Page 114 of Nocturne

But hope was just a fleeting illusion. It didn’t last.

It hadn’t even been a week. Not even a single week. And then, the phone call. The officers said it was an accident. That Papa had been driving under the influence. But we knew. We knew better than anyone that Papa never drank. Never. He hated the very idea of it. His friends teased him about it, but he always shrugged it off. It was a part of who he was. But they didn’t listen. The bribes, the corruption—they wouldn’t hear us. They didn’t care. I wish I had killed Vir instead of the men who followed his orders.

When we saw Papa’s body, when we found him in the morgue, it was the final blow. Ma couldn’t take it. Her heart, already so weak, couldn’t survive the shock of seeing him lifeless.

I thought I understood the love they had, but I didn’t know it was so fragile, so dependent on each other. They were always two halves of a whole. Without him—without Papa—Ma was nothing. The doctors fought to save her, but it was too late.

We only had a few seconds. Just a few precious seconds. She held me. She held me tight like she didn’t want to let go.

"Live," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Be strong. Take care of your sister. Don’t apologise. Just live."

Then she looked at Iyra, who was clinging to her, begging her not to go. I will never forget the look in Ma’s eyes as she told me how much she loved me.

And then, just like that, hope died. It died with her.

I didn’t know how to keep going without her. Without them both.

Hope hasn’t been a part of my life since then. It feels like it never really existed at all.

I think it impacted my life deeply. So much so that I’ve decided if I am ever to contribute to something, it would be to eradicate this wretched disease off the earth. Stop it from destroying more families. Taking away the joy that was stolen from ours. And finally, after working nearly a decade on it, I have found what I was looking for.

Working in cancer research isn’t easy. It often kills the zeal and hope by the time one can even find something promising. I knew it when I chose this. I knew I had to be patient for my results,and finally, my patience has been rewarded. I’ve been trying for months, discarding millions of cells after their shelf life, trying to find the place of mutations on specific genes. After months of refining my novel sequencing protocol, the results are finally here. My gamble with the unconventional approach paid off.

My heart races so fast it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I stare at the screen in front of me, my fingers trembling over the keyboard. There it is—finally, undeniably there. The data aligns perfectly, the mutations and genetic markers I’ve been chasing for months, mapped and gleaming like tiny stars in the endless expanse of sequences.

I let out a sharp exhale, a laugh bubbling up that sounds more like a sob. The MYC genes—those damned, elusive oncogenes that have haunted every waking moment of my life—are no longer invincible. I’ve found them. The subtle mutations, the genetic breadcrumbs leading to their role in cancer’s chaos, laid bare before me. Each one is a tiny switch, capable of throwing the cell into unrelenting division. Each one is now a potential target.

The weight of the moment crashes over me. Months of frustration, weeks of sleepless nights, the days I spent staring at stubborn algorithms that refused to yield—it all feels so distant now. It was worth it. Every failure, every doubt—it was worth it.

My vision blurs as tears well up, and I drop my head into my hands. I’m shaking, laughing, crying all at once. This isn’t just data; it’s a lifeline. A chance to catch cancer in its earliest whispers before it can steal another love, another mother, another child.

The lights hum softly above me, their sterile glow suddenly warm, like quiet applause for what’s just happened. I think ofthe patients I’ve met, the ones who shared their stories in clinical trials, their voices trembling with hope. I think of Ma, whose loss I feel every day. This is for them. For her. For all the families out there like us.

I look back at the screen. The MYC genes. For years, they’ve been this fortress I couldn’t breach. But tonight, I’ve broken through. My obsession, my labour, my refusal to quit—it all led to this.

This isn’t the end—I know that. It’s just the beginning of something far bigger, something that might change lives. But right now, in this moment, I let myself breathe. I let myself smile. I let myself feel proud.

Just then, my phone pings, a message notification from Sean. He was completely understanding about us being just friends, and he’s genuinely curious about my research. He even helped me get cancer cell samples when I needed them urgently.

“Maybe I should call him. He’d appreciate this,” I mutter under my breath.

“Call who?”

A scream tumbles out of me at the sudden voice. My heart hammers in my chest as I turn to see none other than the devil himself standing in front of my lab doors. How the hell did he even get in? To enter my lab, you'd need a retina scan!

“How did you get in?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a menacing step forward, and suddenly my throat dries.

“Call who, Ara?”

Remember when I said his voice could drag out your deepest, darkest secrets? Well, it’s true.

“Sean,” I murmur reluctantly, my voice barely a whisper.

I know those eyes—darkening, shifting—he’s pissed. I see the muscle in his jaw twitch, and it tightens.

“One call to him, Ara, and I’ll make sure it’s his last.”

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