Chapter 3 The Moment That Changed the Air
The drive to the hospital was even more different than usual. It was calm and quiet.
Clara sat by her mother in the passenger seat, her arms folded loosely across her chest, watching the buildings pass by through the window. Her mother drove with familiar focus, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting comfortably near the gear. It was their routine now from appointments to visits to waiting rooms, but on this day the feelings felt slightly different.
“I don’t know why you always wait around for me,” Clara said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “I can get myself home. Or come on my own if I want to. You don’t have to always go around with me or stress yourself.”
Her mother glanced at her briefly, then back at the road.
“I’m not stressed,” she replied gently. “I’m your mother. This is what I do.”
Clara sighed. “I know. But you don’t have to sit around the whole time. It’s not like I’m a child.”
Her mother smiled softly, the kind of smile that came from years of worry and love layered together. “Today, I’m not staying,” she said. “I have errands to run. I’ll leave and come back when you’re done.”
Clara hesitated, surprised. “Really?”
“Yes,” her mother said. “But that doesn’t mean I stop taking care of you.”
The car slowed as they reached the hospital entrance. Clara reached for the door handle, then paused.
“I’m serious,” she added quietly. “You don’t have to do everything for me.”
Her mother turned to her fully now. “And I’m serious when I say I want to.”
They shared a brief look, one filled with unspoken understanding, with love that sometimes felt heavier than words. Then Clara stepped out of the car.
As she walked away, the window rolled down again.
“Clara!” her mother called out.
Clara turned.
“Make new friends,” her mother added, smiling widely.
Clara rolled her eyes slightly but couldn’t stop the small smile that followed. She waved once before turning toward the building.
Inside, the hospital smelled faintly of disinfectant and quiet urgency. Clara headed toward the elevators, but just as she reached them, she noticed a man in a wheelchair waiting patiently. Without thinking, she stepped back.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You can go ahead. I’ll use the stairs.”
The man thanked her, and Clara turned away, already adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
She took one step.
And then she collided with someone.
The impact wasn’t hard, but it was enough to stop her completely. She looked up instinctively and for a moment, everything else faded.
He was standing right in front of her.
A young man. Not a boy, not quite a man either. He had an easy posture, like someone who wasn’t in a rush, and a smile that appeared almost immediately, as if it came naturally to him. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, neither of them moved.
“Oh sorry,” he said.
That was all.
But Clara couldn’t move.
She felt suddenly aware of herself in a way she hadn’t been in a long time, her hair, her clothes, the way she was standing. Her chest tightened, not with pain, but with something unfamiliar. Shyness. Unease. Awareness.
He stepped aside, still smiling slightly, and continued walking. But even as he moved away, he turned back once. Then again.
Clara watched him until he wasn’t watching where he was going anymore.
He walked straight into a door.
The sound snapped her out of her thoughts.
By the time she blinked, he was gone.
Her heart was beating faster than it should have been.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Clara wondered how she looked.
She hurried into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror as if it had summoned her. Her hair was messier than she thought. She smoothed it down quickly, adjusting it with careful hands.
“Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath.
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and left the bathroom, forcing herself to focus. This was ridiculous, she told herself. She had a support group to attend.
Inside the meeting room, familiar faces were already gathering.
And then she saw him.
He was there sitting among the others, relaxed, as if he belonged. When his eyes met hers again, his smile returned. Not loud. Not forced. Just… there.
Clara looked away immediately.
The meeting began as usual, introductions passing from one person to the next. Clara tried to focus, but she could feel his gaze occasionally, like a quiet presence she couldn’t ignore. Every time she looked up, he was either watching her or smiling to himself.
Her unease grew.
She caught his eye once and tilted her head slightly, her expression asking a silent question: Why are you staring at me?
His smile only widened.
Then it was Isaac’s turn to speak.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Isaac.”
He explained that he had retinoblastoma. That he had lost one eye when he was younger, replaced with a glass one. He spoke about his upcoming surgery calmly, explaining that the second eye would be removed soon, leaving him completely blind.
The room grew quiet.
But Isaac smiled.
“I’m lucky, though,” he added. “I have this beautiful, smoking-hot girlfriend who is way out of my league. Her name is Monica.”
A few people chuckled softly.
“And,” he continued, “I’ve got great friends. Like Peter Waters.”
Clara felt her breath catch.
Peter.
She glanced toward him without meaning to.
Peter lifted his hand casually in greeting, his expression warm, as if the world hadn’t just shifted slightly for her.
The meeting continued, but Clara barely noticed.
She had come back to the support group because her parents
wanted her to socialize.
She hadn’t expected the air to change.
