My younger brother graduated.
He was only fifteen, yet he left this world prematurely.
That night, he suddenly woke up.
The hospital room was dimly lit, with only a small lamp beside the bed.
He opened his eyes, stared blankly at the ceiling for a while, and asked me softly, "Sis, what time is it?"
I glanced at my phone; it was only a little past three in the morning.
I still told him, "It is almost dawn, just sleep a little longer."
He nodded, seemingly a little more at ease.
He said he wanted some water.
I held the water to his lips, but he only took a small sip before frowning and shaking his head, saying he did not want any more.
Before I even put the cup down, he started feeling unwell again.
One moment he said his chest felt tight, the next he said lying down was uncomfortable and he wanted to sit up.
I gently adjusted his pillow, patting his back softly.
Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my sleeve.
He whispered, "Sis, do not go."
At that moment, I froze.
I leaned closer to him, trying to make my voice sound normal: "I am here, I will not leave."
He slowly loosened his grip.
After a while, his spirits suddenly lifted.
He looked at me, his eyes brightening, and said, "When I am better, let us go play ball again, okay?"
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded and said, "Sure, did you not say you were going to beat me?"
He smiled.
That smile was exactly the same as when he used to cheat on the court.
—
The monitor's sound changed slowly after that.
It did not stop abruptly, but the rhythm started to erratically.
When the doctor and nurse came in, I was still helping him pull the blanket up.
His hand moved on the bed, as if searching for something.
I quickly reached out my hand.
He immediately grabbed it.
Not with much strength, but very tightly.
He looked at me, as if he wanted to say something.
His lips moved, but no sound came out.
I lowered my head, leaned closer to him, and whispered, "It is okay, you will be fine after a nap."
He blinked.
Then, he did not move again.
—
What happened after that, I remember, yet I can not quite recall.
Someone was talking about time, someone was writing something down, and someone was softly calling his name.
I only remember that the hospital bed suddenly became very quiet.
—
The nurse later asked me if I wanted her to help him change into his own clothes.
I nodded.
I chose his favorite jacket.
He loved that jacket, saying it made him look handsome.
I straightened his collar, my hands trembling.
There was a file on the table.
His name was written on it.
The age column read "15".
I stared at that number for a long time.
—
In these fifteen years,
he did not actually do anything particularly significant.
He was just lazy and would not do his homework,
he would talk back when I scolded him for playing video games,
he was always a picky eater, and always said it was our family's genes that he was not tall enough.
He would also casually ask, "Have you eaten?" when I came home late from work.
He would save the last piece of meat for me.
—
After getting sick, he rarely complained.
He would frown when getting injections, but he would not cry.
He would endure the pain and say, "It is nothing, a small problem."
He was clearly still a child, yet he always acted tough.
—
Now, he does not have to pretend anymore.
No more injections, no more medicine, and no more pretending to be brave.
—
Brother, your competition is over.
This time, you do not need to win against anyone.
You have already tried your best.
Really, you have done a great job.
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