“Finally!” I exclaimed, cradling the parcel to my chest.
My new headphones were delivered just in time for the gaming tournament, which was starting that day. My grandmother’s cough wouldn’t disturb my game like Rory Gilmore’s monologues had throughout last month. No compromises this time. The trophy was ours.
All night, I blew up people on the screen without any background music of hacking coughs. My friend, Em, was ecstatic as we cleared Round 1 as a team. The next afternoon, I woke up to find the house empty. A foggy recollection of the early morning filled me in — my mother had barged into my bedroom, announcing that Grandma was feeling sick and they were escorting her to the hospital. Maybe the silence last night was not solely because of my new gadget. I was disturbed for a while, but pushed it to the back of my mind as my favourite show was on.
My mother returned in the evening to pack some soup for Grandma. She suggested I accompany her to the hospital, but I declined, giving the excuse of a video call I was expecting regarding some homework. In reality, I didn’t want anything to mess with my nerves and possibly the game that night.
My three-night tournament went epic. We received awards in the bronze category. Em had a sleepover planned at her house for video compilation and uploading all the content captured in our gallery. Before going over to her place to celebrate, I decided to pay Grandma a visit.
She was lying in a paper-thin hospital gown, her skin more wrinkled than I remembered.
“You look so old, Grandma…” I voiced my observation.
She remained smiling and said in a weak voice, “I’ve looked the same for the past decade, dear! You just don’t notice.”
My neck turned crimson with heat, matching the knitted bag slung over my shoulder — Grandma’s creation, obviously. When I told her about the sleepover, she sighed, as if expecting that my visit was short-lived.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” I promised, kissing her thin hands, yet it evoked no response.
Two days later, I called my dad to ask about something important and checked up on Grandma as well since she was now discharged and at home. My dad informed me, in a very irritable tone, for I was keeping him from watching his crime series, that he had installed a television in her room to keep her occupied.
“For I,” he justified, “cannot surely entertain her all the time.”
Fair enough, I thought, smiling that at least she was not lonely or bored.
When my little sleepover ended, gaining me lots of internet fame, I returned home with dessert to celebrate my win with my family. The dinner table was quiet, except for fingers tapping on separate screens. Grandma, the last one who still tried to start a conversation, stayed in her room, her frail fingers pressing the remote, confined to bedrest as prescribed.
After dinner, I went with a piece of sugar-free cake to Grandma in her room.
“Put it on the side table,” she dismissed me.
Upset much? I should have known. I tried to get her talking by asking about the scarf she was knitting for me.
“No energy, no time,” she huffed out.
Something broke inside me — something that sounded like glass. Grandma always had time for me.
“Well, it’s alright!” I tried to keep my voice normal. “How about a game of Ludo? It’s been a long time!” I threw my last straw.
The twin pools of grey did not light up as I expected; instead, they remained emotionless, fixated behind my head.
She finally spoke, “Would you mind moving, my dear? You’re blocking the screen!”
Published in Dawn, Young World, January 24th, 2026
