Time had flown by—Tingting was about to graduate from middle school. Recently, the pressure from schoolwork had increased, and she approached her parents with a request: could she move in with her grandmother? The house there had more space, and she wouldn't be disturbed while studying.
The two dormitory areas were only separated by a single street. With her mother living alone there, Tingting's presence would provide daily companionship. Lihua had no objections, and when she looked up at Haitao, he agreed as well. After all, their elderly family member's health had never been robust. Having someone nearby would allow any issues to be noticed quickly, giving everyone peace of mind.
Tingting had always been thoughtful. Over the years, she had taken responsibility for dropping off and picking up her younger siblings, relieving the family of a lot of pressure. She explained that even after moving to her grandmother's house, she would still come in the mornings to take her siblings to school and return them home afterward.
Lihua thought the arrangement was excellent. Tingting was truly a mature and responsible child, and over the years, she had helped the family—and Lihua herself—in countless ways. Lihua felt both fortunate and comforted in her heart.
As the children grew older, Lihua's own pressure gradually eased. The weekly Saturday afternoons she had spent accompanying her mother for physiotherapy were now entrusted to Tingting.
The family usually gathered for Sunday lunch at their grandmother's house, and life had settled into a steady rhythm. Lihua hoped that this calm and stability would continue and that her children would grow up quickly while her mother's health improved.
After Sabrina and William had both contracted and recovered from the virus, they rarely dined out. Most meals were cooked at home. One Saturday afternoon, William prepared curry chicken and a vegetable salad. Except for the curry purchased at Trader Joe's, all ingredients came from Costco and were fresh.
After lunch, Sabrina had an appointment to meet a client at a café—this time with the client and his parents. They were purchasing a second-hand apartment and hoped that her design would combine modern style with practicality.
Sabrina sat by the window, the client still on the way, holding a slightly cooled cup of coffee. She watched people rush past on the street and felt a subtle mixture of relief and unease. Relief that life was slowly returning, that the sun still shone on familiar streets; unease because the shadows of the past still lingered, a reminder that calm and safety were never guaranteed.
She closed her eyes briefly, recalling those halted days, the frustrations and helplessness of the pandemic, the anxiety of being separated from friends and family, and the exhaustion from juggling responsibilities. Life seemed to test her repeatedly, forcing her to face uncertainty and teaching her to cherish the ordinary moments.
"Maybe this is what life is," she whispered to herself. "Constantly disrupted, constantly reassembled. We cannot predict what will happen next, but we can choose how to respond."
Outside, sunlight gleamed off the café windows at the corner, scattering warmth across the street. Sabrina's lips curved slightly. Though tension and fatigue lingered, hope and resilience were slowly growing. She knew life went on, and she would, step by step, regain her own sense of balance.
Recently, Tingting had been restless, often distracted when she returned home from school. Her grandmother noticed and quietly reminded Lihua: "The girl seems uneasy lately. A boy came by recently—a very polite one, just passing by and wanted to see her."
On Sunday morning, Tingting woke up early. Her grandmother's house, in the older dormitory area, had a row of tall plane trees outside. Morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, filling the room with a faint warmth.
Tingting lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to calm her mind. She recalled her classmate standing nervously at the door last week, claiming he was just passing by and wanted to visit. She had been anxious that day, worried her mother might notice, or that her grandmother would see through it. But her grandmother seemed to understand everything without asking.
With a soft sigh, she sat up. From the kitchen came the sound of the kettle boiling—her grandmother was preparing breakfast.
"Up already?" her grandmother said, glancing back with a smile. "Wash up quickly, then go call your siblings."
Tingting nodded.
At noon, the family gathered for lunch at her grandmother's house. Steam rose from the dishes, filling the air with familiar scents. Afterward, Lihua gently pulled Tingting aside.
Her voice was soft, her eyes full of concern: "Mom knows you're independent and responsible. You take care of the household so well. But you're still young, and your studies are the most important thing."
Tingting lowered her head, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt, understanding that her mother was not scolding her.
Lihua held her hand and continued: "It's okay to like someone, but you need to know what matters most and manage your time well. I believe you can do it."
After dinner, Sabrina sent Clara a text asking about her father's condition at the hospital but received no reply. Feeling uneasy, she called Vivian.
Vivian's voice was tinged with sadness and helplessness: "Clara's father passed away the day after being admitted. It all happened so suddenly. Fortunately, he didn't suffer—he just quietly slipped away in a coma."
Sudden losses like this had become increasingly common. People took extra precautions—especially the elderly, who went out less and were careful when they did.
After hanging up, Sabrina felt a heavy weight in her chest. She texted Clara: "Take care of yourself. My condolences." Anxiety and worry lingered into the night, making it hard for her to sleep.
On a gray morning in New York, Sabrina woke up, the city still stirring. She lay in bed, remembering Clara's father's sudden passing, still heavy in her heart.
William was already in the kitchen making coffee, the scent gently filling the room.
Sabrina sat up as her phone lit up—a short message from Clara:
"Thank you for your concern. I'll slowly get better. Eric and I leave for Spain at the end of the month."
The brief message felt like a breeze, easing the tightness in her chest. She remembered the first time Clara mentioned the Camino de Santiago—a pilgrimage across northern Spain. People carried only simple packs, walking step by step toward the end. Some walked for faith, others to reconcile with themselves along the long path.
Looking out at the gray-blue sky, Sabrina felt a subtle, extraordinary sensation—as if a new journey was quietly beginning.
That first night after stopping her medication, Clara had trouble sleeping again. She lay awake, chest tight, breathing shallow and fast, as though the air itself had been drawn away. In the quiet of the early morning, she finally took her pills, feeling the effects slowly spread, and drifted into deep sleep.
Over time, she had been gradually improving. Therapy had helped. She started going to yoga classes, stretching her stiff body to quiet music, focusing on her breath, slowing her heartbeat. Sunlight spilled across the wooden floor, and life seemed to be returning to normal.
Her father's passing remained a wound that had not fully healed. Everything had happened so suddenly. Initially, Clara was sleepless, her heartbeat irregular; her mood plunged, hair fell out in clumps, and she lost weight rapidly. She avoided calls and going out, thinking that by keeping distance from the world, sorrow could not approach.
She knew she had passed the darkest period, but last night reminded her again that recovery was never linear. She decided to consult her doctor about gradually reducing her daily medication, hoping to ease the drowsiness that followed taking it.
She and her boyfriend planned to travel to Spain at the end of the month. The Camino de Santiago, the path her parents had never completed, still stretched quietly before her. She wanted to finish it—not only to say goodbye but also to fulfill an unfinished wish.