Back in the room, Omar and Jasper sit on the edge of the bed, one man on either side, backs facing each other.

The entire conversation with Monica replays in Omar’s mind. Her looks, the way she twirled her hair, and the way he said exactly the right thing in exactly the right moment. He leans back, hands wrapped around the base of his head, and smiles. Behind him, Jasper stares at his suitcase resting on the nightstand. His mouth is tight, and his eyes drift from the suitcase to the clock, when finally, a room-service phone call breaks the silence.

“Hel… Hello?” says Jasper.

“…Heyyy, it’s Moon Beam. The Moon Beam from earlier.”

Jasper massages the space between his eyebrows.

“Yeah… yeah. Thanks for clarifying. I thought it was the other Moon Beam.”

“Oh really? You know another Moon Beam?”

Jasper frowns.

“No… never… nevermind. You called?”

Omar chuckles, and Jasper can practically hear Moon Beam smiling through the receiver.

“I did, I did. Well, this is a courtesy call, and the guided meditation starts in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you make your way to the locker room so you can get ready? We have some ceremonial robes for you.”

“Ceremonial…?” The word drops out of Jasper’s mouth.

“Ceremonial. You’ll like the way you look.”

Jasper’s eyes slightly bulge, and he looks off to his suitcase, regaining focus.

“Sure… sure. Thanks… We’ll be right down.”

Jasper brings the phone to the base when Moon Beam cuts through.

“Oh… and Mr. Watson… if you want that Coke…”

Jasper shakes his head and slams the phone down. Clack. His chest rises and falls. Omar rolls over.

“What the hell was that about?”

Jasper grunts as he grabs the edge of the table to help himself up.

“Just Moon Beam—we have to go to the meditation.”

Omar stretches out on the bed and shakes his head. “Okay.”

 

The Watson men leave their room and descend into a locker room, where in front of two lockers are long white robes and white undergarments labeled with their names, complete with bottles of water and granola bars. They stand shoulder to shoulder, looking at the presentation like they were NBA players getting ready for a home game.

“You kidding me?” says Jasper.

He reaches over and grabs the soft fabric of the robe.

“Damn…” he says, smiling. “This place really is the best in the country.”

Omar picks up the sleeve of a robe with two fingers as if it were dipped in radioactive acid.

“We really have to wear these?” he says, his eyes sizing them up.

Jasper throws his hands up.

“Let’s just play along,” he offers.

It was then that Omar’s mouth drops when he sees Jasper remove his shirt and begin to throw on the clothes. The first thing he sees is a row of ribs sticking out from the side of his father’s ribcage, like little mounds of sand so clear he could count them. He looks up and notices his father’s collarbones jutting upward as if they were the only thing holding his skin in place, making the rest of it seemingly fall off to the side. Omar’s mouth purses, and he tilts his head down at his own body, silently measuring himself against his father, before frowning and looking back at Jasper, his eyes tracing his movements.

Jasper catches Omar staring. For a moment, neither man speaks.

“I know,” Jasper says quietly, while throwing on the undershirt. “I look like shit.”

Omar shakes his head. “No, Dad, I—”

“It’s okay. No use denying what our eyes can clearly see.”

Jasper slumps on the bench, suddenly looking exhausted, and turns to Omar.

“I can feel it, you know.” Jasper grabs his wrist and starts slowly opening and closing his hands. “Every day, my body feels a little worse. I can hardly feel things in my fingers anymore.” Jasper turns to face the robe hanging on the locker and reaches for it, but falls short just out of reach.

Omar leaps up and takes a step toward the robe, but Jasper waves him off. Then he stops, his arm dropping to his side, and lets Omar grab it.

Jasper clears his throat.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Omar turns and starts collecting his things.

“Omar…” Jasper says, with an unsure look on his face. Omar instantly freezes.

“…Yeah.”

“Can I tell you something?” Jasper says softly, his breathing slow and measured. Then all at once, his voice cracks.

“I’m… I’m… I’m so fuckin’ scared.” His voice speeds up.

Omar’s heart flutters, and his eyes widen.

Jasper throws his hands over his face and leans forward, before pulling back after noticing how much the robe dwarfs his wrist. Omar gulps, still frozen.

“Well yeah, Dad. Life is scary—you might meet someone like Moon Beam,” Omar deflects, hoping his monotone hides his worry.

Jasper softly smiles. “Fuckin’ Moon Beam.”

Omar nods. “Yeah. Fuckin’ Moon Beam. What a nut.”

They sit in the shared absurdity for a moment. Then Jasper looks up, his eyes meeting the frail man in the mirror.

“…Omar, just know this. I never want you to tell me goodbye.”

Omar sucks in his cheek, and Jasper stares at the mirror, his eyes flickering.

“It’s… it’s too permanent. Just tell me you’ll see me later. Okay?”

Omar swallows hard.

“How can I tell you I’ll see you later when I’m seeing you now?” Omar says, trying to hide his emotion.

Jasper uncrosses his legs and smiles.

“…Yeah…”

Omar continues.

“But you should know that I know I’ll always see you later—I never questioned that, and I don’t think you should either.”

Jasper takes his sleeve and wipes the corner of his eye, still watching himself in the mirror. He lets out a forced laugh that sounds more like a cry.

“…That… that makes me feel a little less scared.”

Omar takes his sleeve and wipes his nose.

“…Good.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The locker room hums with fluorescent lights, and somewhere, a faucet drips. Omar’s throat tightens, and his chest feels heavier than it did a moment ago. He looks at his father—really looks at him—and something twists in his stomach. The collarbones. The loose skin. The way Jasper’s breathing sounds like work. Then all at once, Omar stands, face red, and rushes through changing, trying to outwork his feelings. When he finishes, he stands and faces the exit, back to his father, and speaks.

“And by the way… you’d be fuckin’ crazy if you weren’t scared. You’d be some asshole like Moon Beam.”

Jasper breaks into a genuine laugh and stands up, dusting himself off. Omar looks back to his father and makes eye contact.

“…But always know—you never know when your time comes. You could mess up and live an extra forty years. Just focus on right now, okay?”

Jasper places his hand on Omar’s shoulder.

“Sure…” And starts walking toward the exit.

“Come on, let’s go,” he adds.

Omar follows, but his hands won’t stop trembling. He shoves them into the pockets of the robe and prays his father didn’t notice.

 

They exit the locker room and emerge from the spa wearing robes and loose, comfortable white clothes that make them look like a mix between a ninja master and a Silicon Valley CEO and proceed to a sand garden decked with a dazzling display of crystals. Purple, pink, green, and blue shimmer like rock rainbows, making the area feel somewhat surreal. The air is thick with the scent of burning sage and jasmine, and wind chimes made of copper hang from the corners, their soft tones blending with the distant trickle of water. Stepping into this space felt like entering a sanctuary—a place where the veil was thin, holy in a way, like a church still standing after a great fire.

Here, they find the center of the garden, with two mats already laid out, and sit cross-legged, facing the front. Finally, an older woman, her dreadlocks cascading down her back, emerges from behind a shimmering curtain. Her gaze, deep and steady, meets theirs as she works her way in front of them and sits cross-legged, mirroring their posture. She has a gentle peace in her eyes—the kind you only see once or twice in a lifetime. The eyes of someone who is accepting, calm, and sees you the way you want to be seen. Omar and Jasper lean in while the woman clears her throat.

“My sweet children,” she begins softly. “Welcome to your life.” She pauses. “It’s happening now.”

Jasper lets out a quiet breath.

Omar’s jaw tightens, and his fingers dig into his knees.

“You are not here to learn something new,” she continues. “You’re here to remember something you forgot. Something we all forget.”

Her eyes drift to Jasper, as if she can see straight through him.

“Humans—we beat ourselves up. But we are not our past. We are not our mistakes. We are not the words we said and didn’t say.”

Jasper’s jaw tightens.

“You are the awareness sitting behind it all.”

She draws a slow line in the sand with her finger.

“Regret lives in yesterday. Fear lives in tomorrow. Peace only lives now.”

Silence settles over them, and Omar swallows hard. He glances at his father. Jasper’s shoulders are beginning to relax, his breathing evening out. But Omar’s chest is doing the opposite—tightening, compressing, like an elephant is squatting on it. The woman continues.

“We cannot carry our entire lives with us into this moment,” she says. “It is too heavy. There’s not enough room. We must learn to lay it down.”

Jasper blinks while Omar bites the inside of his cheek. Hard.

“We think we are the ones who must hold our lives together. We think we must fix what was broken. We think we can control how the story ends.” She pauses. “But that was never our job.”

Omar’s breath quickens. He tries to slow it down, taking long, deep gasps, but it won’t obey. He turns to his father and sees his eyes are closed. His face is softening. His hands are open and still. But Omar can’t catch his breath.

“It is the job of our Creator. He is the one who writes our stories. And He is never wrong,” she says gently. “Give your problems to Him. Do that, and you no longer have to worry. You can experience the peace that was promised to you long ago. There is no point in fighting what was never a problem. There is only surrendering.”

Her words hang in the air.

Jasper’s shoulders have dropped even more, while Omar’s nails dig into his thighs. His father is letting go. And that means he’s leaving.

“We are not responsible for the future,” she continues. “Our responsibility is only for this breath.”

She inhales deeply.

They follow.

Omar breathes in, and his vision blurs at the edges. He can’t get his father out of his eyes.

“We fear letting go because we think letting go means disappearing.”

Her eyes soften.

“But letting go isn’t disappearing. Letting go is trusting.”

Jasper’s breathing becomes uneven. Short, then long. Fast, then slow.

Omar’s throat burns. He tries to swallow, but his body betrays him.

“We did not create ourselves,” she says quietly. “We do not carry ourselves alone. We are always held.”

A tear rolls down Jasper’s cheek, and one rolls down Omar’s in unison. He looks away. He can’t watch this. But there was only so much time left to look, and Omar finds himself looking back.

“We have said what needed to be said. We have loved how we knew how to love. And we have done enough.” She pauses. “And as long as you have breath in your body, there is an opportunity to do more.”

Omar’s hands are shaking now. He presses them flat against the sand, trying to ground himself, but the grains bounce off his fingers.

His father is sitting right next to him, and he has never felt farther away.

Omar’s throat tightens.

“You may rest now.”

Jasper closes his eyes.

Omar’s breath catches.

You may rest.

That’s what you say to someone who’s dying.

That’s what you say when it’s over.

Jasper’s chest rises and falls—slower now, calmer. His hands lie open in his lap, palms up, like he’s finally willing to receive instead of give.

And Omar feels something crack open inside him.

Not anger. Not fear.

Grief.

He’s still here. His father is still here, sitting right next to him.

But Omar is already mourning him.

The woman’s voice lowers to almost a whisper.

“When we trust the One who gave us life, we stop gripping it so tightly. We take it as it comes.”

The scent of sage thickens in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the wind chimes. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickles. The sound is gentle, rhythmic—like a heartbeat slowing down—and wind blows softly through the garden, pushing sand around.

Finally, Jasper exhales—long and slow.

And something inside him loosens.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

But undeniably.

Omar watches it happen. Watches his father’s face go still—not dead, but peaceful. Watches the lines around his eyes soften. Watches the tension just… release, off with the wind.

And Omar knows.

Jasper opens his eyes and looks at Omar, and there is no panic there now.

Only gratitude.

Omar holds his gaze. His vision is blurry. His chest is tight, and his hands won’t stop shaking.

But he doesn’t look away.

Because if this is one of the last times his father looks at him like this—like he’s proud, like he’s grateful, like Omar is enough—

Then Omar is going to remember it.

Every second of it.

Even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think. This is a chapter from my book, I don’t know if I can share anymore – there’s still over half the book I haven’t shared, but I’d love to know what you think. When it’s out – you’ll be the first to know.

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