill—I was a model student and had incredibly supportive parents. But everything changed on my 16th birthday when I was diagnosed with stage 2 cancer. The prognosis initially offered hope, but fate had other plans. Despite the efforts of my family, doctors, and nurses, the cancer progressed relentlessly, gradually taking my life from me. I've fought hard, but now I'm weary. All I want now is to rest."
"Alen, we're going to speak with the doctor," said my mom gently, interrupting my thoughts. "You should rest and read something to relax. Come on, Sophia."
"Alen," my mom continued, "Mom will be back later. Oh, I brought the book you've been asking for. Take a look, is this the right one?"
I glanced at the cover of the book and silently read the title in my mind: 'Mysteries of Alphen'. It was a book I had been immersed in for the past five months, and today I received its final edition. "Thanks, Mom. This is the one. You can rest now. You don't have to come back this evening; you can visit me tomorrow. The nurses and doctors here are really friendly, and I've made some friends. I'll spend the evening with them. Please, just stay home and take care of yourselves."
"Alen, parents never tire of taking care of their child," Sophia said softly to me.
"Okay, Alen. Take care. We'll come visit you tomorrow," Dad said with a reassuring smile.
In the face of terminal illness, Alen's strength and concern for his parents shine through, urging them to take respite while cherishing their time together.
A month later,
Alen found himself staring down at the final page of a book, grappling with conflicting emotions. "I can't describe my mood right now," he murmured to himself. "I've spent so much time with this book. Should I be happy or sad?"
The novel, a modern tale with fantasy elements, had been immensely popular but its ending left him unsatisfied. "I don't want such a bland ending," he thought, feeling a pang of disappointment. Curious about others' reactions, he checked the author's social media and discovered a flurry of complaints about the ending.
Deciding to voice his thoughts, Alen composed a comment: "Hey author, reading your novel was mesmerizing. It felt like a second home, and I became deeply attached to the characters. The story had a good start and an excellent middle, but I can't bring myself to like the ending. It's your story, and you can write it however you want. But as a loyal reader, I hope if you ever create a similar novel, you'll craft a better ending. Thanks, your loyal reader, Allen."
After posting his comment, he closed his laptop and turned off the screen. "How much time do I have left?" he wondered quietly. "I think I'm on my last wheels. I'm tired. Let's just rest."
Reflecting on his life, he whispered softly, "I hope I was a good son, Mom, Dad. Please forgive me for leaving you behind. I hope you can overcome the grief and live a good life. Goodbye."
As the equipment in his room beeped steadily, a nurse rushed in and quickly left to summon help.
In another place, a man sat at a desk, reading Allen's comment on his computer screen. A mischievous smile crossed his face as he murmured, "So, Allen, huh? Why don't you become a character in my story and show me the ending you want? Consider this a gift from me to you..." He chuckled softly to himself, envisioning a tale where Allen would find the closure he sought.
In this poignant moment, Allen's connection to storytelling transcends his own life, touching the heart of an author who seeks to grant him solace through narrative redemption.