Kai’s alarm rang at five-thirty in the morning. He reached for his phone without opening his eyes and silenced it. For three seconds, he considered going back to sleep. His body felt heavy, his head throbbed faintly, and the thought of leaving his bed seemed unreasonable. Then his phone vibrated again. Adrian: Are you awake? Kai stared at the message. Kai: No. I’m replying to you in my sleep. The response came almost immediately. Adrian: Your sleeping habits are becoming increasingly impressive. Kai’s lips twitched despite his exhaustion. Kai: You’re in Singapore. Don’t you have a company to destroy? Adrian: I’m negotiating with people who are trying to destroy mine. Kai: Then stop texting me and go intimidate them. Adrian: I wanted to hear from you before your assessment. The smile faded slightly. Kai sat up, rubbing his face. Outside, the sky was still dark, and the house remained quiet. His mother had gone to bed late after returning from work, while Noah was asleep in the next room. His father had barely rested the night before. Kai looked at the message for a long moment before typing. Kai: I’m nervous. He almost deleted it. He didn’t. Adrian’s reply took longer this time. Adrian: You’re allowed to be nervous. It doesn’t change what you know. Kai lowered his gaze. Kai: What if I make a mistake? Adrian: Then you correct it. Kai: What if I make several mistakes? Adrian: Then you correct several mistakes. Kai: What if I fail? The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. Adrian: Then you’ll still be Kai Anderson. You’ll still have your mind, your determination, and the people who care about you. One result won’t decide your worth. Kai stared at the screen. Adrian had a talent for saying things that sounded annoyingly reasonable. Kai: You’ve been practicing inspirational speeches. Adrian: I’m practicing for the day you stop pretending you don’t need encouragement. Kai: That day will never come. Adrian: I’ll wait. Kai pressed the phone against his chest for a moment. The distance between them had never felt so obvious. Adrian was thousands of miles away, surrounded by executives, negotiations, and problems Kai couldn’t help solve. Kai was sitting in a small bedroom with a worn desk, an unfinished cup of tea, and a practical assessment waiting for him in a few hours. They were both busy. They were both struggling. And somehow, Kai missed him more because of it. He forced himself out of bed. By seven fifteen, Kai was standing outside the medical sciences building with his notes pressed against his chest. Students crowded the corridor, some revising aloud while others nervously tested each other with questions. Ethan appeared beside him carrying two cups of coffee. “You look terrible,” he said cheerfully. Kai accepted one cup. “Good morning to you too.” “I’m being supportive.” “You’re failing.” “I brought coffee.” “You bought coffee. There’s a difference.” Ethan grinned. “Drink it before your hands start shaking.” Kai took a sip and immediately frowned. “This is terrible.” “You’re welcome.” Before Kai could respond, Professor Miller stepped into the corridor and called the students inside. The practical assessment began with basic patient examination procedures. Kai moved through each station with controlled precision, answering questions, demonstrating techniques, and correcting a student’s positioning when the examiner pointed out a minor issue. His exhaustion remained beneath the surface, but his memory did not fail him. When Professor Miller asked him to explain the clinical significance of a particular finding, Kai answered clearly. When another question required him to connect symptoms with possible underlying conditions, he reasoned through it without hesitation. By the final station, his shoulders ached and his stomach had begun to twist from the coffee he had consumed without breakfast. Still, he finished. Outside the examination room, Ethan caught up with him. “Well?” Ethan asked. “I survived.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one you’re getting.” “You looked like you knew everything.” “I didn’t.” “You corrected Daniel twice.” “Daniel was wrong three times.” Ethan laughed, then his expression softened. “You okay?” Kai looked toward the corridor windows. His phone remained silent. Adrian had said he would call after his morning meeting. Kai knew he was busy. He knew the negotiations mattered. He knew Adrian wasn’t deliberately ignoring him. Knowing all of that did not stop the small, unwelcome disappointment from settling in his chest. “I’m fine,” Kai said. Ethan studied him but didn’t push. “You have work soon?” “An afternoon shift.” “And the hospital?” “After work.” Ethan exhaled. “Kai, you can’t keep moving like you’re made of spare parts.” “I’m aware.” “Then let someone help.” Kai glanced at him. “You’re starting to sound like someone I know.” “Adrian?” “Unfortunately.” Ethan smirked. “He’s rubbing off on you.” “Don’t insult me.” Kai’s phone vibrated. He looked down. Adrian: I’m sorry. The meeting ran over. Are you finished? Kai’s thumb hovered over the screen. For a moment, he considered replying that he was busy. He considered pretending he hadn’t been waiting. Instead, he typed honestly. Kai: Yes. I finished. A second message arrived. Adrian: How did it go? Kai: I survived. Adrian: That sounds suspiciously similar to your usual response when you refuse to admit you did well. Kai looked away from Ethan before replying. Kai: It went well. The response was immediate. Adrian: I knew it would. Kai’s chest tightened. Kai: You didn’t even ask what the assessment involved. Adrian: You’re capable of doing difficult things without me knowing every detail. Kai read the message twice. It was a simple statement, but it reached somewhere inside him that he hadn’t expected. Adrian believed in him without needing to supervise him. Kai: You’re learning. Adrian: I have an excellent teacher. Kai: Your teacher charges by the hour. Adrian: Send me the invoice. Kai shook his head, fighting a smile. Ethan leaned closer. “Is that him?” “Mind your business.” “That’s definitely him.” Kai slipped the phone into his pocket. “I’m going to class.” “Your class ended.” “Then I’m going to somewhere you aren’t.” “Cruel.” Kai left before Ethan could follow. By noon, the university sent him another notification. He opened it while standing near the cafeteria entrance. Academic Affairs: Emergency Appeal Update His pulse quickened. The message informed him that his appeal had been received and placed under review. However, the committee required additional documentation: a signed statement from his employer confirming his reduced work hours, updated hospital records, and proof of the outstanding treatment balance. Kai stared at the screen. He had already submitted most of those documents. Apparently, most was not enough. His fingers tightened around the phone. The deadline was the following afternoon. He had work in less than an hour, his father’s hospital appointment afterward, and no guarantee that the pharmacy manager would sign anything quickly. For the first time that day, his confidence faltered. He opened his messages and typed to Adrian. They need more documents. He stopped. His instinct was to tell Adrian everything immediately. His second instinct was to avoid making the problem sound worse than it was. He deleted the message and opened his employer’s contact instead. The manager replied after several minutes. Manager: I can provide confirmation of your current schedule tomorrow. Tomorrow. Kai closed his eyes. Tomorrow was too late. He called. The manager answered on the fourth ring, sounding distracted. Kai explained the university’s requirement, carefully keeping his voice calm. “I understand you’re busy,” Kai said, “but I need the confirmation today. Even an email stating the reduced hours and the date the change took effect would help.” There was a pause. “I’ll see what I can do,” the manager replied. Kai knew what that meant. It meant he had no promise. When the call ended, he leaned against the wall and stared at the crowded cafeteria. Students were laughing, complaining about assignments, and arguing over lunch. Their lives continued with an ease Kai had begun to find unfamiliar. His phone vibrated again. Adrian: You went quiet. Kai looked at the message. Kai: University wants more documents for the appeal. Adrian: What do they need? Kai told him. This time, Adrian didn’t immediately offer to contact anyone or arrange anything. He simply asked questions. Adrian: Do you want help organizing the documents? Kai hesitated. Kai: Maybe. Adrian: Send me the list. I can review it when I’m free. Kai swallowed. Kai: You have a company crisis. Adrian: I do. Kai: You should focus on it. Adrian: I am focusing on it. Kai: Then why are you asking about my documents? A long pause followed. Adrian: Because focusing on my work doesn’t mean I stop caring about you. Kai lowered his phone. The words should have comforted him. Instead, they hurt. Because Adrian was trying to be present from a distance, and Kai was beginning to understand how little distance could sometimes offer. He typed slowly. Kai: I know. Then, after a moment: Kai: I just wish you were here. This time, Adrian didn’t respond immediately. When the message finally appeared, it was shorter than usual. Adrian: So do I. Kai’s eyes stung, and he quickly blinked the feeling away. He had no time to fall apart in the cafeteria. He had a shift to work, documents to collect, and a hospital to reach before evening. So he straightened, put his phone away, and walked toward the pharmacy. But as the afternoon dragged on, Adrian’s absence followed him everywhere. It was in the empty space beside him during his break. It was in the unanswered question he wanted to ask when his father’s hospital bill increased again. It was in the exhaustion that settled over his body while he stood behind the counter, forcing himself to remain polite to customers. At six forty, his manager finally sent the confirmation email. Kai opened it with shaking fingers. The document confirmed his reduced hours but did not explain why the reduction had occurred. He forwarded it to his university and immediately received an automated acknowledgment. One problem had moved forward. Three remained. At the hospital, his mother sat beside his father’s bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The doctor had requested another review of his father’s medication because one of the prescriptions was causing unwanted side effects. Kai listened carefully, writing everything down. When the doctor left, his father reached for his hand. “You look tired,” he said. “I always look like this.” “You look worse today.” “Thank you. Everyone has been very observant.” His father smiled weakly, then squeezed his fingers. “Did your assessment go well?” Kai nodded. “Yes.” “Good.” The pride in his father’s voice made Kai’s throat tighten. He looked down at the notes in his lap. “I’m handling the university issue.” “I know.” “And the hospital payment arrangement is still being reviewed.” “I know.” “Then don’t worry.” His father’s expression softened. “I’m your father. Worrying is part of my job.” Kai tried to smile, but it didn’t last. His phone lit up. Adrian calling. Kai stepped into the corridor before answering. “Hello.” “You sound exhausted,” Adrian said. “You sound expensive.” A faint laugh came through the phone. It was quieter than usual. Kai leaned against the wall. “How bad is it?” “The negotiations?” “Yes.” “Complicated.” “That’s a CEO word for bad.” “It means complicated.” “Are you eating?” There was silence. Kai closed his eyes. “Adrian.” “I had coffee.” “That wasn’t my question.” “I’ll eat after the next meeting.” “Your stomach is going to resign before your board does.” “I’ll make it a generous severance package.” Kai laughed under his breath, then fell quiet. Adrian noticed. “What happened?” “Nothing.” “Kai.” He looked toward the hospital room. Through the glass, he could see his mother adjusting his father’s blanket. “The university needs more documents,” Kai said. “I sent the employer confirmation, but I don’t know whether it will be enough. My father’s medication has to be reviewed, and the hospital bill keeps changing. I have work tomorrow, and I still need to study.” He paused, pressing his forehead against the wall. “I’m tired of calculating everything.” Adrian said nothing for several seconds. Then he asked, “Do you want me to listen or help you think through it?” Kai’s eyes closed. The question was small. It was also everything. “Listen first.” “Okay.” Kai breathed in slowly. “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this. Every time I solve one thing, something else appears. And you’re so far away, and I know you’re dealing with your own problems, but sometimes I feel like I’m standing here alone.” The words left him more quietly than he expected. He waited for Adrian to respond. “I’m sorry,” Adrian said. Kai frowned. “Don’t apologize for being away.” “I’m not apologizing for being away. I’m sorry that my absence is hurting you, even when I’m trying to stay present.” Kai’s fingers curled around the phone. “I don’t want you to feel guilty.” “I don’t.” “Then what do you feel?” Adrian’s voice lowered. “I wish I could sit beside you. I wish I could take some of the weight without making you feel as though I’m taking control. I wish I knew the right thing to say.” Kai swallowed. “And if you don’t know?” “Then I’ll stay on the phone and listen.” Kai looked through the glass at his father. For the first time that day, he allowed himself to stop pretending he was fine. “I miss you,” he whispered. Adrian’s breathing changed. “I miss you too.” “Even when I’m annoying?” “Especially then.” Kai gave a weak laugh. “You’re supposed to deny that.” “I’ve never been interested in lying to you.” A nurse passed through the corridor, and Kai moved aside. “Adrian?” “Yes?” “Don’t promise me you’ll come back early if you don’t know whether you can.” “I won’t.” “And don’t cancel important meetings just because I say I miss you.” “I won’t make that decision based on guilt.” Kai’s chest tightened. “Then what will you base it on?” “On what matters. On what I can realistically do. On what you need—and what I need.” Kai stared at the floor. It was not the perfect answer. It was better than one. “Okay,” he said. “Okay?” “Okay.” Adrian exhaled softly. “I have to go into another meeting soon.” “I know.” “Send me the document list when you can.” “I will.” “And Kai?” “What?” “You don’t have to make yourself smaller just because my life is complicated.” Kai went still. Adrian continued, “You’re allowed to need me. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to tell me when the distance hurts.” Kai looked up at the hospital lights. “Your speeches are getting worse.” “I’ll work on them.” “Don’t. You might become tolerable.” “I’ll take that as encouragement.” The call ended. Kai remained in the corridor for another minute, holding the phone against his ear even after the screen went dark. Then he returned to his father’s room. His problems had not disappeared. His scholarship was still uncertain. His work schedule remained unstable, and the hospital still needed money his family didn’t have. Adrian had not solved any of it. But Kai no longer felt as though he had to hide the weight from him. That mattered. Later that night, after returning home, Kai sat at his desk with the required documents spread before him. He worked until his eyes blurred, checking each file twice before attaching it to the university email. At eleven forty-eight, he finally pressed send. His phone vibrated almost immediately. Adrian: Did you submit everything? Kai: Yes. Adrian: Good. Go to sleep. Kai: You first. Adrian: I’m in a meeting. Kai stared at the message. Kai: It’s almost midnight. Adrian: Time zones. Kai: That is not how sleep works. Adrian: You’re very demanding. Kai: You like it. The typing indicator appeared. Then disappeared. Finally, Adrian replied. Adrian: More than you know. Kai’s heart stumbled. He placed the phone face down, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Across the distance, Adrian was still fighting his own battles. Kai was still fighting his. Neither of them could promise that tomorrow would be easier. But they had stopped pretending that love required them to carry everything alone. And for tonight, that was enough.

The Distance That Hurts