“So, tell me, Michael…” she said casually, eyes on the cluster of birds gathered in the stadium field. “When you look at the birds, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”
He looked up from the bench. The sun was already high her skin glowed from the heat of her morning walk. She had just completed her usual 10 km circuit.
As always, he was there, waiting at her usual spot.
“To fly,” he said. “Freedom.”
“Why?”
“Just curious,” she replied. “I like to know how people think.” She paused. “Why do you think a bird won’t fly even after the cage door is open?”
He thought for a moment. “Because the bird gets too comfortable. It’s fed, sheltered. Why struggle when everything’s provided?”
“But flying is its instinct, right?”
“Not all birds.”
“Let’s stick to the ones that can fly,” she said, her tone sharp but composed.
“Why would they stay grounded?”
“Comfort,” he shrugged. “Or habit.”
“Or… maybe they’ve been caged too long. Maybe they’ve forgotten how to fly.”
He looked at her, unsure where this was going.
“They’ve been conditioned,” she continued. “To believe they’re not meant to fly. Even if you remove the bars, the mind creates its own.” He nodded.
“Possibly.”
“So what do you do? Push the bird out? Hope instinct kicks in? Is that cruel?”
“Sometimes you need to be cruel,” he replied. “That’s the only way they learn.”
“And if they don’t fly?”
“They fall.”
“...And die?” she asked, still looking at the birds.
He turned to her. “Why are you asking me all this?”
“I just finished reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” she said. “Maya Angelou. Ever read it?”
“No.”
“You should. It's good.” She smiled slightly, eyes still on the field. “And I was thinking... it’s funny, you and I share the same birthday. Even the same time of birth. Ten years apart. That’s rare.”
“You think it’s fate?”
“No. I think it’s alignment. And alignment always leads somewhere.” He fell quiet.
“You know… I was thinking of sending you a potted plant for your birthday.” She looked at him, amused.
“You send plants to men?”
“Never. You’d be the first. It felt right.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I changed my mind. Didn’t want to create trouble.”
“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “You know where I live?”
She didn’t respond. Just stared. Michael looked suddenly unsure of the air around him. He pulled out an envelope.
“Here’s the money I borrowed,” he said, handing it to her. “I wanted to return it in person. I’m grateful.”
“Everything’s settled now?”
Yes,” he said. Then hesitated. “But… there’s something I need to tell you.” She waited.
“I… I’m married.”
“I know.” There was a beat of silence.
“What do you mean, you know?” he stammered. She stood up. “I have to go.”
“Wait. Please—wait. You knew I’m married?”
“Yes.” His face fell. “From when?”
“I suspected early on,” she said calmly. “But I confirmed it when I visited your block. Just to be sure.” He looked stunned.
“But how did you know where I stay?”
“I asked which ward you were admitted to. And the date. Even if you’d lied, your name and admission are on record. I’m a nurse, Michael. I don’t like guessing. I verify.” He sat back down slowly, speechless.
“All those phone calls…” he said, voice low. “All the things I said to you… and you knew?”
“Yes.”
“The song I mentioned—‘It’s Sad to Belong to Someone Else When the Right One Comes Along’—I meant it.”
“I know.”
“I meant it for you.”
She nodded. “I’m touched. But the feeling isn’t mutual.”
Michael blinked. “You led me on.”
“I let you speak,” she corrected. “Because I wanted to see how far you’d take the charade.”
“Is there someone else?” She didn’t answer. He looked away, ashamed. She softened slightly.
“Michael, I never saw you as anything more than a casual friend. I told myself that from the beginning.” He said nothing. The birds on the field remained grounded.
“There’s somebody else?” Michael asked, voice uncertain.
“There is,” Noorie said softly. “But we’ve decided to take a break. I needed space.”
“Space?”
“He’s a good man. Comes from a good family. Very religious. His whole family likes me.” She paused. “They’re devoted Muslims. You see the picture now?”
Michael nodded slowly. “Ah… I understand.”
“I’ve been asking myself—can I live with them pretending to be someone I’m not? Can I go through life performing belief I no longer hold?” She turned to him, steady.
“I saw myself suffocating, slowly being strangled if I stayed.”
“Does he know?” Michael asked.
“No. And I don’t think they’d ever understand. In their world, you don’t question. Saying you no longer believe—it’s unthinkable.” She looked away. “I just want to find a quiet way to step back. Before this love turns into resentment. Maybe things will change. Maybe I will. I don’t know.” He nodded, eyes searching hers.
“Where will you go?”
"I haven’t decided. First, I need to complete my studies at SIM. Then sort out my family matters. Maybe another year or so... and then I’m off. I want breathing space. I’ve been thinking about joining the International Red Cross or the UN Volunteer Medical Team.” Michael looked surprised.
“That’s dangerous. Bullets and bombs don’t recognise uniforms.”
That’s the beauty of it,” she said. “If I’m meant to die, I die. I have no fear of that. What scares me is not living.” She took a breath.
“I take pride in my work, Michael. I know I’m good at what I do. I can handle the worst patients, the messiest wounds, the chaos. But one day, I signed up for the Camp Rainbow programme.”
“Rainbow club?” he asked.
“It’s an adventure camp for chronically ill children. Medically supervised. I was part of the medical team.” He listened. “They assigned me to a fragile girl—confined to a trolley, hooked up to oxygen. All she wanted was to be at the camp with other children. That was her last wish.” She paused, her voice thinner now.
“She’d never travelled in a bus before. Her mother always drove her. But she wanted to be with the others—sing songs, laugh. I wasn’t trained for this. No textbook prepared me. But somehow, I made it work.” Noorie smiled faintly.
“We adjusted the entire group activity to include her. At the closing ceremony, after her part in the presentation, she placed her tiny hand on my cheek and said, ‘Thank you. I had so much fun. I’ll cherish this day.’” Michael was silent.
“My walls crumbled. That night I walked home in tears. After that… nothing felt the same.” She looked down, then up again. “She invited me to her birthday two months later. I went. It was her last. Three months after that, her mother called—she’d passed in her sleep. Said she dreamt of an angel who told her to walk. And she did.”
Michael said nothing. “I didn’t go to the wake. I needed to let go. I had to move forward.” There was a long silence between them. Then Michael spoke, voice low.
“I want to tell you… about my marriage. It’s not what you think. We have problems—real ones. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve begun to fall for you.” Noorie raised her hand gently.
“Don’t.”
“But I want you to understand…”
“I don’t want to know.” He sat frozen.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Your wife. Her name is Helen, right?” He blinked.
“You knew?”
“You have a five-year-old daughter?”
“Yes…”
“You borrowed the money for her medical bill. She needed emergency surgery.”
Michael nodded. “Yes.”
“She grew up in a kampong, didn’t she?” Noorie continued.
“Yes.”
“She had four brothers. Only girl in the family.”
He sat upright. “Yes…”
“Her mother died of lung cancer. Her father drove a taxi.” His mouth parted slightly, stunned.
“Her two older brothers were raised by an aunt. Helen and the two younger ones were looked after by someone else from the kampong.”
“Yes… how do you—?”
“Do you know who raised her?” He stared at her.
“My family,” she said quietly. “My parents took them in. Raised them like their own. Helen still calls my mother ‘Mother’ even up till her funeral”
Michael didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
Noorie stood up. He remained frozen on the bench. She walked away without looking back.
Chpt 31 / 36
