Paiming sat in the doctor's cabin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, and the faint hum of medical equipment buzzed in the background. The room felt cold, almost unnaturally so, and the tension was so thick it seemed to press down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
The doctor sat across from him, his expression unreadable as he carefully examined the brain scans that had just come in. The images were spread out on the desk, a chaotic mosaic of grays and whites that Paiming couldn't begin to understand. But he didn't need to. The heavy silence and the doctor's furrowed brow told him everything he needed to know.
Finally, the doctor broke the silence. He set the scans aside and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the weight of the news was too much to bear. "Mr. Siao," he began, his voice steady but tinged with regret, "the reports don't look good."
Paiming's heart sank, though he had half-expected this. He had felt it in the way his body had been betraying him lately—the headaches that never seemed to go away, the moments of dizziness, the unexplained fatigue. Still, hearing the words aloud made it real in a way he wasn't prepared for.
The doctor continued, his tone clinical but not unkind. "Based on the results, we believe you have a malignant brain tumor."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Paiming took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to steady himself. His mind raced, but he forced himself to focus, to ask the questions that needed to be asked. "Doctor," he said, his voice low and solemn, "what are the chances of a cure?"
The doctor hesitated, his gaze dropping to the reports on the desk. "We're about 30 percent sure about an operation," he said carefully. "It's a risky procedure, and even if successful, the road to recovery would be long and difficult."
Paiming nodded slowly, his mind already turning to the next question—the one he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to. "And if I choose not to undergo treatment?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How long do I have?"
The doctor's expression darkened, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with his words. He adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit, and sighed deeply. "If you forgo treatment," he said, his voice heavy with regret, "I'm afraid you may not have more than a year."
The room fell silent again, the weight of the doctor's words settling over Paiming like a suffocating blanket.
The doctor's voice broke through his thoughts, softer now, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mr. Siao. As a doctor, it's my duty to give you hope, but in cases like this... the options are limited. I wish I could offer you more."
Paiming looked up, meeting the doctor's gaze. He could see the guilt in the man's eyes, the weight of delivering such news time and time again. It was a burden Paiming couldn't begin to understand, but in that moment, he felt a strange sense of empathy for the man sitting across from him.
"Thank you, Doctor," Paiming said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "I appreciate your honesty."
The doctor nodded, his expression somber. "If you have any more questions or need support, don't hesitate to reach out. We're here to help you through this."
Paiming stood, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. He took one last look at the scans on the desk, the images that held the key to his fate, before turning and walking out of the room.
.......................
Paiming shut the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway, the soft click of the latch echoing in the sterile, quiet corridor. He leaned back against the door, his shoulders slumping as he tried to steady his breathing. The weight of the doctor's words pressed down on him, and his mind was a storm of emotions—fear, regret, and an overwhelming sense of urgency.
'There's not much time left', he thought, his chest tightening. 'So much remains to be done.'
Flashes of Wendy's smiling face filled his mind. Her laughter, her innocence, her unwavering trust in him. 'I have to teach Wendy how to live', he told himself, his heart aching at the thought of leaving her behind. 'She's still so young, so dependent on me. How will she manage without me?'
Then, Tina's face appeared in his thoughts. Her kind eyes, her stubborn determination, the way she always stood her ground no matter what. 'And... I have to leave Tina.' The thought was like a knife to his chest. 'Tina...'
He closed his eyes, trying to push back the wave of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. 'Tina, let me say goodbye to you properly. Let me make sure you can move on without guilt, without regret. You deserve to be happy, to find love... even if it's not with me.'
An image of Tina and Jim together flashed in his mind—Jim's confident smile, Tina's shy but radiant expression as she looked at him. Paiming's jaw tightened, and he straightened himself, pushing away from the door. His steps were slow but deliberate as he walked down the hallway, his mind racing.
'But before I let go', he thought, his eyes narrowing with determination, 'I have to figure out if that man—the president of Chin Group—truly loves and cares for Tina. If he's worthy of her.'
The thought burned in his chest, a flicker of defiance amidst the despair. 'I won't let her go so easily if he's not the right person for her. At the very least, I won't let Tina be with someone who doesn't deserve her.'
As he reached the exit, the automatic doors slid open, and the cool evening air hit his face. The hospital parking lot was quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the silence. Paiming paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.
........................
The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a deep indigo hue over the city. Jim sat in his office, the soft glow of his computer screen illuminating his focused expression. Papers were scattered across his desk, and the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the room. He was engrossed in reviewing a stack of documents when the sharp ring of his telephone broke the silence.
Jim glanced at the phone but didn't pick it up immediately. The call went to voicemail, and the receptionist's voice echoed through the speaker. "President Chin, Mr. Siao is on the line. He says it's something important. Should I connect the call?"
'Paiming Siao?' Jim's eyebrows lifted in surprise. The name stirred something in him—a mix of curiosity and irritation. 'That man... Tina's childhood friend.' His lips curled into a faint smirk as he reached for the phone. "Connect the call," he said, his tone commanding.
A moment later, Jim's voice was cool and domineering as he spoke into the receiver. "Hello, this is Jim speaking."
On the other end of the line, Paiming's voice was steady and unwavering. "Jim. This is Paiming Siao." He paused briefly, then continued, "Do you have time for a talk?"
Jim leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "Well, as it happens, there's something I'd like to discuss with you as well."
Later That Evening.....
The restaurant was a haven of elegance, its dim lighting and soft piano music creating an atmosphere of quiet sophistication. Paiming followed the waiter through the maze of tables, his footsteps echoing faintly on the polished marble floor. They reached a secluded area reserved for VIPs, and the waiter gestured toward a closed door.
"Mr. Siao, President Chin is waiting for you inside," the waiter said with a polite bow before retreating.
Paiming pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was luxurious, with plush seating, exquisite paintings adorning the walls, and the faint aroma of sandalwood and tea filling the air. At the center of the room, Jim sat at a low table, a delicate teacup in his hand. He looked completely at ease as if he owned the world.
"Mr. Chin," Paiming said, his voice firm but calm.
Jim didn't look up immediately. Instead, he took a slow sip of his tea, savoring the flavor before setting the cup down with deliberate precision. "Mr. Siao," he said finally, his tone dripping with mock politeness. "You're very punctual. I appreciate that."
He leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes locking onto Paiming's. "Now, I wonder what you'd like to talk to me about." His lips curled into a sly smile. "Is it the same topic as I reckon?"
To be Continued :-