Thirty Four

As Jiang grew impatient, he stepped out of the room in search of his parents.

"Are they at the reception?" he muttered under his breath. The hospital's pristine hallways did little to mask the scent he despised. He suppressed a breath, trying not to inhale too deeply. Then, without warning, a memory surfaced.

It was also about him being hospitalized. He was young—so young that he couldn't even recall his exact age. All he remembered was the sterile hospital room, his mother's tear-streaked face, and his father's anxious pacing. They had been in the U.S. at the time, and his limited grasp of English left him clueless about the doctors' hurried discussions. But the moment his mother broke into sobs, he knew something was terribly wrong.