Kai arrived at the academic administration building at eight forty-five. His review was scheduled for nine. He had spent the entire morning rehearsing what he would say, only to forget every carefully prepared sentence the moment he stepped into the waiting room. A few students sat along the wall, their expressions tense. Some held folders. Others stared at their phones. Kai sat in the corner with his documents arranged neatly on his lap. His father’s medical records were in one folder. His employment history was in another. His academic results were clipped together at the front. He had checked everything three times. Still, his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. His phone vibrated. Adrian: Good morning. I’m about to board. How are you feeling? Kai stared at the message. He glanced at the clock. 8:52. Kai: Like I’m about to be executed for poor attendance. Adrian: You are dramatic before breakfast. Kai: You taught me. Adrian: I hope you slept. Kai hesitated. Kai: A little. Adrian: That’s not an answer. Kai: It’s the answer you’re getting. A pause. Adrian: I’ll call when I land. Kai’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to tell Adrian about the revised hospital bill. He wanted to tell him that the remaining balance was due before the end of the week. He wanted to hear Adrian say that everything would be fine, even though neither of them could honestly promise it. Instead, he typed: Kai: Have a safe flight. Then he put his phone away. “Kai Anderson?” He looked up. A university administrator stood near the doorway. “Your committee is ready.” Kai rose, picked up his folders, and walked inside. ⸻ The committee consisted of four people. The department chair. Professor Miller. A student affairs officer. And a woman Kai had never met before, who introduced herself as the scholarship coordinator. They gestured for him to sit. The department chair opened a file. “Mr. Anderson, this meeting concerns your attendance record and continued eligibility for financial assistance.” “I understand.” “You have missed several required sessions this term.” “Yes.” “Some absences were documented as medical-related. Others were not.” “Yes.” The chair looked at him. “Would you like to explain?” Kai placed his folders on the table. “My father has been receiving treatment for a medical condition. His condition worsened recently, and I had to accompany him to appointments and the hospital.” The scholarship coordinator glanced at the documents. “We’ve reviewed the medical records you submitted. However, they do not account for all your absences.” “Some of the earlier absences were because of work.” “Work?” Kai nodded. “I work part-time to support my family.” The student affairs officer leaned forward. “Your employment schedule shows that you were working late shifts before attending morning lectures.” “Yes.” “Did you inform your academic adviser?” “No.” “Why not?” Kai lowered his gaze for a moment. “Because I thought I could manage both.” The room remained quiet. Professor Miller spoke. “Your academic performance suggests that you have made a serious effort. But attendance is part of your medical training. Patients depend on doctors who are present, prepared, and reliable.” “I understand.” “Do you understand why the committee is concerned?” “Yes.” Kai’s fingers pressed against his knees. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to explain how many nights he had worked until closing, how he had studied on crowded buses, how he had memorized lecture materials while waiting outside hospital rooms. But he knew that struggle alone was not an excuse. So he spoke carefully. “I know I failed to report some of my absences properly. I accept responsibility for that. But I haven’t neglected my studies. I have continued attending practicals when I could, completed my assignments, and maintained my grades.” He opened the academic folder. “I am asking for an opportunity to correct the attendance issue without losing my scholarship.” The scholarship coordinator studied his results. “You understand that the scholarship has minimum requirements.” “Yes.” “And if those requirements are not met, the university may be unable to continue funding you.” Kai nodded. His heart pounded. “I understand.” The department chair closed the file. “We’ll review the documents and notify you of our decision.” Kai’s head lifted. “Today?” “Not necessarily.” “How long will it take?” “Three to five working days.” Kai’s fingers went cold. Three to five days. His father’s medication payment was due at the end of the week. His scholarship was the only reason he could remain enrolled. He forced himself to breathe. “Is there anything else I can submit?” The scholarship coordinator exchanged a glance with the chair. “A written explanation from your employer may help clarify the work-related absences.” “I can provide that.” “And you may request a temporary academic adjustment through the department.” Kai looked toward Professor Miller. “Would that affect my assessment?” “It could alter your schedule,” Professor Miller said. “It would not automatically excuse missed requirements.” Kai nodded. “Thank you.” The meeting ended without a decision. He walked out of the room carrying the same folders he had brought in. Nothing had been resolved. But nothing had been taken away either. Not yet. ⸻ His phone rang before he reached the stairs. Adrian. Kai answered. “Hello.” “Are you finished?” “Yes.” “How did it go?” Kai leaned against the wall. “They’re reviewing everything.” “Did they make a decision?” “No. Three to five working days.” Adrian was quiet. Kai could imagine him standing in an airport lounge, surrounded by people moving quickly, his attention fixed on the call. “What did they ask?” Adrian said. Kai explained the meeting. He told him about the attendance record, the missing documentation, and the possibility of a temporary academic adjustment. He left out the way his hands had shaken. He left out how close he had come to forgetting his own name when the committee asked him to explain why he had worked instead of studying. Adrian listened. When Kai finished, he said, “You handled it well.” Kai gave a short laugh. “You weren’t there.” “I don’t need to be there to know you.” Kai lowered his head. “Don’t make it sound like you know everything.” “I don’t.” “Good.” “I’m proud of you.” Kai went still. The words reached him more deeply than he expected. He looked toward the window at the end of the corridor. “Don’t say that just because I didn’t fail.” “I said it because you told the truth even when it made you look imperfect.” Kai swallowed. For a moment, he couldn’t answer. Then he said, “Adrian?” “Yes?” “Did you land?” “No. I’m still at the airport.” “Then go.” “I have time.” “You don’t.” “I’m speaking to you.” “Your company can survive without you for ten minutes.” Adrian’s voice softened. “Can you?” Kai closed his eyes. The question was simple. The answer was not. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Adrian didn’t tell him that he would be fine. He didn’t promise to solve the scholarship problem. He only said, “Then take the ten minutes.” Kai sat on the stairs. And for ten minutes, he allowed himself to breathe. ⸻ The trouble began after Adrian boarded his flight. Kai was on his way to the hospital when Ethan called. “Where are you?” “On the bus.” “Did you receive the university email?” Kai frowned. “What email?” Ethan hesitated. “Kai, check your inbox.” Kai opened his email. A message from the scholarship office sat at the top. Subject: Temporary Suspension of Scholarship Disbursement His vision blurred. He opened it. The university had temporarily suspended the next scholarship payment pending the outcome of the attendance review. The suspension was not a final cancellation. But the next tuition installment was due in ten days. Kai read the message again. His hand began to shake. “Ethan,” he said. “I’m here.” “They suspended the next payment.” Ethan cursed under his breath. “Does it say temporary?” “Yes.” “Then it isn’t over.” “But I still have to pay tuition.” “We’ll figure out—” “Don’t say that.” Ethan went silent. Kai pressed the phone against his ear. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For snapping.” “You’re allowed to snap. Just don’t disappear.” Kai stared through the bus window. The city passed in a blur of buildings and traffic. “I need to go to the hospital.” “Then go. I’ll contact the student affairs office and find out what options exist.” “You don’t have to.” “I know.” Kai closed his eyes. “Thank you.” “That’s two thank-yous in one week. I’m starting to worry.” Kai laughed weakly. The sound almost broke him. ⸻ At the hospital, his mother was sitting beside his father’s bed. His father was awake but looked exhausted. Kai approached the bed. “How are you feeling?” “Like a man surrounded by people who ask too many questions.” “Then you’re recovering.” His father smiled. Kai sat down. His mother looked at him carefully. “What did the university say?” Kai hesitated. “They’re reviewing my attendance.” “And?” “They suspended the next scholarship payment.” His mother went still. His father turned his head. “For how long?” “Until they make a decision.” His mother reached for his hand. “Kai…” “It’s temporary.” “But your tuition—” “I know.” His father looked away. The room became unbearably quiet. Kai hated that expression on their faces. The guilt. The fear. The way they looked at him as though his future had become another burden they had placed on his shoulders. “Don’t,” he said. His father looked at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like I ruined everything.” His father’s expression tightened. “I never said that.” “You don’t have to.” Kai stood abruptly. “I’ll fix it.” His mother rose. “Kai—” “I said I’ll fix it.” His voice cracked. The room fell silent. Kai stared at the floor, his breathing uneven. Then his father said softly, “You cannot fix everything by shouting at it.” Kai pressed his lips together. His father continued, “Sit down.” For once, Kai obeyed. He sat beside the bed and covered his face with both hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. His mother sat beside him. His father reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. No one spoke for a long time. ⸻ That evening, Kai went to the university’s student affairs office. The building was nearly empty. A staff member explained that he could request an emergency tuition deferment, but approval depended on the scholarship committee’s review and the department’s recommendation. “How long does the deferment process take?” Kai asked. “Usually three to seven working days.” Kai stared at her. “Everything takes days.” The woman looked sympathetic. “I understand that it feels overwhelming.” “It doesn’t feel overwhelming. It is overwhelming.” She nodded. “You’re right.” The simple acknowledgment caught him off guard. She continued, “But there are options. You can submit an emergency appeal tonight. Include your father’s medical documents, proof of income, and the scholarship suspension notice. The committee may expedite the review.” “May?” “I can’t guarantee the outcome.” Kai nodded. At least she hadn’t lied to him. “Where do I submit it?” She pointed toward the computer station. Kai sat down. For the next two hours, he prepared the appeal. He wrote carefully. He explained the absences. He attached the documents. He described the financial consequences without exaggerating them. When he reached the final section, his fingers paused above the keyboard. Please explain why immediate consideration is necessary. Kai stared at the blank space. Then he began typing. My family is currently managing ongoing medical expenses. The suspension of my scholarship places my enrollment at risk. I accept responsibility for the attendance issues under review and request an opportunity to address them while continuing my studies. He read it twice. Then submitted the appeal. A confirmation appeared on the screen. Your request has been received. Kai leaned back. He had done everything within his power. It still didn’t feel like enough. ⸻ At 11:18 p.m., Adrian called. Kai was sitting on the rooftop of his apartment building, the city spread beneath him. He answered. “Hello.” “I’m at the hotel.” “Did you reach safely?” “Yes.” “How was the flight?” “Long.” “Did you eat?” Adrian paused. “Yes.” Kai smiled faintly. “Actual food?” “Yes.” “Proof.” “I don’t owe you photographic evidence.” “Then you didn’t eat.” Adrian gave a quiet laugh. Kai looked up at the sky. For several seconds, neither spoke. Then Adrian asked, “What happened after the review?” Kai’s smile disappeared. He told him about the scholarship suspension. He told him about the emergency appeal. He told him about the tuition deadline. Adrian listened without interrupting. When Kai finished, Adrian said, “I can arrange—” “No.” Adrian stopped. Kai’s voice softened. “I’m sorry. I know you weren’t finished.” “I was going to say I can help you review the appeal.” Kai blinked. “Oh.” “Did you think I was going to offer money?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because that’s what you do when something is difficult.” Adrian was quiet. Then he said, “I was going to offer money.” Kai closed his eyes. “Adrian.” “But I won’t.” Kai opened his eyes. “Why?” “Because you told me not to make decisions for you.” Kai’s throat tightened. “And if I ask?” “Then we’ll discuss it.” Kai looked down at his hands. “I might ask someday.” “I know.” “But not tonight.” “I know.” The silence that followed was gentler than the earlier ones. Kai wanted to say something reassuring. Instead, he asked, “How are the negotiations?” “Complicated.” “Are you losing?” “We haven’t reached a final agreement.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only honest one.” Kai smiled faintly. Then Adrian said, “The board wants me to stay in Singapore longer.” Kai’s smile vanished. “How long?” “Possibly another week.” The rooftop seemed to grow colder. “Another week?” “Yes.” Kai looked toward the distant lights. He had known Adrian’s trip might be extended. He had understood that the crisis was serious. Still, hearing it aloud made something inside him sink. “Okay,” he said. Adrian’s voice sharpened slightly. “Kai.” “What?” “Don’t say okay when you mean something else.” Kai laughed softly. “Everyone keeps telling me that.” “Perhaps you should listen.” Kai pulled his knees closer. “I don’t want you to stay away longer.” Adrian said nothing. Kai continued, “But I know why you’re there. And I know the company needs you.” “Both things can be true.” “I know.” “Do you?” Kai looked down. “I miss you.” Adrian’s breathing changed. “I miss you too.” “I don’t want to make you feel guilty for leaving.” “You aren’t.” “But I do feel abandoned sometimes.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Silence filled the call. Kai’s heart began pounding. “I didn’t mean—” “I know what you meant.” “Adrian—” “Thank you for telling me.” Kai shut his eyes. He was tired of being understood only after he had already hurt someone. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “Neither do I.” “You sound so calm.” “I’m not calm.” Kai opened his eyes. Adrian continued, “I’m sitting in a hotel room, thinking about you, your father’s treatment, your scholarship, and the fact that I can’t simply walk through your front door.” Kai’s throat tightened. “Then what are you going to do?” “Tomorrow, I’ll call you before your classes. I’ll listen. I’ll help where you ask.” “And your company?” “I’ll handle it.” “You can’t handle everything.” “No,” Adrian said. “But I can handle what belongs to me.” Kai looked at the dark sky. “And what belongs to you?” Adrian’s answer came without hesitation. “You.” Kai stopped breathing. The words were familiar, but tonight they felt different. Not possessive. Not demanding. A choice. Kai lowered his head, his eyes burning. “Adrian.” “Yes?” “Don’t say that unless you’re sure.” “I am.” Kai pressed his hand against his mouth. He wanted to believe him. He did believe him. But belief didn’t remove the fear that one day, circumstances would force them to choose between the lives they had built and the person they were beginning to love. “I need to sleep,” Kai said. “Then sleep.” “Call me tomorrow.” “I will.” “And Adrian?” “Yes?” “Don’t forget to eat.” A quiet laugh came through the phone. “I won’t.” Kai ended the call. He remained on the rooftop for several more minutes. His scholarship was suspended. His father’s treatment remained expensive. Adrian was thousands of miles away. And tomorrow would bring another set of problems. But for the first time, Kai understood something important. He had spent so long believing that asking for help made him weak that he had forgotten another truth: Sometimes the strongest choice was allowing someone to know exactly how frightened you were. He stood and looked toward the city lights. Then he went downstairs to prepare for tomorrow. Not because everything was fine. Because it wasn’t. And he was still here.

The Choice That Wasn’t Mine