The lying Stethoscope

 "ALS."

Meena's voice was barely audible, as though she had exhausted every ounce of strength she had. I looked up at her and found her expression unnervingly calm, but her fingers were trembling slightly. She was staring at her textbook—staring, but not really seeing it.

"Meena?" I called out tentatively. "What's wrong?"

She didn't lift her head, but her fingers tightened around her pen. After a long pause, she finally spoke softly, "The doctor said… my dad's condition is worsening. This winter… it might be his last."

The air seemed to freeze instantly. I froze too, my mind buzzing, unable to form a single coherent thought.

"Meena…" My voice was barely a whisper. "Is he really…"

"ALS," she interrupted, letting out a faint laugh, though her smile was as fragile as thin ice. "My dad had a feeling it would come to this. It's been almost five years since his diagnosis. For an ALS patient, five years is… lucky, isn't it?"

Her voice carried no tremor, even tinged with self-mockery, but I felt my chest tighten as if something had grabbed hold of my heart, squeezing it painfully.

"Meena, I…" I opened my mouth, but the words I wanted to say wouldn't come out.

"Don't comfort me," she said, finally raising her head and giving me a small smile, though her reddened eyes betrayed her. "The path of ALS is a one-way street—from diagnosis to complete paralysis, and then… the end. My family has come to terms with it. You don't have to feel sorry for me."

But I could see through her smile, could feel the exhaustion and helplessness hiding beneath it.

"Meena, you…" I clenched my fists, my voice trembling. "You can cry. You don't have to hold it all in."

"What good would crying do?" She looked back down at her book, flipping through the pages stubbornly. "If crying could make him better, I'd have cried enough already."

My throat felt constricted, and the words I wanted to say stayed lodged there.

She flipped a few more pages before stopping suddenly. She looked at me. "Renata, didn't you say you were going to specialize in neurology? You promised me before, didn't you?"

My heart skipped a beat, and I suddenly didn't know how to respond.

"Renata?" She frowned. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

I lowered my head, gripping my pen tightly, my voice so soft it was almost inaudible. "Meena, I… I might not choose neurology after all."

She froze, her textbook slipping from her hand and landing on the desk with a crisp thud. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry." I took a deep breath and looked up at her. "I know how much you want me to research ALS with you, and I know how important your dad's condition is to you. But after thinking it through… I feel like I really want to choose cardiology instead."

Meena's face was expressionless. She just stared at me, as if trying to process what I had just said. After a few seconds, she spoke slowly, "So you're saying… you won't help me?"

"No! That's not it!" I waved my hands frantically, my tone almost desperate. "Meena, that's not what I mean! I just… I just think that if I force myself to do something I'm not passionate about, even if it's for you, I might not do it well."

"And what do you want to do?" Her tone turned cold. "Cardiology? Because your dad is a cardiologist, so you want to follow in his footsteps?"

I looked down, unable to find the right words.

"Renata," her voice softened, barely more than a whisper. "I know studying neurology can't cure my dad, but maybe someday, it can help someone else. What about you? Is cardiology really worth giving up everything we talked about?"

Her words cut into me like a knife. I took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. "Meena, I've thought about your feelings, and I've struggled with this decision so many times. I'm choosing cardiology not because I don't care about you or your dad, but because I truly feel this is the path I want to take. I want to be like my dad—to save a heart that's stopped beating."

Her eyes stayed locked on mine, as though trying to peer into my soul. After a long moment, she finally sighed. "Forget it."

"Meena—"

"Renata." She cut me off, her tone softening slightly. "I'm not upset because you chose cardiology. I'm upset because you didn't tell me sooner. Do you know? From the very beginning, I already knew you'd choose it."

"You did?" I blinked in surprise.

"You admire your dad; anyone can see that." She gave me a wry smile, shaking her head. "Honestly, I just wanted to tell you that ALS isn't a battle fought by one person. Choosing cardiology is your decision. I can't force you to change it. I just hope that whatever you choose, you won't forget the things we talked about."

I nodded, my throat tight. "I won't forget. I promise, Meena, no matter what happens in the future, I'll do everything I can to help you and your dad."

She stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. "Alright. But next time, don't spring something this shocking on me, okay?"

"Okay." I smiled too, the weight in my chest lifting just a little.

At Home

The smell of dinner greeted me as soon as I stepped inside. Dad was busy in the kitchen, and he looked up with a smile. "You're back? How was your day?"

"Not bad." I set my bag down and hesitated before speaking. "Dad, I told Meena today that I'm planning to choose cardiology."

He carried a plate of food out, setting it on the table. His gaze held a trace of curiosity as he asked, "And what did she say?"

"She's very supportive." I paused, looking down at the table before adding, "At first, I was hesitant and thought about choosing neurology with her. But…" I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "I realized I'd rather be like you and save people with heart conditions."

He raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a light pat. "Well, following my path isn't a bad idea. If that's your choice, I'll support you. But cardiology isn't an easy road. Are you ready for that?"

"I'm ready." I nodded firmly. "No matter how hard it gets, I'll stick with it."

His smile deepened, carrying a hint of pride. "Alright then. Future cardiologist, do your best."

I hesitated for a moment, then finally asked, "Dad, why did you choose cardiology in the first place?"

He paused, as though recalling the past, then spoke slowly. "During my first internship, I helped save a heart attack patient. The resuscitation lasted two hours. When he woke up, he grabbed my hand and said, 'Thank you for saving my life.' In that moment, I knew this was what I wanted to do—to bring a heart back to life."

His voice was low and steady, resonating like a taut string, and it struck a chord within me. My throat tightened. "So that was your choice?"

"Yes." He nodded, his gaze unwavering yet gentle. "But remember, cardiology is a challenging path. There will be times when you feel helpless and exhausted. But saving even one life—that feeling is unmatched."

Something unexplainable filled my chest, and I felt a faint sting in my nose. I nodded, my voice firm. "Dad, I want to try too. I want to save lives. No matter how hard it is, I'll persevere."

He smiled, pride evident in his eyes, and ruffled my hair. "Alright then. Go for it. I believe in you."

In that moment, I knew I had made the right choice. It wasn't just about following in his footsteps but about finding a purpose—one that could make a difference. And I was determined to carve out my own path.