Michael returned home with a light heart. His conversation with Ana had gone better than he had expected. His steps were light and his face was brighter than it had been in years. His worries were far away from his mind. All the fear, nervousness, and pessimism, now felt trivial to him, like the pre-schooler worried for her exam.

"People really do get worked over little things.”

The sound of sizzling oil and the delicious smell of eggs filled Michael's kitchen. Eggs were on the menu tonight. Michael had to buy them on his way home though; he had his fridge empty of them for a long time. He used to buy meat instead, feeling they were an equal substitute.

But, he had a craving for eggs tonight and he felt he deserved them after his abstinence for so long.

The night was different to him. There was a warmness to it; a clarity which he could not understand. He was sure it was because of his talk with Ana. When Michael was walking home, evening was upon the city. In the fading light of the sun, he felt as if he was walking someplace anew. The grimy footpath, the bustling roads, the old buildings of the city, everything had an newness to them. The world became a little happier to him, a little playful in demeanor.

As Michael munched on his eggs, a stray thought entered his mind. He played and dwelled on it, and when he tried not to, it lingered at the back of his skull. Could he have felt what he had been feeling right now anytime other than meeting with Ana and making a last decision? Was there another option, another branch to climb which wouldn't break?

He drew a blank and smiled. He was sure this time. He returned back to his eggs. The night ended.

Three days later, there was a call.

"Hello, Michael," said Dr. Richard through the phone’s receiver. “It is time.”

The bells echoed deep within the church. Song and instruments were playing. Michael sat at one of the empty rows of the bench, staring ahead at the lit podium. He was not a Christian, but the loved the music. He found a sense of hope and joy in them, without ignoring the pain. He played Christmas songs in the winter, feeling they enchanted the cold nights of December.

There, Michael thought about many things. About life and death, and about sadness and joy. The loneliness, the pain, the sense of hopelessness, and the bitter truth of self. However, he was at peace. Tomorrow is the day, he thought. All he could do now was wait.

Michael laid on the cold table. He was naked with only a towel draped below his torso. A bright lamp shone above him. The operating room was white and looked unfriendly. A head came into his view. It was Dr. Richard in full surgeon's garb.

"Ready, Michael?" He asked, behind the doctor's white mask. Michael nodded. "Do you want to leave a message for Ana?"

Michael thought about Ana. He had met her before the surgery. She was in her room this time. When he entered, her face fell for a minute, but she smiled nonetheless. He sat by her bed and talked about silly things mostly. But, he was reaching his end. “I have to go now, Ana,” he said and Ana could only nod.

"Tell her not to feel guilty. It was my decision at the end. Tell her to be happy," he said.

Dr. Richard eyes showed a smile forming under his mask. "I will be sure to tell her about it."

"Thank you," Michael said. "I am ready."

A plastic breathing mask covered his face and the sleeping gas snaked in through the pipes. He counted to ten in reverse order. At four, his eyes closed and a great need to sleep undertook him.

"Please, let it work."

Michael went to sleep.

There was nothing. I could feel nothing. Where these my thoughts? Was I even thinking? Where are the lights? Too dark. Where were my hands? Where was my body?

Wait, here! Here is my body. I can feel it now. I am… here.

My voice. I, I can’t speak. I cannot open my mouth. It does not feel like my mouth. It felt like opening somebody’s else mouth. A mouth which felt it had no opening.

There was a heaviness around me. I felt I wanted to go back to sleep, but a primal instinct told me to wake up. My heart was beating. It was beating loudly in my ears. The rhythm was building in my chest. My eyes opened and there was a ceiling. I tried to breathe.

A familiar face came above me. It was Dr. Richard.

“Glad you are conscious now, Michael.”

Ana laid in the mortuary. Michael didn't go to see her. It had been a day since she had died. Michael had woken up after twenty-one hours after the start of his operation yesterday. He was fit as any normal day. Of course, the operation didn’t proceed because of reason the doctor had yet to provide.

"What happened, Dr. Richard?" Michael asked, sitting on the bed given to him. He stared at his hands and nothing else. He refused to listen to anything else except for an answer. Dr. Richard sat beside him and sighed. His eyes had bags under them. He hadn't a wink of sleep in his system.

“She had a stroke,” Dr. Richard started. “And we found what was ailing her. It is a very difficult condition to diagnose. It is called Hypohidrosis.”

“Hypohidrosis?”

“Absence of sweating,” Dr. Richard.

It hit like a brick to Michael. Ana had told her she didn’t sweat. How could he have not noticed?

“The condition can lead to body system failure or even a stroke.”

“After we sedated you,” Dr. Richard started. “Ana's health started to worsen. We thought to get her into the ICU, but before we could do anything she went into arrest. We tried our best.”

“She had told me that she didn’t sweat,” Michael said.

Dr, Richard patted his back. “Michael, hypohidrosis can be mild or strong. You couldn’t have possibly known.”

Michael stood up.

“Where are you going?” Dr. Richard asked.

“Home,” Michael said.

“Don’t you want to see—” Dr. Richard said.

“No,” Michael said and walked away fast.

He floated out of the hospital. He struck many people along the way but didn’t care. He kept his eyes down on the ground, and the bustle of the city rang through the journey.

Michael reached home. He closed the door and fell down on his knees. He sobbed.

It was late in the night when he got up. He somehow found his bed in the darkness and fell asleep.

It was still dark when Michael woke up. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. It was not night, but morning. He looked out the window and found dark rain clouds all over the sky. It looked like it would rain. He recollected his thoughts and then wished he didn’t. He closed his eyes and breathed. Ana was dead.

He roamed his house. His roof, his bedroom, the kitchen, he rediscovered every nook and cranny. Was he searching for something? He didn’t know. He roamed more again. He found nothing and went to sit in the kitchen.

Then, there was a knock on Michael’s door. He sighed and picked himself up from his chair. He went to the door thinking it was the milkman. When he opened the door, Mr. and Mrs. Fortier were standing at his doorstep.

“Michael,” Thomas Fortier said, his voice soft. “Can we come in?”