Chapter 16: The Opthalmologist of Rosemary

The golden sky painted the morning of March 30 with a textured glow. In the quiet town of Zbargan, Rosemary, Dr. Alversanola lived a happy life with his small yet tightly-knit family. His family included his mother, father, wife, sister-in-law, and even his mother-in-law, forming a home filled with warmth, gratitude, and companionship.

A dedicated ophthalmologist by profession, Dr. Alversanola had spent his entire life in Rosemary—his birthplace, his sanctuary, and the center of everything he held dear. Each morning, at precisely 9 AM, he arrived at his clinic, a man of unwavering discipline and responsibility. Before leaving for his clinic at the end of the street, he placed a gentle kiss on his loving wife's forehead—a quiet beauty of love that had become second nature to him. His kindness and integrity earned him the respect of all who knew him.

Upon reaching his clinic, he noticed an elderly man patiently sitting outside on a public bench, his hands folded over his old long stick. His name was Muhammad Ishaq, a former patient of his. As Dr. Alversanola approached the door of the clinic, the old man slowly stood up and greeted him with a quiet smile. The doctor smiled and unlocked the clinic's door. When they went inside, he asked the man to wait a little longer. With no complaint, the elderly gentleman nodded and sat back down.

Meanwhile, the clinic's head nurse arrived. It was a young boy of no more than thirteen. The child's eyes held a quiet desperation—his parents were both gravely ill, requiring expensive treatment, but he had no means to support them. His pain and helplessness moved the doctor's heart. He decided to help the poor child, offered him a position as a nurse at the clinic, ensuring he would earn a fair wage.

The boy, overwhelmed with gratitude, whenever he received his wage of the month, would cling to the doctor, cry for a moment with tears of joy and gratefulness, wipe his tears, and return to work the next day with a quiet, satisfying smile that genuinely melted the doctor's heart.

Not once did Dr. Alversanola scold him for any mistakes, nor did he overburden him with tasks. The boy, eager to prove himself, would begin cleaning the clinic the moment he stepped inside. With a gentle nod, the doctor then turned his attention back to Muhammad Ishaq. He beckoned the elderly man inside, who, despite his slow and deliberate movements, carried an air of quiet dignity. Following the doctor's instructions, he pulled out a chair and settled into it. "Doctor, I had come to you before regarding my friend. You tested my eyes and prescribed me glasses. I don't quite recognize the name, and it was really helpful. I could read books and see everything clearly; everything was fine. But suddenly, once again, after nearly eight or nine long months, my sight has begun to dull once again."

Dr. Alversanola listened to him while maintaining his usual calm composure. He leaned closer, meticulously examining the patient's pupils, assessing their dilation and responsiveness. He was afraid that the old man had either presbyopia or astigmatism, since these cases were common at the time. He called Yuru and told him to bring the whiteboard. Without a question, Yuru retrieved a whiteboard on which words were inscribed in varying font sizes, ranging from the minuscule to the boldly prominent.

"Stand at a distance and read these aloud," the doctor instructed the old man. The elderly man turned to the board, squinted, struggling to see the words. He could barely discern the letters at 72pt (25.50mm) and 100pt (approximately 34mm), whereas, during his last visit, he had managed to read even the 48pt (17mm) size text without difficulty. Dr. Alversanola sighed inwardly, his suspicions confirmed.

"You have presbyopia," he informed the man with a grave yet gentle tone. "It is a common affliction among individuals aged fifty to sixty. And unfortunately, much like the graying of hair or the frailty of bones, it is an inevitable consequence of aging. Your condition has progressed, and we'll need to adjust your prescription." The doctor scribbled a new prescription for bifocal lenses, also known as double-vision glasses, altering the lens power to accommodate the deterioration. The old man made a long face in dissatisfaction.

"The human eye is among the most delicate of all bodily organs; its tissues are exceptionally soft and fragile. Much like our inability to permanently halt the progression of age, certain conditions—such as this—or myopia, hyperopia, or astigmatism—can only be managed or cured by advanced surgeries but cannot be cured permanently. Moreover, our country lacks advanced surgical equipment of sufficient quality to provide an alternative solution. And because of the war, the situation has worsened."

The elderly man absorbed his words with quiet acceptance, nodding as understanding settled upon him. "I understand, Doctor," he smiled, and with a respectful nod, he took his leave.

Dr. Alversanola watched him go, a lingering sense of melancholy pooling in his chest. He sighed. "He likely does not trust me… and most likely he won't return anymore." He looked at Yuru while leaning back in his chair. Looking more closely, he noticed a fresh wound adorning the boy's ear. His brows furrowed in concern. He walked to him and grabbed his ears.

"Have you been fighting?" he inquired, yet he didn't act unkindly. Yuru, occupied with meticulously cleaning the surgical equipment, did not immediately respond. He scratched his eyebrows and denied it. But Alversa was not convinced. He examined the wound more closely. It was fresh and had a little blood stuck to it. Without a single word, he took antiseptic and bandages from the medicine shelf, then carefully cleaned the injury with fatherly care, ensuring the boy felt as little pain as possible.

"This is not a serious injury, but you should be more careful," he rubbed the dirty, sticky skin, dabbing the area gently. Yuru said nothing but smiled in gratitude.

At that moment, the rhythmic sound of knuckles rapping against the door sounded. A soft cough followed before a familiar voice chimed in. "How wholesome, Doctor Alversanola," his wife mused as she stepped inside the clinic, her lips curling into an amused smile. "You always treat children with such tenderness… And yet, when I ask for one of our own, you refuse. That's quite rude."

With a teasing smile, she strode toward him, grasped his tie, and pulled him close—so close that their lips nearly touched.

Alversa's whole body shook, his composure slipping into mild embarrassment. The boy averted his eyes, pretending to focus on his work, slightly distracted.

"Didn't I tell you not to flirt with me at my clinic?" Alversa pushed her behind him with a gentle touch—Husband~. His wife only loved to discomfort him. She placed a neatly wrapped package before his chest.

"You must be hungry. Here's your breakfast; you left it on the table. And as your responsible and caring wife, I am really heartbroken. And when you return home, I expect a handwritten apology letter on scented paper with your expensive pen. No excuses. Otherwise," she wrapped her hands around him and whispered, "tonight's punishment will be far harsher than the last time..." And she gently bit his ear playfully and left blushing. Dr. Alversanola was momentarily stunned.

Yuru failed to pretend and couldn't control his laughter any longer, covering his mouth with his hand. The doctor, now slightly exasperated, pinched Yuru's waist. Yuru yelped, squirming away with a fit of uncontrollable giggles. He was particularly ticklish, and even the slightest prod would send him into a frenzy.

Alversanola never ate breakfast, lunch, or snacks alone—he needed a partner to share with. He gave more than two pieces of toasted bread and an egg to Yuru. However, when it came to sweets, he was far less generous, often hiding them away for himself or later.

As the evening settled and the last of his appointments concluded, he closed the clinic at five. On his way home, he saw a group of children playing cricket in a narrow alleyway. A flicker of nostalgia hit him. "Young those days!" Approaching them, he asked for just one shot. "May I take a single shot?"

The children exchanged glances with each other and requested, "Join us for a match, Doctor! We're one player short." Even better, Dr. Alversanola agreed immediately and spent time in a carefree five-over match. From that day onward, it became a routine; every evening, he would play cricket with them.

When he finally arrived home, he noticed the house was empty—his parents, his in-laws… everyone was gone. He panicked. He called his mother-in-law's residence, but no one answered.

Before he could contemplate further, someone whistled from behind. Turning, he found his wife standing behind him, clad in nothing but a soft cotton robe. She was wet and had worn nothing inside.

"Hey, husband," she purred. "They won't be back until tomorrow. I sent them to my mother's house."

Naïve as ever, Dr. Alversanola frowned, not realizing the trap. "Why?"

His wife smirked, stepping closer, her fingers curling around his wrist as she pulled him toward the bedroom. "You're so innocent, still unaware of what's going to happen? I recall telling you," she whispered in his ear, "that your punishment tonight would be really hard."

Before he could react, she shoved him onto the bed, straddling him with predatory ease. "Where is my letter, dear husband?"

Dr. Alversanola stiffened, realizing too late that he had fallen into her trap. She leaned in, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt and jeans.

"I guess you want to get devoured after all. Tonight," she whispered, her body on top of him, "you will learn your lesson." With a sultry chuckle, she pulled the strings of her robe, letting the fabric slip away, and turned the lights off—to set the mood.

On April 4, at 2:12 PM, Leon remained bedridden, his body in unbearable pain, weighed down by exhaustion and fever. He had some medicine Maria brought for him. Suddenly, his feverish sleep was abruptly disturbed by Maria's loud screams and yelling. She was scolding them for breaking Sarah and Sumi's bed, tearing through the silence of the house. It hit Leon's ears and made his headache worse.

"All day long, you run around like wild animals! Can't you sit still for once? And look at this mess! The bed is ruined! Clothes are scattered everywhere! What is this place, an animal park?"

Leon groaned in annoyance, pressing his palm to his forehead, and tried to get up even though his muscles felt like they were tearing apart. His vision swam slightly as he staggered out of bed and made his way toward the children's room upstairs, where Maria was yelling at Masao and some other kids in frustration. She was scolding the younger ones for breaking the bed racks of Sumi and Sarah's bed, her voice harsh and loud. Leon carefully walked upstairs, trying not to collapse on the stairs. He stepped up while holding the handrails. He slowly pushed the door open and snapped, "Maria! That's enough! Stop yelling at them!" Leon's voice was rough, laced with irritation and exhaustion. Maria turned, her expression softening immediately as she noticed Leon's pale complexion. "You should be resting," her anger turned into wifely concern. But Leon didn't give a damn. "What happened? Why are you shouting?"

Maria huffed, crossing her arms. "They've trashed the room again! Masao jumped on Sumi's bed so much that the damn thing broke."

Masao was already on the verge of tears, his small hands clutching the hem of his shirt. He was trying to hold his tears back, but at last, he burst out crying. He ran straight to Leon and started complaining about Maria, wrapping his arms around his waist. "She's been saying things to me! She's a bad sister! She doesn't like me! She can't stand me! She can't stand me!"

Leon lifted Masao into his arms even though he could barely stand properly. Maria's jaw was wide open in shock after what Masao said. She was stunned. He looked at Maria and said, "They're just kids, Maria. You don't have to scream at them for every little thing."

Maria scoffed. "Little thing? You think cleaning up after them, cooking for them, going to college, and handling everything on my own is nothing?"

Leon didn't back down and yelled, "I told you not to yell at them! They look up to you. Scaring them won't fix anything." He warned her for the last time.

The children, realizing Leon was the most dominant person, made things even worse. All of them rushed toward Leon—except Sumi and Sarah—and hid behind him, as if Maria was a kidnapper, and started complaining altogether. Maria made a long face because of their act. Leon knelt on the floor and gently put Masao down, ruffling his hair. "Listen," he said in a softer tone. "You guys need to be careful when you play, okay? Maria gets tired, and we don't want to make things harder for her, do we?"

The children nodded, their wide eyes still brimming with unshed tears. Leon wiped Masao's eyes with his sleeve and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "It's okay, I'll get it fixed. But be careful next time."

Maria, still standing with her arms crossed, looked at them, tears of frustration visible in her eyes. Without another word, she walked out of the room, wiping her tears roughly. Sumi and Sarah tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. She walked downstairs and busied herself in the kitchen, her movements rushed and rough. She started washing the dishes while mumbling, "Day after day, the same damn routine. Cook lunch and dinner for them, clean, take care of them, go to college, wash the damn dishes—and on top of that, take care of Leon. As if I enjoy cleaning. And what do I get as a prize? Yelling. As if I'm their machine."

Leon, hearing her complaints from upstairs, told the kids to apologize to her. All of them went downstairs together, peeking at her from the kitchen doorway, their little faces full of guilt. Sarah went inside, dragged a chair, and started taking the plates from the drying rack. Sumi pushed all of them inside. "Why are you all standing like morons?!" They all walked in one after another, stepping inside, awkwardly reaching for the dishes to help her. But Maria said nothing—not a word, not even a glance of acknowledgment.

They roamed around her all day, but she didn't even acknowledge them. While she was folding their clothes upstairs inside their room, Masao slowly pushed the door open and walked inside. Everyone was just peeking in, including Sumi and Sarah. He sat beside her on the floor and called her, "Sister…? Sister? Sister!" But she didn't even look at him and kept wearing the long face. Masao apologized over and over, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I'll listen to you. So please talk to me. Look, I'm sorry! Sister?!"

Maria's grip on the spatula tightened. Masao started rubbing his eyes. "Sister, I'm really sorry… I won't jump on the bed ever again. Please talk to me."

After his repetitive apology, she finally talked back and told him to stop whimpering like a girl. She pushed some unfolded clothes to him and said, "Help me fold them."

Masao smiled and immediately started folding the clothes. "You're doing it wrong. Let me show you." The atmosphere turned wholesome.

Sumi pushed the others inside from behind once again. "How long are you all going to stand here like idiots? Go help her, or I'm going to beat your little asses!"

Sarah chuckled and joined them too. They clumsily helped as Maria taught Masao how to fold clothes properly, her frustration melting away in the blink of an eye.

Leon had gotten up to get some water. As he reached the kitchen doorway, he listened to their laughter and chatter, all together. A small smile tugged at his lips. He knew Maria wasn't a girl who would stay mad at someone for a whole day, especially children. She would probably leave at 6 PM with a smile on her face, back to her home. Kenzo had returned to Feropia yesterday. Noor and Roy were out buying some vegetables and meat for dinner.

Leon walked around upstairs, drawn by the rhythmic sound of rain against the windows. He walked to the roof on the second floor. After Roy's room, there was a door made of glass and wood. He pushed aside the heavy curtains and opened the door. A cold breeze hit him immediately. The whole roof was soaked in rain, droplets sliding down the glass. A cool breeze seeped through, carrying the crisp scent of rain.

There was a rocking chair. He dragged it in front of the door and sat on it—an old wooden piece he had insisted on getting when he bought the house. Everyone teased him, calling it a "grandpa chair." But he didn't care. He loved simple things. He just wanted a simple life like this—quiet and peaceful.

Sighing, he settled into it, letting the steady back-and-forth motion lull him into a trance. Outside, the rain poured harder, sending a shiver through his skin as the cold air seeped in. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut. And just like that, Leon drifted into sleep, the sound of rain whispering through the night...