The hospital room smelled of disinfectant and felt cold, even with the sunlight coming through the window. Aayu lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His body felt too weak to even sit up straight. He hated this place. He hated the way everyone looked at him—like he was already gone.
His parents were sitting next to him. His mother kept stroking his hair like she used to when he was a child.
"You'll feel better soon," she said softly. "The doctor said the new treatment might work."
Aayu gave her a weak smile, but inside, he felt empty. "Yeah. Maybe."
His father leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked tired—more tired than Aayu had ever seen him. "We've got it all covered, Aayu. Don't worry. We'll make it work."
That was the problem. They couldn't make it work. Aayu knew how much they were struggling, how they'd borrowed from relatives, skipped meals, and sold everything they could. All for him.
He swallowed hard. "You don't have to keep doing this," he said quietly.
His mother's hand froze, then tightened on his. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You could use that money for Naya instead," Aayu said, his words barely above a whisper. "She's smart. She could go to school, do something amazing."
His father sat up straight, his face darkening. "Aayu, stop it. Don't talk like that. You're going to get better. We're doing this for you because we love you."
"But I don't want you to," Aayu snapped, surprising even himself. He looked at his mother's face and regretted it immediately. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she looked like she was about to break.
"We're a family," his mother said, her voice shaking. "We don't give up on each other. You don't have to worry about us, Aayu. Just focus on getting better."
Aayu nodded, but inside, he felt a storm building. He couldn't tell them what he was really thinking—it would break their hearts. If they had been richer, maybe things would have been different. But they weren't, and he couldn't stand the guilt of being a burden anymore.
---
Later that evening, Naya came to visit him. She bounced into the room, her face bright and full of energy, like always. She was only ten, but she already seemed more alive than anyone else in their family.
"Big bro!" she said, running to his bed. "Guess what! I got a gold star in class today!"
Aayu smiled, a real one this time. "Of course, you did. You're the smartest kid I know."
She climbed onto the bed and sat next to him. "When you get better, will you come to my school? I want to show you all my drawings."
"Yeah," he said softly, looking at her. "I'd like that."
Naya looked at him for a moment, her big eyes serious. "Are you okay, big bro? You look sad."
"I'm fine," he said, forcing the words out. He reached out and ruffled her hair. "Don't worry about me, okay? Just keep being the best little sister ever."
Naya grinned. "That's easy. You're the best big brother ever, so I have to keep up."
He watched her laugh, his heart breaking. She didn't understand what was happening. She didn't know how much he loved her, how much he wished things could be different.
---
The hospital room was quiet, too quiet. The hum of the machines, the faint murmur of voices in the hall—they all seemed so far away. Aayu sat hunched over the small desk near his bed, the weak light of the bedside lamp illuminating the paper in front of him. His hand trembled as he wrote, the pen scratching softly against the paper.
Tears blurred his vision, spilling down his hollow cheeks and staining the page beneath him.
Dear Mom, Dad, and Naya,
By the time you find this, I'll be gone. I know this will hurt you—I know it will break your hearts—but please, try to understand. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep watching you work yourselves to the bone for someone who's already dead inside. Every day, I see the guilt in your eyes, the way you blame yourselves for not being able to do more. But it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault.
Mom, Dad, I see how tired you've become. I hear the whispers when you think I'm asleep—the bills piling up, the debts you can't repay. I know you're holding on because you think I'm holding on. But I'm not. I stopped hoping a long time ago.
Naya, my little star. You're the only light in all this darkness. When I look at you, I see everything I'll never get to be. I see the future I want for you—the dreams you'll chase, the world you'll conquer. But to do that, you need a chance. You need the education I'm stealing from you with every treatment, every medicine, every sacrifice.
I hate this. I hate that I've become a weight around everyone necks. I hate that when mom and dad feel pity for me when all I want is for them to smile. I hate that I'm leaving you guys with this pain, but I don't know what else to do. If staying means dragging you all down with me, then I'd rather leave.
I'm not giving up because I don't love you. I'm giving up because I love you too.
Please don't hate me. Please don't blame yourselves. Live, laugh, and find joy again. Naya, chase your dreams. Mom, Dad, take care of each other. Remember me, but don't let my memory hold you back.
Thank you for everything you've done for me. Thank you for loving me even when I couldn't love myself. I'll always love you, no matter where I am.
Goodbye, Aayu.
As he finished the letter, a sob broke free from his chest, shaking his thin frame. He clutched the pen tightly, the tears falling faster now, smearing the ink in places. The paper trembled in his hands as he reread the words, pouring everything he couldn't say aloud into those lines.
He folded the letter carefully, smoothing it with trembling fingers, and placed it on the pillow where his parents would find it. For a moment, he stood there, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths, his heart pounding against his ribs.
He walked to the window, the cold air brushing against his skin as he opened it. The city lights sparkled below, distant and uncaring, like a world he'd never truly been a part of.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the night, his voice cracking. His tears fell freely now, disappearing into the darkness below.
Aayu stepped up onto the windowsill, his body trembling but his mind resolute. He closed his eyes and thought of Aaya's laughter, his mother's warm hands, his father's strong voice. He hoped they would remember him that way—not like this, broken and empty.
With one final breath, Aayu let go.