"What about me?" Asher no longer looked happy. He felt a little lonely.
"What's wrong with him? Is he sick or dying?"
I was confused again.
Holding my luggage, I was about to leave. Asher looked at me without saying a word.
"Aren't you going to stay at my mom's place for a while?"
I felt suffocating anxiety.
"No, I won't be there." Asher emphasized, saying, "That's not my home. Our home is here."
Asher's parents had been divorced early on. I knew he had always been obsessed with the idea of having a family. He wouldn't let me leave, so I wisely kept my mouth shut and refrained from saying anything that might upset him.
I kept thinking on the way as to whether I shouldn't have left him. Upon opening the door, I regretted not coming earlier to take care of my mother.
Clothes on the sofa were piled up randomly. It was hard to tell if they had been washed or not. The dishes and utensils from the day when my father fainted were still piled up in the sink.
There was a trash can by the bed filled with used tissues.
Since the day my dad fainted, the time had come to still be here.
Asher had been messaging me. It seemed like he had never been in a good mood.