Page 10

DANIEL

“Yes, Dad,” I answer, my voice tight, as I close the door to my bedroom behind me.

“How are you, son?” He coughs. I feel guilt rising in my chest for not visiting him, but I shake my head; it doesn’t matter.

“I am fine. You?” I ask a little gently.

He laughs painfully. I wince, guilt gnawing at me despite my efforts to push it away. I know my father’s condition is deteriorating, but acknowledging it over the phone makes it seem even more real, more immediate. He was diagnosed with stage 1A lung cancer when I was just about to begin university. I cried that night like I cried when I lost my mother because to think of a world without Dad is just unbearable and so painful. He changed after his diagnosis. He always used to be on my side, but now, it seems that we are on two different sides of our very small world.

“What do you think?” My father’s voice cuts through the silence, his tone a mixture of bitter humor and resignation. I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“Did the doctors say anything?” I ask, my voice hoarse. The question physically hurts to ask, but I need to know. I need to know how long I have left with him. A heavy silence hangs on the other end of the line. It feels like an eternity before my father’s voice pierces through it.

“They say…” He pauses, his voice strained. I can almost hear the crack in it, the fear hiding behind his words. “Two years, son. Maximum.”

I sigh. I love my father very much. He has always been my inspiration, my support system. Growing up without a mother, people thought I would turn out to be a selfish bastard, but he gave me all the affection. And when I needed it, he scolded me too. He always made sure I didn’t miss mom.

“Dad…” My voice cracks a little despite my best efforts to hold myself together.

“No, Daniel, there’s no need to worry, but please, for my sake.” He pauses. I know where he is heading with this. “Please, Daniel.” He wants me to quit basketball.

He was the one who introduced it to me. “Dad.” My voice falters, caught between anger and understanding. I can feel my heart clenching as he continues speaking, his voice pleading. He knows how much basketball means to me. It’s not just my passion; it’s my outlet, my way to destress. I run a hand through my hair.

“Dad, you know that’s not fair. You know how much I need it. You’re the one that made me fall in love with basketball,” I say, a hint of desperation creeping into my voice. Every word feels like a knife digging into my chest. My hands tremble as I hold the phone, staring blankly at the wall.

“I know.” He coughs. “I know, but it doesn’t guarantee money. Only if you succeed will you be able to survive in that game.” I clench my fists, torn between the guilt of not being able to ease Dad’s worries and the determination to pursue my own passion. My mind races with conflicting thoughts—memories of Dad cheering me on at games, the sacrifices he had made to support me, and now this painful request to give up the very thing that brings me solace.

“It’s a very dicey career, Daniel. One mistake and you will be benched for life,” he says. He sounds bitter. My stomach churns at the thought of quitting basketball.

He was a new player in the NBA and had dreams of making it big in basketball, but those dreams crashed before they could even begin. He was accused of tampering with the ball to gain an advantage. The truth was, it was a freak accident, but the damage was done. He was never given a chance again. I was there. I saw him wallow in self-pity. It was my mother who pulled him up while managing me and her illness. He still blames himself for not being there for Mom, but I understand because I can imagine how it must feel. It’s exactly how I am feeling right now. Just the thought of giving up is so scary. He wants me to manage his company, his business, because it’s a safer option.

I know about his failures and his disappointment, and I understand it on a deeply personal level. My heart aches as I realize how much he wants to protect me from that same fate, but giving up my dreams doesn’t feel like an option. I can’t give up without trying. It’s like he’s forgotten he did not raise a quitter.

“Dad, I understand your concerns. I really do,” I say, keeping my tone soft but firm. “But basketball isn’t just a game to me. It’s a part of who I am. And no amount of money or security can replace that.”

He sighs. “I know that feeling—the thrill of the game, the rush of competing. But I also know the harsh realities.” He chuckles humorlessly. “I wish I kept you away from that game,” he whispers.

I can feel my heart break at his words. “Dad,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I don’t regret anything, and I wouldn’t trade those moments on the court for the world. It defined me. ”

“Are you attending the business classes?” he asks, changing the topic because he knows I am not going to give in. My thoughts go back to Anya; she’s the sole reason I want to be in that class.

“Yes, I am,” I reply. “I don’t like it, Dad. I don’t have the mind of a businessman.” Dad coughs again, his breath labored. He sounds so frail and tired, a hospital monitor beeping in the background.

“Daniel,” he says weakly. “I know you’re passionate about basketball. But listen to me. Please.” I hate the pain in his voice as much as I hate his words.

“I will prove you wrong,” I whisper. “There’s a tournament,” I begin with hope. “If I perform well, I could get scouted, Dad.” There is a pause, and then I hear him exhale softly. “I will come meet you after that tournament,” I reply firmly.

“You’re too determined. Just like your mom,” he says, his voice filled with a mix of affection and resignation. “Okay.” Dad coughs. “I look forward to seeing you, son.” There’s a brief silence on the phone.

“Take care of yourself, Dad. And please tell your bodyguards to stop spying on me,” I request.

He chuckles. “You noticed?”

“They’re not very discreet about it.” I sigh.

“Fine, I just wanted to make sure you’re going to your classes,” he reasons. “I will pull them back.” He coughs. “Don’t worry,” he adds.

∞∞∞