Haikal went to the hospital alone.
He chose a hospital outside the Widjaja family's network, a place where his name wouldn't immediately make every doctor stand up and call Tirta. Not because he didn't trust his brother. Quite the opposite—he knew Tirta would ask too many questions, examine him too carefully, then look at him with the expression of an older brother who had run out of patience with lies.
Haikal wasn't ready to be looked at that way.
At 8:37, he sat in the clinic waiting room in the same white shirt and black suit he'd worn when he left the office. Around him, people bowed their heads over their phones, accompanied family members, or anxiously clutched their test results.
No one recognized him.
For the first time that day, Haikal felt no need to smile.
His hands rested on his knees. His fingers were cold. His head felt light, as though the room were slowly drifting a few inches away from his body. He closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, then opened them again when a nurse called his name.
“Mr. Haikala Widjaja?”
Haikal stood.
The simple movement made his vision go dark for a moment. He gripped the side of the chair until the floor steadied again, then nodded.
“That’s me.”
In the examination room, he answered every question briefly. There was a history of an autoimmune condition. Dizziness, upper abdominal pain, a body that trembled easily, and fatigue that didn't go away even after sleeping. There was medication he sometimes took, but not regularly. There were meals he often skipped.
“Have you eaten breakfast, sir?” the nurse asked.
Haikal glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Yes.”
The nurse looked at him. “What did you eat?”
Haikal was silent for a fraction of a second.
“Coffee.”
The nurse frowned. “Coffee isn't food, sir.”
“I know.”
“Did you eat breakfast or not?”
Haikal turned his face toward the window. Outside, sunlight reflected off the glass of the neighboring building. It was too bright.
“I didn't have time.”
The examination continued. His blood pressure was high. His pulse was irregular from fatigue and anxiety he himself refused to call anxiety. When the blood sugar result came back, the nurse stared at the number for a long moment.
“Fifty-three.”
Haikal didn't react right away.
“Your blood sugar is fifty-three,” the nurse repeated. “That's very low. Do you feel shaky, cold-sweat drenched, dizzy, or like you might pass out?”
“A little dizzy.”
“A little?”
“I can still stand.”
The nurse sighed. “That's not a good measure of your condition, sir.”
The doctor then explained a great many things. Haikal listened with his head slightly bowed. He was given a sugary drink, told to rest, advised to eat regularly, and asked to undergo further tests. The doctor also emphasized that he couldn't take recurring symptoms lightly.
Haikal nodded at the appropriate moments.
He even recorded some of the instructions on his phone.
But when the doctor asked whether there was a family member they could contact, his thumb stopped above the screen.
“Tirta Widjaja,” the doctor said. “Isn't he a doctor?”
“He's my brother.”
“Then he should know about your condition.”
Haikal stared at his phone screen. Tirta's name sat at the top of his contacts, alongside Naren and Aruna.
“I'll tell him later.”
“Don't wait until later if you mean after your condition gets worse.”
Haikal lifted his gaze. His face was calm, but no expensive suit or famous name could hide the exhaustion.
“I understand, Doctor.”
He always said that when he had no intention of obeying.
An hour later, Haikal left the clinic with a packet of crackers, stomach medicine, and a sheet of test results folded into quarters. He slipped the paper into the innermost pocket of his suit, precisely where no one would look.
His phone vibrated just after he got into the car.
A message from Aruna.
Aruna: Where are you?
Haikal stared at the message.
Haikal: The company.
He sent the lie everyone would find easiest to believe.
A moment later, Aruna replied.
Aruna: Come home early. Arunika is waiting for you.
Haikal typed, “I’ll come home.” But before sending it, he stopped. The sentence felt too ordinary for someone who had just been told that his body was slowly losing the ability to support itself.
He sent it anyway.
At home, Arunika was already waiting in the family room.
The little girl wore a pale yellow dress and two hair ties that sat at different heights. The moment she saw Haikal, she ran toward him with quick, short steps and crashed into both his legs.
“Daddy!”
Haikal bent down and picked her up.
The movement made his head spin. Black spots briefly filled his vision, but he hugged Arunika tighter before his daughter noticed anything.
“Daddy’s home,” he whispered.
“You’re late,” Arunika complained, her cheek pressed against Haikal's shoulder.
“Sorry.”
“Play with me now.”
“Now?”
Arunika nodded with absolute conviction. “House. Daddy’s the patient.”
Haikal smiled faintly. “Why am I the patient?”
“Because Daddy’s always busy. Patients aren’t allowed to be busy.”
The sentence was simple. Too simple to be an accusation, but precise enough to pierce the part of him that was already fragile.
Haikal carried Arunika to the rug. He sat cross-legged, though both knees felt weak. Arunika took a toy stethoscope, pressed it to Haikal's chest, and furrowed her brow like a real doctor.
“Daddy's heart makes noise.”
“Everyone's heart makes noise.”
“Yours sounds sad.”
Haikal didn't answer.
Arunika pressed the stethoscope harder. “Are you sick?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
From the sofa, Aruna sat with her body slightly hunched. Her phone was in her hand. The screen's glow touched her face, making her expression seem distant. She smiled faintly at something she read, then typed a reply.
Haikal saw it by accident.
Or perhaps he had been waiting for it.
The name Ryan wasn't clearly visible on the screen, but there was something in the way Aruna held her phone—the way someone guarded a conversation from prying eyes.
Haikal immediately turned his attention back to Arunika.
“Dr. Arunika, what does the patient need?”
“Medicine.”
“What kind?”
“Hugging medicine.”
Arunika stretched out both arms. Haikal leaned down and let his daughter wrap her arms around his neck.
His head began spinning again. This time, it lasted longer.
He closed his eyes while stroking Arunika's back. Her small body was warm. Her breathing was steady. The fruity scent of shampoo lingered in her hair, somehow making the room a little easier to inhabit.
“Don't go to sleep, Daddy,” Arunika said.
“I'm not sleeping.”
“Your eyes are closed.”
“I'm listening to the doctor.”
“I'm the doctor.”
“Then I'm listening to Arunika.”
Arunika laughed.
Across the room, Aruna looked at her phone again.
Haikal opened his eyes. He watched his wife for several seconds, then lowered his head when Aruna suddenly looked toward them.
“Haikal,” Aruna called.
“Yeah?”
“Have you eaten?”
The question made him fall silent.
Aruna was still holding her phone. Her gaze moved from the screen to Haikal's face, but only briefly.
“Yes,” Haikal answered.
“When?”
“At the company.”
“What did you eat?”
“A lot.”
Aruna nodded, then returned to her phone. “Don't forget to eat again later. The doctor said you've had stomach problems before, right?”
Haikal looked at her.
He didn't know whether Aruna truly remembered, or was simply repeating something someone else had told her. Under different circumstances, he might have felt glad that Aruna still knew something about him.
That day, he only felt tired.
“Yeah,” he said.
Arunika pulled Haikal's face toward her with both hands. “Daddy, look at me.”
Haikal looked at his daughter.
“When I grow up, I'm going to be a doctor. Don't get sick, Daddy.”
Haikal smiled. “If Daddy gets sick, will Dr. Arunika treat him?”
“Yes.”
“Then Daddy isn't afraid.”
Aruna suddenly stood from the sofa. “I'm going to my room for a minute.”
Haikal didn't ask why. He only nodded as Aruna passed him. She stopped for a moment, as if she wanted to say something, but her phone vibrated again.
Aruna looked down at the screen.
Then she left.
Arunika was still holding the toy stethoscope against Haikal's chest.
“Why are you quiet, Daddy?”
“I'm thinking about the company.”
Arunika wrinkled her nose. “Who is the company?”
Haikal almost laughed.
“The company isn't anyone.”
“Then don't think about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have to play with Arunika.”
Haikal looked at the little face in front of him. For a few seconds, his head felt lighter. He took a wooden block from the toy box and stacked it into a house that was too tall and off-balance.
Arunika clapped.
“Daddy's house!”
“Our house.”
“For Mommy too?”
Haikal glanced toward the stairs. Aruna hadn't returned.
“For everyone,” he answered.
Arunika took a red block and placed it on top of the building. The house immediately collapsed.
The little girl laughed loudly.
Haikal laughed with her, even though his chest felt tight and his vision began to swim again. He let the structure fall, then built it again from the beginning.
Inside his suit pocket, the test results lay folded beside the number fifty-three.
In front of him, his daughter kept smiling.
Upstairs, Aruna was speaking with someone whose name she would never mention in front of Haikal.
And Haikal, as always, remained seated in the middle of that spacious house, enduring the dizziness alone while pretending that not a single part of his life was falling apart.